State of Subversion1

State of Subversion
This volume looks at the interface between ideology, religion and

culture in Punjab in the 20th century, spanning from colonial to
post-colonial times. Through a re-reading of the history of Punjab
and of Punjabi migrant networks the world over, it interrogates the
term ‘radicalism’ and its relationship with terms such as ‘militancy’,
‘terrorism’ and ‘extremism’ in the context of Punjab and elsewhere
during the period; explores the relationship between left and religious
radicalism—such as the Ghadar movement and the Akalis – and the
continuing role of radical movements from British Punjab to the
independent states of India and Pakistan.
Expanding the dimensions on the study of Punjab and its historical
impact in the South Asian region, this book will interest scholars and
students of modern Indian history, politics and sociology.
Virinder S. Kalra is Senior Lecturer in sociology at the University

of Manchester. He is the author of Sacred and Secular Musics:
A Postcolonial Approach (2014). Widely published, his areas of
research include Punjabi popular culture, British racism and themes
in creative resistance.
Shalini Sharma is Lecturer in colonial and postcolonial history at

Keele University. She has written on radical politics in Punjab and
is currently working on Indian intellectuals and the USA.
Introduction i
South Asian History and Culture
Series Editors: David Washbrook, University of Cambridge, UK
Boria Majumdar, University of Central Lancashire, UK
Sharmistha Gooptu, South Asia Research Foundation, India
Nalin Mehta, Institute of South Asian Studies, National University of
Singapore
This series brings together research on South Asia in the humanities and social sciences,
and provides scholars with a platform covering, but not restricted to, their particular
fields of interest and specialization.
A significant concern for the series is to focus across the whole of the region
known as South Asia, and not simply on India, as is often the case. There will be a
conscious attempt to publish regional studies and bring together scholarship on and
from Pakistan, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, Nepal and other parts of South Asia.
This series will consciously initiate synergy between research from within aca-
demia and that from outside the formal academy. A focus will be to bring into the
mainstream more recently developed disciplines in South Asian studies which have
till date remained in the nature of specialized fields: for instance, research on film,
media, photography, sport, medicine, environment, to mention a few. The series will
address this gap and generate more comprehensive knowledge fields.
Also in this series
‘How Best Do We Survive?’ A Modern Edited by: Rosalind O’Hanlon and

Political History of the Tamil Muslims David Washbrook
Kenneth McPherson 978-81-89643-18-8
978-0-415-58913-0 Escaping the World: Women Renouncers
Health, Culture and Religion: Critical among Jains
Perspectives Manisha Sethi
Edited by: Assa Doron and 978-0-415-50081-4
Alex Broom South Asian Transnationalisms: Cultural
978-81-89643-16-4
Exchange in the Twentieth Century
Gujarat Beyond Gandhi: Identity, Babli Sinha
Conflict and Society 978-81-89643-20-1
Edited by: Nalin Mehta and Mona G. Minority Nationalisms in South Asia
Mehta Edited by: Tanweer Fazal
978-81-89643-17-1 978-81-89643-33-1
India’s Foreign Relations, 1947–2007 Indian Sisters: A History of Nursing and
Jayanta Kumar Ray the State, 1907–2007
978-0-415-59742-5 Madelaine Healey
Defining Andhra: Land, Water, Language 978-0-415-71040-4
and Politics from 1850 Television at Large in South Asia
Brian Stoddart Edited by: Aswin Punathambekar and
978-0-415-67795-0
Shanti Kumar
Scoring off the Field: Football Culture in 978-81-89643-35-5
Bengal, 1911–1980 Gender and Masculinities: Histories,
Kausik Bandyopadhyay Texts and Practices in India and Sri Lanka
978-0-415-67800-1 Edited by: Assa Doron and Alex Broom
Religious Cultures in Early Modern India: 978-81-89643-36-2
ii Amita Shah and Jharna Pathak
New Perspectives
State of Subversion
Radical politics in Punjab
in the 20th century
Edited by
Virinder S. Kalra and
Shalini Sharma
Introduction iii
First published 2013 as a special issue of South Asian History and Culture
(Vol. 4, No. 4) by Routledge, UK
First published in hardback 2016

by Routledge
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Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business
© 2013, 2016 Virinder S. Kalra and Shalini Sharma
The right of Virinder S. Kalra and Shalini Sharma to be identified as the author of the
editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in
accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized in
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marks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe.
British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

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This edition is for sale in India, Pakistan, Nepal, Bhutan, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka and
the Maldives only.
ISBN: 978-1-138-95642-1 (hbk)
iv
Typeset Amita Shah
in Sabon and Jharna
10/12pt Pathak
by Glyph Graphics Private Limited Delhi 110 096
Contents
List of Illustrations vii

Notes on Contributors ix
1 State of Subversion: Aspects of Radical Politics

in 20th Century Punjab 1
Virinder S. Kalra and Shalini Sharma
2 Progressives, Punjab and Pakistan: The Early Years 13

Kamran Asdar Ali
3 Majlis-i-Ahrar-i-Islam: Religion, Socialism

and Agitation in Action 45
Tahir Kamran
4 An Unfulfilled Dream: The Left in Pakistan ca. 1947–50 74

Ali Raza
5 Alternative Politics and Dominant Narratives:

Communists and the Pakistani State in the Early 1950s 102
Anushay Malik
6 ‘In One Hand a Pen in the Other a Gun’:

Punjabi Language Radicalism in Punjab, Pakistan 130
Virinder S. Kalra and Waqas M. Butt
7 The Indian Workers’ Association Coventry

1938–1990: Political and Social Action 156
Talvinder Gill
8 A Long Strange Trip: The Lives in Exile of Har Dayal 188
Benjamin Zachariah
9 Communism and ‘Democracy’: Punjab Radicals

and Representative Politics in the 1930s 218
Shalini Sharma
Index Introduction 00v

This ground-breaking collection of essays significantly enhances
our understanding of the political formations of colonial and post-
colonial Punjab, with particular attention to the Pakistani Punjab and
diaspora … [The book] provides insight on a pragmatic and region-
specific politics that promises to inform a broader understanding.’
Anne Murphy, University of British Columbia, Canada
vi Amita Shah and Jharna Pathak

Illustrations
Figure
9.1 Starred questions in the Punjab Assembly 1932–40 240
Table
9.1 [TBC] 241
Introduction vii
viii Amita Shah and Jharna Pathak
Contributors
Kamran Asdar Ali is Associate Professor of Anthropology, Middle

East Studies and Asian Studies and the Director of the South Asia
Institute at the University of Texas, Austin. He is the author of
Communism in Pakistan: Politics and Class Activism, 1947–1972.
Waqas Butt is an independent researcher, former Lecturer in

Anthropology at Qaid-e-Azam University. He is the author of The
Life of Pakistanis in the Netherlands. He is currently Head of transla-
tion and interpretation services at Stoke City Council.
Talvinder Gill is an independent researcher who obtained his PhD in

History from the University of Warwick, on the topic of The Indian
Workers’ Association Coventry, 1938–1990.
Tahir Kamran is a notable Pakistani historian, currently the Iqbal

Fellow at the University of Cambridge, as professor in the Centre of
South Asian Studies. He has authored four books and has written
several articles specifically on the history of the Punjab, sectarianism,
democracy, and governance.
Virinder S. Kalra is Senior Lecturer in Sociology at the University

of Manchester. He is the author of Sacred and Secular Musics:
A Postcolonial Approach (2014). Widely published, his areas of
research include Punjabi popular culture, British racism and themes
in creative resistance.
Anushay Malik is currently Assistant Professor in the History depart-

ment at the Lahore University of Management Sciences. Her PhD
thesis focused on the labour movement in Lahore and was com-
pleted from the School of Oriental and African Studies, University
of London in 2013.
Ali Raza is Assistant Professor in History at the Lahore University of

Management Sciences. His interests are in radical politics in Punjab in
the mid-twentieth century. His PhD focused on theIntroduction
Kirti Kisan Party.
ix
x Contributors
Shalini Sharma lectures on colonial and postcolonial history at Keele

University. She has written on radical politics in Punjab and is cur-
rently working on Indian intellectuals and the USA.
Benjamin Zachariah is a historian and postcolonial theorist. He is

the Indian Council for Cultural Relations Professor of South Asian
History, Orientalisches Institut, University of Halle-Wittenberg, and
Senior Research Fellow, Cluster of Excellence ‘Asia and Europe’,
Heidelberg University.
x Amita Shah and Jharna Pathak

 1
State of Subversion:
Aspects of Radical Politics
in 20th Century Punjab
Virinder S. Kalra and Shalini Sharma
Political radicalism has been a constant feature of Punjab politics

in the 20th century: from the formation of the Communist Party
in the province in the 1920s to the rise of religious sectarianism
in Pakistan Punjab in the 1990s, it has been an unsettling, if not a
prominent, characteristic of the Punjabi political landscape. Indeed,
it is the fact that religious radicalism and communism, often posited
on opposite political poles, come together in the space of the Punjab
and occasionally in the context of a single political party or politi-
cal figure that make the region so interesting for those interested
in revolutionary change. Yet despite these prominent movements,
studies of Punjabi radicalism are few to find. One could argue that
the absence of such an assessment is because the Punjab experience
does not fit into the nationalist histories of India and Pakistan, nor
does it conform to the ‘subaltern’ histories that have influenced his-
tory writing in South Asia since the 1980s. Indeed, the intellectual
space for the study of the region in whatever shape tends to require
a radical outlook. This special issue of essays, based on a panel on
the subject at the European Association of Modern Asian Studies in
Bonn, Germany (July 2010), draws together a range of perspectives
to cover some of the immense gaps within the history of 20th cen-
tury Punjab and provide insight on radical politics in contemporary
India and Pakistan.
This collection has deliberately excluded accounts of radicalism
in Punjab that already has extensive coverage in academic litera-
ture and popular print media, namely the Singh Introduction
Sabha movement1
2 Virinder S. Kalra and Shalini Sharma
in the early 1920s, the Punjab variant of Naxalism in the 1970s

and the militancy and state terror that exploded in Indian Punjab
in the 1980s.1 This is not to deny the enormous importance of these
instances in the history of the region — they have left an indelible
and enduring mark in the genealogy of radicalism in Punjab. Our
aim is to offer an understanding of other movements and events
that have been neglected by the disproportionate focus on Indian
Punjab in the historical narrative. It is hoped that our selection of
radical moments will offer an introduction to little known move-
ments, as well as a new broader context in which to look at the rise
of militancy in the Punjab.
Context
Radical politics, mostly travelling under the broad umbrella term of

‘communism’, has been an integral part of the South Asian political
scene for almost a century. One of the main arguments of this col-
lection is that radical movements, whether communist, socialist or
religious had an important role to play in South Asian politics, not
least because the different groups that constituted these movements,
in their different ways and in many different arenas, joined in an
assault upon the structures of control by which the British Raj and
its successors have ruled India and Pakistan. Radical movements in
South Asia have had an important impact upon the terms and lan-
guage of politics more generally. The effect on South Asian politics
has not been simple and cannot be measured solely in terms of elec-
toral success or capture of state power, rather it has helped to change
these politics in complex and unexpected ways. Indeed, innumerable
groups have adopted, and adapted, the language of class struggle and
have professed radical, socialist or even communist purposes in their
political endeavours. This is particularly the case in Pakistan where
1
On the Singh Sabha and Akalis, see Grewal, Sikh Ideology; Tan,
‘Assuaging the Sikhs’ in Modern Asian Studies; Singh, The Akali Movement.
On Sikh ethno-nationalism, see Wallace and Chopra, Political Dynamics
and Crisis in Punjab; Brass, Language, Religion and Politics in South Asia;
Singh, Ethnic Conflict in India; Purewal, Sikh Ethnonationalism and the
Political Economy of Punjab.
State of Subversion 3
the organising structures and rhetoric of the Left was systematically

copied by religious parties such as the Jamaat-i-Islami.
Overstreet and Windmiller’s Communism in India, the authori-
tative work on the communist movement in India, fails to make
due allowance for the extraordinary diversity of Indian politics, the
context in which communists and radicals generally had to either
adapt or to perish. By placing national politics at the centre the his-
toriography of communism in India, the crucial role of regions in
Indian radical politics is ignored. To understand radical movements in
South Asia, it is essential to analyse the very different manifestations
of the movements in different regions, particularly those where the
Communist Party has been relatively strong such as Bengal, Kerala,
Andhra Pradesh, and the Punjab. To be sure, a beginning has been
made by others, and some regional political histories of the party
have been written. These include the works of Pavier on Telangana;
Singh, Javed and Josh on the Punjab; Nossiter on Kerala; and all
those, whether historians or political scientists, who have looked at
the Naxalite movement in Bengal.2 However, these works still tend
to view the regional parties as integral parts of a national machine
through which the centre imposed structure and control over the
regions. The work of Dilip Menon on Kerala has a somewhat dif-
ferent perspective.3 His analysis of communism takes full account
of its cultural and regional specificities, and Menon recognises that
communists were pragmatic and that this pragmatism was the key
to the party’s success in Kerala. Despite the obvious differences
between Kerala and the Punjab, Menon’s approach provides some
useful lessons for this study of radicalism in the Punjab, the most
important being that regions and their characteristics define local
politics and have a significant impact upon the relationship between
centre and province.
In the pre-partition Punjab, many groups, such as the Kirti Kisan
movement, the Hindustan Socialist Republican Association, the
Naujawan Bharat Sabha, the Ahrar movement and even the Congress
Socialist Party as well as the Communist Party itself, appealed to
2
See Franda, Radical Politics in West Bengal; Nossiter, Communism
in Kerala; Pavier, The Telangana Movement; Overstreet and Windmiller,
Communism in India.
3
Menon, Caste, Nationalism and Communism in South Asia, 188–89.
the peoples of the Punjab through the slogans of communism, class

struggle and variants of what they deemed to be Marxism. They
were among numerous other groups in India which were linked to
the broader international movement that travelled under the name
of communism; not all of these different groups subscribed to some
common ideology or strategy laid down by international communism.
Rather they all deployed the language of class struggle alongside a
range of other ideologies, which in hindsight may seem incompatible
but in the political moment and to the actors involved were reconcil-
able. In consequence, it makes good sense to label their politics as
‘radical’ for the purposes of this collection, however, divided these
groups were in their strategies, tactics and even substantive ideologies.
This collection also seeks to go beyond the findings of other
works on the history of the organised Left in the Punjab. In 1979,
Bhagwan Josh’s pioneering book on communism in the Punjab was
published; in 1988 and later in 1994, Ajeet Javed and Gurharpal
Singh took the subject further.4 Each of these works has a different
focus. Josh belongs to a tradition of historiography in which com-
munism tends to be seen as an unsound project at a time when the
only legitimate politics was the dominant nationalism of the Congress
movement. Whig (or indeed Congress) interpretations of history have
concentrated on why the organised Left failed, inevitably from this
angle of vision. By contrast, Gurharpal Singh and Ajeet Javed, by
examining a wide range of sources, have added much detail to our
knowledge of the political history of the movement. Their works are
mainly concerned with the organisation of the party, the factionalism
within the Left, trade union activity and peasant or kisan movements
in the region. These works tell us much about the inner workings
of the Communist Party in the Punjab, but little about the relation-
ship of the Left with the Indian National Congress. Of course, the
Congress and the Muslim League in the Punjab were weak, and so
the region’s political history has attracted little attention from nation-
alist scholars in India and Pakistan. However, this very weakness
led both movements to be linked to the Left more closely than has
previously been assumed. The mainly Hindu leadership of Congress
looked to the left to recruit followers in the Punjab countryside and,
4
Javed, Left Politics in Punjab: 1935–47; Josh, Communist Movement
in Punjab (1926–1947); Singh, Communism in Punjab.
in a symbiotic relationship, the leaders of the left, vilified, arrested

and imprisoned though they were, needed Congress to give them
an acceptable platform from which they could plan and propagate
their ideologies. The Communist support for Pakistan provided the
Muslim League with a base of activists in the years before indepen-
dence, and for a short period after independence, the left played a
role in the party. It follows that the institutions of the Punjab and its
‘school’ of administration, the imperatives of local politics, whether
Congress, Akali, Muslim League or others on the margins of dissent,
are critical elements in understanding the significance of the politics
of radicalism in the Punjab.
The articles in this collection are concerned with a history of
radicalism from the perspective of organisations and their leaders.
This is in contrast to the work of the subaltern historians who have
made a huge contribution to the understanding of radical move-
ments from grassroot level. Nonetheless, the contrast made between
subaltern and elite by Guha is perhaps too definitive: ‘Mobilisation
in the domain of elite politics was achieved vertically whereas in
that of subaltern politics this was achieved horizontally. ... Elite
mobilization tended to be more legalistic and constitutionalist in ori-
entation, subaltern mobilization relatively more violent.’5 No doubt
this perspective acts as a corrective to nationalist historians. It also,
however, directs attention away from regional mobilising and the
workings of local leaders. Indeed, the violence associated with the
radical movements presented in this collection belie the easy distinc-
tion offered by Guha between elite and subaltern. Mobilisation by
communist and radical parties was certainly an integral part of the
Punjab political landscape and these often led to political violence
in direct confrontation with the state or political rivals.
Radicalism in Punjab
Punjab was partitioned when India gained independence from British

rule and divided again because of linguistic and religious differences.
On the East and West sides of the borders that divide it, Punjab makes
a crucial contribution to the military, economic and administrative
structures of India and Pakistan. However, its historiography remains
5
Guha, ‘Historiography of Colonial India’, 4.
fixated on explicating the religious sectarianism and partitions that

have dominated its history. In this framework, Punjabis are deemed
either politically backward or opportunist. This characterisation is
influenced by two diametrically opposed historiographical trends.
The first, initially articulated in colonial accounts but still influential,
cast Punjabis as an apolitical people, primarily interested in loyally
serving their colonial masters. Writers of the second tendency did
not know where to place Punjabis in their Whiggish history of the
struggle for Indian independence. So Punjabis were deemed as overly
religious and hence less politically acceptable in the new secular state
of India and subsumed as de facto rulers in the Republic of Pakistan.
Indeed, a post-1947 history of Punjab that is not framed through
religious or nationalist discourse is difficult to find. In Indian Punjab,
the narrative is dominated by accounts, which emphasise the role
of the Sikhs (Singh and Gaur), and in Pakistani historiography, the
region is negated at the behest of a religious nationalism. Two recent
collections Sufism in Punjab and Punjab Reconsidered explicitly
address the issue of the absence of a Punjab historiography by bring-
ing together accounts that attempt to cross the religious, sectarian
and political boundaries that have concerned previous scholarship.6
This collection is also explicitly concerned with what has been called
the ‘Three Punjabs’: East, West and the diaspora.7 In that sense, the
unifying theme of radical movements allows for the emergence (and
submergence) of Punjab as a space of analysis in which the national
is also held in question. It is this potency that offers scholars rich
veins of material for exploration and insight.
The articles in this collection are still mainly looking at the left
and the history of communist parties, but this is complicated by look-
ing at other aspects of the ideological gamut, especially the issue of
religion and culture more generally. While recognising that religion
has over determined frames of understanding the Punjab when placed
in these other contexts, it also provides a crucial backdrop. Indeed,
our use of the term radicalism is to acknowledge its association
6
Singh and Gaur, Sufism in Punjab; Malhotra and Mir, Punjab
Reconsidered.
7
This term was coined by the Punjab Research Group, see http://theprg.
co.uk.
with Marxism and to recognise that in its actual application, the

tradition of the left spawned many and multiple political and social
movements. The connections between the Ghadar movement and
the Akalis in the 1920s in their anti-colonial stance would lead us
to indicate both as radical movements even though their ideologies
were distinct. Punjabi history and the history of Punjabi migrant
networks throughout the world provides the opportunity to inter-
rogate the term ‘radicalism’; to explore the relationship between left
radicalism and religious radicalism and its relationship with terms
such as ‘militancy’, ‘terrorism’ and ‘extremism’ in the Punjab context
and elsewhere in the 20th century.
The material developed in this collection spans the colonial to
post-colonial, demonstrating the continuing role of radical move-
ments from the unified Punjab to the bifurcated new states.
Though many of the movements under discussion in the articles
have been considered elsewhere, the collection is unique in the
substantive accounts of communist parties in Pakistan. Four of the
articles are concerned with the way in which the radical left was
organised in the lead up to Pakistan and in the newly formed state.
This is the first time that such a detailed and in depth analysis of the
Pakistani Left has been published, in its many shades and meanings.
Given that much of the contemporary academic work on Pakistan is
concerned with the roots of religious extremism and on the failure
of state control, the articles here provide an indication of the much
broader canvas from which those movements emerge. Indeed, to try
and understand many of the problems of the Pakistani state without
an appreciation of how the Left was treated in the country’s forma-
tion remains only a partial story as the articles written here clearly
demonstrate.
Far from seeing Punjabis as politically backward or reactionary,
the authors in this collection attempt to examine the different genealo-
gies of political radicalism in Punjab in the 20th century. They aim to
tease out the ideological moorings that motivated radical politicians
and their connections with wider and more long-standing traditions
of intellectual thought. Rather than focus on the organisation and
practice of particular political groups, the essayists, informed by
the importance of life-stories and fragmented historical experience,
deliver accounts that can potentially transform contemporary Punjab
studies from its narrow regionalist and subject focus.
Contributions
In order of presentation, the first two articles are situated in colonial

Punjab. Shalini Sharma describes the communist engagement with
the Government of India Act of 1935 and its ramifications in Punjab.
Despite their small number, the communists transformed the level of
debate inside the assembly and public perception of it while chang-
ing themselves and their own ideological rigidity to get inside the
chamber. The shifting contours of the debate illustrate the way in
which left wing and religious ideologies could be mixed and matched
depending on political context. A similar case could be made for a
group which was openly religious but mixed in socialist ideas: the
Ahrar. Tahir Kamran offers a different perspective on the party that
was involved in many major political agitations in Punjab during the
late 1920s and 1930s but is often written out of the region’s history.
His study of the Ahrar Party opens up questions of how Islam and
socialist ideas worked together in their discourse. This combination
was reflected in their class makeup and along with their Khilafatist
origins meant that their relationship with the Muslim League was
fraught and for many of the Ahrar leaders an impossibility. This
provides a refreshing relief from histories of Muslim politics in
Punjab that simply focus on the Unionists and the Muslim League.
The next two articles cover communists and socialists during
partition and the first years of Pakistan. Kamran Asdar Ali looks at
debates between Punjabi communists and the irreconcilable factions
that played a part in policy over partition and how to participate in
the Pakistani polity. The relationship between the central leadership
of the Communist Party of India (CPI) and local leaders in Punjab
is crucial here, exemplified by the particular hazards faced by Sajjad
Zaheer during his tenure as a leader. Ali Raza examines the relation-
ship between the Muslim League and the Punjabi communists. His
work reflects on the points of similarity between activists of both par-
ties, their mutual dependence in the years before independence, and
also the cutting of ties when the Muslim League became the party of
power in the new state in 1947. In contrast to Asdar Ali, who draws
on internal party documents to make his case, Raza draws on the
colonial and official archive. In that sense, a rich tapestry is woven
of this period of time from the perspective of the activists and the
state’s response. It is clear from all of the articles in the collection, but
especially from these two that the role of radicals does not depend
on their numerical propensity but rather on their ability to generate
panic and discomfort in the state.
Anushay Malik’s article takes up the story of the Pakistani
Communist party in the first few years of the newly formed state and
crucially locates her narrative at the local level in the city of Lahore.
The erstwhile cultural capital of Punjab and home to many of the
most pronounced political events of the colonial period, Lahore
after partition was a relatively hollow echo of its colonial ‘Coffee
House’ culture of radical intellectuals and anti-British ferment.
Nonetheless, Malik’s account of the Punjab elections of 1951 and
the Rawalpindi Conspiracy illustrate the way in which the Left was
able to maintain its influence despite the activities of an increasingly
hostile state. Relying on memoirs and police reports, a picture of the
closing down of spaces for radical activity emerges. It is only in the
early 1970s, with the emergence of the Mazdoor Kisan Party (MKP),
that the radical left again finds a space in the polity of Punjab. It is
this story that is taken up Kalra and Butt, who look at the mobilis-
ing methods of the MKP when it comes to the issue of language.
Indeed, the ideology of the MKP was clearly inspired by Maoism
and the need to address the peasants and workers in their language,
and this point is explored in the context of Punjab. The imbrication
of culture and politics is addressed by the authors, demonstrating
their practical inseparability in the context of student mobilisation
in the setting of a rural college.
Finally, the last two articles take us away from the Indian sub-
continent. Talvinder Gill writes of the Indian Workers Association
that, from its inception in Coventry in 1938, grew to challenge the
British state and change the history of race relations in Britain. He
describes the activists of the movement as inheritors of the cultural
memory of radicalism in Punjab and their work in fighting to partici-
pate in British unions and give voice to Asian workers a continuance
of that very radicalism. Ben Zachariah ends our collection with a
paper on a person who was a hero to most Punjabi radicals: Lala
Har Dayal, leader of the Ghadar Party. However, his paper chal-
lenges the assumptions and myths that have grown around the figure
of Har Dayal. His article also asks us to rethink the whole genre of
biographical history and give more importance to the contingencies
of exile and location and Har Dayal’s own ideological contradic-
tions rather than cast judgement on his heroic or fickle radicalism.
The articles in this issue narrate the hoops that radicals jumped
through in order to be heard to represent the concerns of their imag-
ined or real constituencies, the workers and peasants of Punjab. Three
articles deal with the trials faced by communists in the early years
of Pakistan. They each emphasise one particular factor that affected
the way communists in Punjab propagated their ideas, namely their
engagement with Islam, the leadership of Sajjad Zaheer and their
being vilified as state enemies by the official leaders of the new
Pakistani nation state. Together the three papers throw light on the
brave new world of the nation and how politics, especially communist
politics, was imagined and practised in this context.
All of the articles have to engage with the language and transla-
tion of radical politics. How is a revolutionary agenda articulated in
the particular contexts of colonial Punjab, Pakistani Punjab and the
diasporic Punjabs of Southall and Coventry? What are the differences
and similarities? Zachariah gives the change in Har Dayal’s location
a significant explanatory role in his ideological shifts. The place of
Kashmir is equally important in explaining the Ahrar’s strategies in
colonial Punjab. Butt and Kalra take this debate to a different level
by focusing on the nature of Punjabi as a medium adopted by the
Left in Punjab. Thus, the emphasis here is not only a translation
of radical ideology but a strengthening and transformation of the
Punjabi language by radical activists and authors who made the
political decision to reconnect with the working classes of Punjab
and recharge the cultural importance of their language.
The definition of a radical that most contributors to this volume
demonstrate is a person who wants to change the status quo, who
does not keep still. Indeed the story of Har Dayal, the intellectual
paragon of the Ghadar Party in California, is told by narrating his
‘trip’ from India to Europe and the United States, fitting the rest-
lessness of the radical. However, as Benjamin Zachariah describes,
Har Dayal’s own political convictions seem to swerve from left to
right, from atheistic to religious and from secular to spiritual almost
arbitrarily. That said, it is perhaps most likely that radical politicians
are informed by some left inspired ideas, either socialist or commu-
nist, and are often those who seek a redistribution of wealth and a
world based on equitable social justice, as a bare minimum of their
political demands. These are the radicals that concern the authors
of this volume. Theirs is a history that has been neglected, but as
the articles in this volume demonstrate, they have changed the way
that politics is imagined and practised in the Punjab. The story of

communists and socialists is not fashionable in our post cold war era.
However, to embark on a life of resistance and often imprisonment
was a choice that many radicals made and stuck with in a world that
often condemned them as aliens or imposters. Major Ishaque died
whilst in prison, Har Dayal was condemned to a life in exile, dying
just after the authorities reneged his debarment, while many unknown
communists and socialists in colonial and post-colonial Punjab
have spent considerable periods of their life either ‘underground’
or incarcerated. It is hoped that this collection of essays will be the
first of many that give voice to these unknown people to understand
why and how they made their choices to intervene in the politics of
Punjab. From the Akali struggle to 1984, from Jallianwala Bagh to
partition, from Civil Liberties Union activity to Punjabi Naxalism,
radicals have been enmeshed in each turning point of the region’s
history, if not at their centre. It is their history that we have set out
to probe and open up for further research.
References
Brass, Paul, Language, Religion and Politics in South Asia, Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1974.
Franda, Markus F., Radical Politics in West Bengal, Cambridge, MA: MIT
Press, 1971.
Grewal, J. S., Sikh Ideology, Polity and Social Order, New Delhi: Manohar,
2007.
Guha, Ranajit, ed., ‘Historiography of Colonial India’, in Subaltern Studies
I: Writings on South Asian History and Society, New Delhi: Oxford
University Press, 1982.
Javed, Ajeet, Left Politics in Punjab: 1935–47, New Delhi: Durga
Publications, 1988.
Malhotra, Anshu and Mir Farina, Punjab Reconsidered: History, Culture,
and Practice, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2012.
Menon, Dilip, Caste, Nationalism and Communism in South Asia: Malabar,
1900–1948, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994.
Nossiter, Thomas Johnson, Communism in Kerala: A Study in Political
Adaptation, London: C. Hurst for the Royal Society of International
Affairs, 1982.
Overstreet, Gene D. and Marshall Windmiller, Communism in India, Los

Angeles, CA: California University Press, 1959.
Pavier, Barry, The Telangana Movement, 1944–1951, New Delhi: Vikas,
1981.
Purewal, Shinder, Sikh Ethnonationalism and the Political Economy of
Punjab, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2000.
———, Communism in Punjab, New Delhi: Ajanta, 1994.
Singh, Gurharpal, Ethnic Conflict in India: A Case Study of Punjab, London:
Palgrave Macmillan, 2000.
Singh, Manjit, The Akali Movement, New Delhi: Macmillan, 1978.
Singh, Surinder and Ishwar, Gaur. Sufism in Punjab: Mystics, Literature
and Shrines, New Delhi: Aakar Books, 2009.
Tan, Tai Yong, ‘Assuaging the Sikhs: Government Responses to the Akali
Movement, 1920–1925’, Modern Asian Studies 29, no. 3 (1995):
655–703.
Wallace, Paul and Surendra Chopra (eds), Political Dynamics and Crisis in
Punjab, Amritsar: Guru Nanak Dev University (GNDU), 1988.
 2
Progressives, Punjab and
Pakistan: The Early Years
Kamran Asdar Ali
B y the mid-1950s, Muslim Nationalism that led to the creation of

Pakistan in 1947 had been severely put to test by nationalistic claims
by Pakistan’s diverse ethnic groups. Foremost among them was the
voice of its Bengali citizens, who as the largest demographic part
claimed its fair share from the overtly centralising state in Karachi,
1,400 miles away from Dhaka. The March 1954 provincial elec-
tions in East Pakistan led to the routing of the Muslim League, the
founding party of Pakistan that had dominated its politics since its
inception. The coming into power in East Bengal of the United Front
government resulted in an upsurge of radical incidents in different
parts of the province. A violent incident that left scores dead in the
Adamjee Jute Mills near Dhaka in May of 1954 became a catalyst
to impose Governor’s rule and the banning of the Communist Party
of Pakistan (CPP). The government said that it had reacted to the
radicalisation of labourers and political workers after the March
elections.1 The CPP had already been weakened since the 1951
attack on it after the Rawalpindi Conspiracy Case, but CPP’s partial
resurgence during the 1954 elections in the shape of activism within
political groups and parties perhaps remained a lingering threat to
the central government in Karachi.
The banning of the CPP was a culmination of a series of undemo-
cratic and authoritarian acts by the central Muslim League govern-
ment. From the very first year of its existence, the ruling elite of
1
A discussion on the riots and its aftermath at the Adamjee Jute Mills in
1954 can be found in American Consul General to Dept. of State, Dacca
Despatch no. 123, 22 May 1954, NND 842909 890d.062. Introduction 13
14 Kamran Asdar Ali
Pakistan remained suspicious of any challenge to its authority. Jinnah

and the Muslim League had brought together a range of interests
and social classes on its side in support for the call for Pakistan. By
avoiding specifics and by not putting forward any concrete economic
programme, the Muslim League had succeeded in appealing to ‘land-
owners, businessmen, lawyers, socialists, intellectuals and the middle
classes’.2 It had also played on the slogan of ‘Islam is in danger’ to
mobilise the more religious groups, the rural masses and of course
those large landowners who were linked with religious authority as
caretakers of Shrines and sacred lineages. However, once Pakistan
was created, the lack of clarity on any social and economic policy
made the governing of the new state a game of political gamesman-
ship where the party continued to manipulate colonial laws and legal
procedures to stay in power.3
Following Jinnah’s death, the Prime Minister, Liaquat Ali Khan,
openly advocated the supremacy of one ruling party and derided
those who opposed the Muslim League as traitors and enemy agents.4
There is no denying that the new state had enormous economic and
social challenges, foremost being the settling of refugees who had
poured into the country, mostly destitute and without resources.
There were secessionist tendencies in the NWFP politics that were
being encouraged by the Afghan government, and the lingering
problem of Kashmir was ever present, making the security of the
country vulnerable. This said, the government relied on public safety
2
Although the Provincial Muslim Leagues of Punjab and Bengal had put
forward progressive manifestos for the 1945–1946 elections. McGrath, The
Destruction of Pakistan’s Democracy, 52–53. Also see, Jalal, The State of
Martial Rule, 62–63.
3
Jinnah himself dismissed to two provincial ministries, one in Sindh and
the other in NWFP, during his brief tenure of over a year in office as Governor
General of Pakistan. During this period, he had consolidated for himself the
position of not only the Governor General, but also as the President of the
legislature. Disregarding the colonial tradition of Governor Generals remain-
ing above every day politics and not accepting cabinet positions, Jinnah not
only handpicked and appointed the entire first Cabinet, over riding the Prime
Minister, he also retained two for himself, that of Evacuation and Refugees
and Frontier Regions. McGrath, The Destruction, 41–42 and Jalal, The State.
4
Jalal, The State, 65–68.
Progressives, Punjab and Pakistan 15
acts from the colonial period and other new draconian measures5 to
keep a check on political opponents. The early history of Pakistan is
clearly littered with disagreements on a range of issues,6 but what may
have brought the landowners, lawyers and the emerging mercantile
elite together was their fear of communist politics that threatened
the status quo and demanded radical change.7 In a developing atmo-
sphere of the Cold War, the bogey of the communist threat was an
easy target for the government to deflect from its shortcomings in
providing the people of Pakistan political stability.
The CPP was founded in Calcutta when in February of 1948 the
Communist Party of India (CPI) held its second Congress. The most
important task performed during the Congress was the shift towards
a more radical political line by the Party and a severe critique of
reformist politics of the Party leadership during most of the 1940s. In
addition, the Congress divided the Party into two constitutive parts,
the CPI would confine its working to the boundaries of the Indian
Union and the post-August 1947 separated territories of Pakistan
would be free to form a different communist party.
After the passing of the Report on Pakistan by the Party Congress,
the delegates from Pakistan met separately and convened the first
Congress of CPP.8 It accepted the Report on Pakistan with amend-
ments and elected its first office bearers. Syed Sajjad Zaheer was
elected the General Secretary. After the Calcutta conference, Zaheer
came to Pakistan as the leader of the nascent party and his name did
not appear again on the CPI’s central committee list.9
5
For example, Public and Representatives Offices (Disqualification) Act,
also known as PRODA, which was introduced by the Liaquat Government.
6
By the end of 1949, there were 21 new political parties mostly consisting
of Muslim League dissenters. See note 4 above, page 64.
7
Ibid., 53.
8
Among the delegates to the Congress were three from West Pakistan,
Mohammad Hussein Ata from NWFP, Eric Cyprian from Punjab and
Jalaluddin Bukhari from Sind. There were 32 delegates from East Bengal,
including Kalpana Dutt and Khokar Roy. The discrepancy in numbers of
delegates were perhaps because crossing borders between West Pakistan
and India even in February 1948 was dangerous because of the lingering
effect of the partition riots.
9
The CPP was organised for West Pakistan, and the East Bengal CP was
still under the direction of the West Bengal Party. Chief Event in Past History
of Communist Party of Pakistan. Public Record Office, D0 35/2591.
16 Kamran Asdar Ali
This article partly follows Sajjad Zaheer’s career (1948–1955) in

Pakistan to focus on specific events in the early years of Pakistan’s
existence as they pertain to the communist movement in Pakistan’s
Punjab. It will initially discuss CPI’s argument on the Muslim ques-
tion as it evolved during the 1940s and then briefly give an overview
of CPI’s coalition with the Muslim League during the 1945–1946
elections.
To be sure, this article does not dwell on the pre-partition pro-
gressive politics in Punjab, but rather concentrates on aspects of
Communist politics in Pakistan’s early history, a historical process
that has not received much attention by historians and the public
alike. It shows how the CPP with its new ‘immigrant’ leadership
consolidated itself in Lahore and conducted politics under conditions
of extreme surveillance and attack from the Pakistani state. Further,
this article argues that as much as the communists provided for a
different vision for the future, there were simultaneous internal ten-
sions on policy issues within the party itself.
In its critical engagement with particular events during Pakistan’s
early years of existence, this article is part of a larger attempt to
document the history of the working class movement that offers a
perspective beyond the official retelling of Pakistan’s history. The aim
here is not to rehearse the more prevalent discussions on Pakistan’s
founding moments, arguments linked to Muslim Nationalism, the
refugee question or that of Kashmir. Rather by concentrating on
the internal debates within the CPP, it will bring forward events
and voices that have remained inaudible or suppressed in history
writing on Pakistan.10 Hence, this article necessarily links itself to a
recuperative history of various struggles and political aspirations of
Pakistani people and challenges the pre-dominant representation of
Pakistan in academic writings, such as the continuous discussions on
South Asian Muslim nationalism linked to Islam and Urdu language.
10
However, see Ansari, The Emergence of Socialist Thought, for a
selective understanding of Muslim progressives and their role in the national
movement. Leghari, The Socialist Movement. Unpublished PhD thesis, Laval
University, Montreal. This text is to date the only comprehensive attempt
at the history of the Left in Pakistan, yet it remains unpublished. Finally
also see, Malik, ‘The Marxist Literary Movement in India and Pakistan’,
649–64, for a detailed discussion on the politics of the Progressive Writer’s
Movement during Pakistan first 20 years.
The Muslim Question
By the early 1940s, the CPI had taken a major position on the
Muslim question in India and drew a connection linking the Muslim
League’s demand for a separate state to the ultimate independence
from colonialism. Unlike the Indian National Congress, that was
opposed to the division of British India almost until the partition
of the territory itself, the CPI in a plenary session of the Central
Committee in 1942 passed a resolution based on the report by G.
Adhikari to accept the Muslim separatist position within its thesis
of legitimate right of the multiple peoples of the territory (British
India) to secede from the Union.11
The thesis on self-determination of different nationalities and
the acceptance, in principle at least, of the right to secede from the
Indian Union was a bold departure from the arguments that the
Party itself had adhered to in the past. The right of people living in
contiguous territories to create autonomous states if they so desired
clearly signalled an acceptance for Muslim separatism, which a year
later the Party openly supported as evidenced by the writing of Sajjad
Zaheer, then a member of the Central Committee. Zaheer, in a pam-
phlet on Congress-League Unity, forcefully argued that the case for
Muslim self-determination and for Pakistan was a just, progressive
and positive expression of Muslim political sentiments.12 Similarly,
in November of 1945, the Communist Party’s journal, People’s
War, published an article by N.K. Krishnan that followed Adhikari’s
argument on the social and political backwardness of Muslims in
11
Dr. Gangadhar Adhikari, one of the pioneer members of the Communist
Party of India, was member of the Politburo 1943–1951 while also serving
on the Central Committee during that period. See Adhikari, Pakistan and
Indian National Unity, 5–32.
12
Zaheer, A Case for Congress-League Unity. This argument may, how-
ever, be a bit different from the one made by Adhikari. In the Adhikari report,
Muslims were not given a status of nationality, and it was understood that
Muslims constitute the numerical majority among some nationalities, like
the Baluch, Pathans, Sindhis and so on. Adhikari argued against recognising
Hindus or Muslims as nationalities, rather by giving all nationalities the
right to secede the idea was that the various national groups would come
together as a commonwealth. Zaheer’s point may be a later evolution of
the discussion on the Muslim question within the CPI.
18 Kamran Asdar Ali
relation to their Hindu neighbours. Krishnan gives examples of how

Hindus dominate the industries and big capital and also are the
large feudal landowners in Punjab and Bengal. Yet the article goes
beyond Adhikari’s argument in supporting the cause of Pakistan. For
Krishnan although there were differences with the Muslim League,
the CPI still needed to support the creation of Pakistan as this would
enable the Muslim masses to attain equality, freedom and justice. In
solidarity with the call for Muslim self-determination, the article rhe-
torically calls the demand for Pakistan as a demand for freedom that
is equal to the demand for India’s independence from the British.13
Following this argument, indeed the Communist Party’s manifesto
for the 1945–1946 elections demanded immediate independence and
transfer of power to not only two governments (India and Pakistan),
but to 17 interim ‘sovereign’ national assemblies that corresponded
to different nationalities that had been defined by the party in 1942
and now also included Baluchis as an additional national group.14
Hence, in a matter of less than five years, the CPI had moved from a
position of considering India as a single nation to a policy of national
self-determination in a multi-national India culminating in the right
of all nationalities to secede from the union and create their own
sovereign states.
The Communists and Pre-independence Punjab
Given CPI’s changed position on the Muslim question, the Party

encouraged its members to work closely with the Muslim League to
organise for the 1945–1946 elections.15 In Punjab, the Unionist party
had remained influential in politics in the inter-war period during the
early part of the 20th century. The Unionist party mainly represented
the interests of the landed gentry and landlords of Punjab, which
included Muslims, Hindus and Sikhs. The Muslim leadership of
13
Krishnan, N.K. People’s War, Supplement 18 November 1945. Quoted
in Leghari, The Socialist Movement. Unpublished PhD Thesis, Laval
University, Montreal, Canada. See page 14.
14
Overstreet and Windmiller, Communism in India, 231.
15
In December 1945 and January 1946, there were elections for the
Central and Provincial Legislature in which all political parties participated
with much enthusiasm.
the Party — Mian Fazl-i-Hussain and then Sir Sikandar Hayat and
Sir Khizir Tiwana — although sympathetic to the Muslim League,
ruled Punjab through alliances with the Congress and with the Sikh
party, the Akali Dal. Despite these broad coalitions, by 1946, the
Muslim League had become a major player in Punjab politics. For
the 1945–1946 elections, rather than appeal to ideological sentiments
linked to Islam to garner support, the Muslim League used the same
networks of clan and lineage that had been a Unionist hallmark in ear-
lier years. The large Muslim landowners and Sufi leaders of Punjab,
who had previously provided the backbone of the Unionist alliance
with Hindu and Sikh landowning elite, jumped ship and sided with
the Muslim League during these crucial elections. However, there was
also a groundswell of popular rural and middle class support for the
Muslim League from quarters that were not even eligible to vote.16
The rural enthusiasm for Muslim League may partly be due to
the hard work of the communist cadres who joined in the effort
for League’s electoral victory. This cooperation was most evident
in the Punjab where the League sought to distance itself from the
ruling Unionists and worked hard to gain the rural Muslim vote.
Muslim communists like Danial Latifi, Ataullah Jehanian, Chaudhary
Rehmatullah, Anis Hashmi, Abdullah Malik, Mian Ifitikharuddin
and others joined the Muslim League and assisted in its contact with
the peasantry and working class and helped in organising and publi-
cising the League’s election programme.17 Activists like Jehanian and
Iftikharuddin were land owners, but had joined Congress Committees
of their respective districts in the 1930s.
Jehanian was the general secretary of the Multan district Congress
Committee. He joined the Communist Party during his 1940–1942
detention at Deoli camp. He was extremely popular among peasants
and was elected as the first Muslim general secretary of the Punjab
Kisan Committee.18 Iftikharuddin, who later on served as the pub-
lisher of Pakistan Times and Imroze, two progressive newspapers
in post-independence Pakistan and as a member of the Constituent
Assembly, had joined the Congress Party in the 1930s. He was active
16
See Talbot, Pakistan.
17
Leghari, The Socialist Movement, 27–32.
18
Grande, Communist and the Pakistan Movement in Punjab Province.
Unpublished manuscript. See page 12.
20 Kamran Asdar Ali
in the Kisan front and was instrumental in founding the Congress

Socialist Party in 1938. He was, however, ‘persuaded’ to resign as
the President of the Punjab Congress Party by his friends in the com-
munist party and made to join Muslim League to further the CPI’s
agenda of Muslim self-determination.19
Among this group of communist party members and sympathis-
ers, Danial Latifi, who has had a brilliant career as a constitutional
lawyer in India, became the office secretary of the provincial Muslim
League headquarters in Punjab and drafted the Provincial Muslim
League Manifesto in 1944. From the Muslim League side, younger
leaders like Mumtaz Daulatana (who was supported by the com-
munists in his election to become the general secretary of the Punjab
Muslim League) and Nawab Iftikhar Husain Khan of Mamdot,
although scions of feudal families, encouraged the alliance as the
communists assisted them in undermining the hold of the Unionists
on rural Punjab.20 The manifesto itself, as David Gilmartin suggests,
was an attempt at radically transforming the relationship between a
future state and the masses. It primarily concentrated on rural reform,
and in a communist influenced progressive language, the manifesto
guaranteed state protection to the peasants against the excesses of
feudal power. It remains one of the most progressive documents of
Muslim League’s pre-Independence history. The document asks for
state planning of the economy with nationalisation of key industries
and banks, full employment in the industrial sector with minimum
wage guarantees, right to strike and acceptance of collective bargain-
ing agents. In the rural areas, it speaks for the landless peasant and
the small land holders and pushes for debt relief and ownership of
19
Sibte Hasan in his essays on Sajjad Zaheer details how Zaheer forced
Iftiharrudin to resign. Iftikharuddin was very close to Nehru and to
Maulan Azad, and he was a nationalist and did not agree with Muslim
League’s politics, which he thought of being led in most part by feudals
and communalists. Yet he was under the ideological influence of the CPI
leadership and specially Zaheer who according to Sibte Hasan would taunt
Iftikharuddin of being an anarchist by temperament and not able to follow
party discipline. He also would speak about how Iftikharuddin’s reluctance
to resign from Congress was because he would lose contact with his more
famous friends like Nehru, Gandhi and Azad. See Hasan, Mughani-e-Atish-e
Nafs, 39–40.
20
Gilmartin, Empire and Islam, 192–98.
state land by landless peasants, while arguing for progressive taxa-

tion on larger holdings.21
Hence, through their alliance with the League, the communists
sought to raise consciousness among the Muslim peasantry, an area
that they had not had much earlier success in, while the Muslim
League itself in the mid-1940s benefitted from communist work
among the peasantry and strengthened its own secular appeal among
a large section of the Muslim masses.
Notwithstanding the progressive manifesto in Punjab or the hard
work performed by the communists for the League, the long term
effects of this collaboration did not produce the structural trans-
formation that the communists were pushing for. The weakness of
the communist movement in the area itself and the forms in which
Muslim League manipulated the situation in its favour by using the
communist connections to create a mass base, but eventually not
allowing communist sympathisers any formal position in the party,
inevitably created misgivings towards the League among the CPI
members.22
The Reversal and Partition
Despite the desire to work within the League, by the mid-1940s,

there were other competing and vocal tendencies that shaped CPI’s
outlook on partition of British India and the Muslim League. In
a paper on the Cabinet Mission,23 Rajani Palme Dutt, the British
Communist leader and influential journalist who also served as the
principal advisor to Indian communist politics, emphasized that
‘the unity of India is desirable from a progressive point of view and
21
See notes 17 above, page 28. Also see Gilmartin. Empire for detailed
discussion.
22
Ibid. Based on interviews with communists who participated in the
Punjab movement in the 1940s, Leghari argues that they felt rejected when
prominent communist workers in the Muslim League like Ataullah Jehanian
were not given party tickets during the 1946 elections. Work with the
Muslim League aided some CPI members to either leave the Communist
Party or become more firmly entrenched in Muslim League politics in the
post-partition years.
23
Sent in February 1946 by the new Labour Government of Britain, headed
by Clement Atlee, to work out a formula for India’s eventual independence.
22 Kamran Asdar Ali
partition would be a reactionary step’.24 He went on to argue that

the slogan of Pakistan was not one of national self-determination,
but of Muslim separatism. However, he conceded that the issue is
an internal matter for the Indian people to settle and the resolution
could take into account the principle of national self-determination as
applied in the Soviet Union. Recognition of this principle, including
the right to secession, however, does not mean, Palme Dutt asserted,
that separation is desirable.25
Still later in August of 1946, the CPI issued a resolution, which
while asserting that the Muslim League represents the bulk of the
Muslim masses, as evidenced by its victory in the 1945–1946 elec-
tion in which it won all Muslim seats to the central legislature (30)
and 447 of the 507 Muslim seats in the provincial assemblies, the
CPI distanced itself from Muslim League’s demand for Pakistan.
It declared that the demand reflected the feudal and Muslim elite
interests that sought to compromise with imperialism for a share in
administering divided India.26 Further, the Party acknowledged that
unlike the Congress, the Left in the Muslim League was very weak
and asked the League to abandon its bargaining tactics with Congress
on its demands and unconditionally join the common struggle against
the British presence and the princely states.27 Following Rajani Palme
Dutt, the resolution argued that the masses that support the Indian
National Congress are correctly against the division of the country
on a religious and undemocratic basis and want a single union.28
To be sure, the CPI was critical of both the Congress and the
Muslim League for accepting the partition plan.29 Yet, it was at least
clear in CPI’s analysis that Congress’ ‘compromise’ on partition was
more to retain control of the pre-independence popular upsurge
by bargaining with the British, while the Muslim League had been
24
Palme Dutt, A New Chapter in Divide and Rule, 13.
25
Ibid., 15.
26
This section on the ‘August Resolution’ is from For the Final Assault:
Tasks of the Indian People in the Present Phase of Indian Revolution,
1946, Bombay: People’s Publishing House. Reprinted in Documents of the
Communist Party of India, Volume 5, 103–27.
27
Ibid., 120–21.
28
Ibid., 103–27.
29
Palme Dutt, A New Chapter in Divide and Rule.
a lackey of the British by forcefully demanding the division of the

country on a religious basis and hence weakening the progressive
forces of united India. I would emphasize that although the CPI
finally accepted the creation of Pakistan by arguing for the division
of the Party itself, the deep suspicion of Muslim League’s politics
and the agony over British India’s division was the overwhelming
sentiment that was shared by a majority of Party workers of all
religions and ethnicities. Pakistan’s creation was, according to the
CPI, non-progressive and hence reactionary.30
The Party Line in Pakistan
It is by now well known that the violence that followed the Partition
of British India was unprecedented in its scale and method.31 In
the summer and autumn of 1947, Punjab burned as millions were
uprooted from the ancestral lands and forced to flee across the newly
formed borders to previously unknown areas. It was a catastrophe
that incorporated killings, arson, disappearances, and rape. Entire
communities which until recently had lived together had turned
against one another and the carnage that followed had undermined
long held practices of shared existence and tolerance. The CPI in its
communiqués during that time32 vehemently condemned the killing
and held the British responsible for the breakdown in the law and
order situation. The CPI argued that the British had instituted gov-
ernor rule in the Punjab province five months before the division of
the country, and hence its security services and bureaucracy should
have been prepared for all eventualities and not allowed religious
extremists on all sides of the political spectrum to take advantage of
the situation. This partition violence, according to the Party, was a
conspiracy to weaken the newly emergent nations and for creating
discord amongst its people at the moment of independence. The Party
also blamed the extremists on both sides, the rulers of Princely states,
the large landowners and industrialists. All of whom for personal
30
See Dyakov, A New British, 14–15.
31
Pandey, Gyanendra, Remembering Partition.
32
Secretary Communist Party 1947. Zaghmi Punjab Ki Faryad (Wounded
Punjab’s Plea), Lahore: Qaumi Dar-ul-Isha’t. Extracts from Naya Zamana,
7 September 1947.
24 Kamran Asdar Ali
gain gave support to communalist tendencies and stoked the fire

of hatred. The Party praised the national level leadership of Indian
National Congress and the Muslim League who in their statements
and actions sought to stop the violence.
This violence had also taken its toll on the Communist movement
in Western Punjab. Different estimates are given for the pre-partition
Party strength in the region, and an unreliable figure of 10,000
is sometimes used out of which almost 90 per cent left for India.
Irrespective of the actual counts, the communist workers that were
left in Pakistan were much less in number (perhaps less than 50), less
trained and limited in experience than those Sikh and Hindu cadres
who had migrated.33
Sajjad Zaheer, the secretary general of the new party, belonged
to a very prominent, educated and respected Muslim family from
the United Provinces of the Owadh area. His father Sir Syed Wazir
Hasan was once the Chief Justice in Owadh, and his brother Ali
Zaheer was the first Indian Ambassador after independence to
Indonesia.34 Sajjad Zaheer had come to Pakistan in December of
1947, soon after the violence had subsided, as a central committee
member of the CPI to organise the remaining cadres in the newly
formed state. Zaheer toured the country to generate interest among
Party members who were still present. He came again in May of
1948, this time to lead the CPP.
On his arrival Zaheer opted to make the party headquarters in
Lahore as some of his closest associates, the poet Faiz Ahmed Faiz
and the Punjab Muslim League leader Mian Iftikharuddin, were
based in Lahore.35 In addition to Zaheer, other Muslim cadres were
33
See, note 17 above, page 35.
34
See, Chief Event in Past History of Communist Party of Pakistan.
Public Record Office, D035/2591. It goes to Zaheer’s credit that he never
used his family’s influence and wealth for his personal gains. Even during
moments of extreme financial burdens that the family faced during Zaheer’s
time in Pakistan and after his return to India in the mid-1950s, he seldom
received (or asked for) assistance from his more well off relatives. A glimpse
of this relationship can be gauged from Zaheer’s youngest daughter, Noor’s
memoirs. See Zaheer, Mere Hisse Ki Roshnai.
35
Surprisingly enough a person whom Zaheer also saw at a regular basis
was Nawabzada Imtiaz Ali Khan, the first cousin of the Prime Minister,
Liaquat Ali Khan. The Nawabzada was a friend from Zaheer’s Oxford days
sent to Pakistan by the CPI leadership to take charge of the com-

munist movement. Indeed, the CPP’s Political Bureau in late 1948
constituted of Sajjad Zaheer, Sibte Hasan and Ishfaque Baig. These
were highly educated men from Urdu speaking North Indian ashraf
(respectable elite)36 who, in many cases, had university degrees from
Europe and possessed previous experience of urban and cosmopolitan
life. However, all had minimum cultural or social understanding of
or political experience among the working class masses within the
territories that became Pakistan. They arrived in a Pakistan where
the majority of the population was rural, the level of industrialisation
was low and the labour was ethnically diverse and non-organised.37
In Pakistan, Zaheer followed the political thesis laid out in
Calcutta. At the Calcutta Congress, the Report on Pakistan38 was
presented by Bhowani Sen,39 who elaborated on the trends of discus-
sion on the Pakistan question within the Party. After putting forward
the two opinions, one that emphasised that the Indian union was
progressive and considered Pakistan politically reactionary, while
the other that held the creation of Pakistan as an advance in Muslim
freedom from the yoke of Hindu domination, Bhowani Sen gave
his own analysis of the situation. He argued that both India and
Pakistan were dominated by reactionary capitalists and landlords
who were collaborating with imperialists. He went on to criticise
how the Muslim League had propagated the false theory of Hindu
domination to retain the vested interest of Muslim elite against its
richer and more powerful Hindu competitors. To achieve this goal,
and remained loyal to him during the entire Lahore period without officially
joining the Communist Party.
36
See note 17 above, page 45–73.
37
Pakistan in 1947 had an estimated industrial workforce of about
480,000 within a total population of 75 millions in both wings. See Amjad,
Labour Legislation and Trade Unionism in India and Pakistan, 67.
38
See Report on Pakistan, Review of the Second Congress of the
Communist Party of India, 757–61. Documents of the Communist Party of
India. Vol. 5 (1997). Calcutta: National Book Agency.
39
Bhowani Sen was a major figure in the Bengal Communist Party, he was
re-elected to the Central Committee during the 1948 Congress and was also
elected to the Polit Bureau. He was considered one of B.T. Ranadive’s (who
would become the general secretary of CPI during the Calcutta Congress)
chief lieutenants.
26 Kamran Asdar Ali
Sen continued, the Muslim league channelled the anti-imperialist

momentum of the poor Muslim masses toward communal politics
and played in the hands of imperialist forces that wanted to keep
both Muslims and Hindus enslaved. Hence, in his opinion, the central
task of communist movements in India and in Pakistan was identical,
to radically change the existing social order and struggle toward the
creation of people’s democratic states in both countries.
This of course was the period (1948–1950) of the radical turn
within the CPI under B.T. Ranadive’s, the newly elected General
Secretary of CPI, leadership. Ranadive had argued for a revolutionary
strategy, which sought to bring people together to launch a massive
struggle against bourgeois forces and the Congress led government
in India (or the Muslim League in Pakistan). The Party envisaged
a People’s Democratic Revolution based on the alliance, led by the
working class and the communist party, of the workers, the peas-
antry, the progressive intellectuals and the petit bourgeoisie. This
‘democratic front’ would form the basis of the new future governance
by the toiling masses after the eventual overthrow of the current
system.40 The radical line postulated that the spontaneous industrial
strikes and militant peasant struggles (like the one in Telangana) over
the entire country would enable the disillusioned masses to join the
struggle leading to a mass upsurge. The rank and file members of the
party were ordered to radicalise every political front with the hope
that this would serve as a catalyst for an insurrectionary action by
the people. Hence, working class workers and peasants from a range
of different parts of the country were encouraged to face the brunt
of state repression. They were also asked to follow the example of
the peasant movement in Telangana.41
40
Three major documents were produced to defend this new policy.
‘People’s Democracy’, ‘Agrarian Question’ and ‘Tactical Line’; a complete
discussion of these texts is beyond the parameters set out for this article.
See Documents of the Communist Party of India (1997). Letter of the New
Central Committee of the CPI Volume VI, 105–41.
41
Telangana movement was of course historically specific and was the
culmination of long term work among the peasants by communist and
radical workers. Further, the various cross cutting forces vying for power
in the area allowed the peasant movement to become an armed rebellion.
For example, after the transfer of power by the British, there was a tussle
between the Nizam of Hyderabad (the area in which Telangana is located)
Following Ranadive’s thesis, during the years 1948–1951 when he

managed the CPP, Zaheer was extremely critical of even the slightest
deviation from Party policy. Zaheer’s attitude toward Pakistan and
the Muslim League initially reflected CPI’s radical line, which also
saw the need for the Muslim masses to be made conscious of their
nationalistic and historic duty and be wrenched away from their
communally minded feudal Muslim League leadership. Hence, the
militancy in his letters to Party comrades was represented often with
dictatorial language, giving much importance to the dissemination
of the Party literature, opposition to the Muslim League leaders (he
calls them downright scoundrels) and the building of open political
front linked to other progressive forces in the country.
The anti Muslim League politics was further complicated by CPP’s
own assessment of Pakistan’s political and economic situation. It
based its class analysis for a revolutionary change on the argument
that Pakistan was a capitalist country where socialism was the next
step, and hence the intensification of the struggle against capital-
ism was a necessary revolutionary goal. This argument was clearly
reflected in Sajjad Zaheer’s message — which was read out — to
the first All Pakistan Progressive Writers (APPWA) Association’s
conference held in Lahore in November of 1949, a year after his
arrival in Pakistan. In addressing the assembled writers and intel-
lectuals, he argues:
We can only call that literature successful, that knowledge true know-
ledge, that art real art which benefits the tree of humanity, which
and the Central Indian State. There was also an anti Nizam movement within
the Princely state by nationalists and a Razakar movement in support of
Nizam’s rule and against the encroachment of the Nizam’s state by the Indian
dominion. Finally, there was the struggle against the local Deshmukh’s (the
name for large landlords in the area) by the peasantry. Taking advantage of
these competing and at times overlapping movements, the peasantry of the
area forcefully asserted itself for land rights. These same conditions did not
prevail in other parts of India, yet the Ranadive Line called for insurrection
in India and named it the ‘Telangana Way’. Chaudari, Tridb (1950). The
Swing Back: A Critical Survey of the Devious Zig Zags of the CPI Political
Line (1947–1950). Marxist Internet Archive. Chapter, Since Calcutta Thesis,
accessed 15 April 2011. http:// www.marxists.org/archive/chaudhuri/1950/
swing-back/ch02.htm
28 Kamran Asdar Ali
soldiers against capitalist violence and oppression and is a blessing for

the working class, one which enlightens the minds of the oppressed
classes and fills their hearts with passion and courage to speed up the
path toward social evolution and democratic revolution.42
In addition to the rhetorical and polemical flourish of his speech,

Zaheer goes on to state that to accomplish this task, intellectuals,
artists and writers need to forsake all their middle class behaviours
that enable them to follow the dictates of the capitalists and the feu-
dals. Rather, his advice to the writers is that they should be ready to
accept economic, material and bodily pain and also be prepared to
struggle against bourgeois and retrogressive ideas that they harbour
within themselves. These ideals, Zaheer argues, have been inherited
by the middle class writers as the elites have tried to use to keep us
away from revolutionary thought and practice. Hence, the ruling
classes sometimes in guise of spiritualism and at others in the form
of moralistic arguments or nationalism seek try to placate our senses.
He says that these arguments are mere fronts to hide the exploita-
tion and oppression of the capitalistic and feudalistic systems. Yet,
according to Zaheer, in the present moment of history, the industrial
workers are uniting all the socially oppressed classes to lead them
in the revolutionary struggle against capitalism and imperialism.
This was Zaheer’s analysis of the situation in Pakistan as well, and
he elaborated on this in the rest of his message by emphasising how
owing to the Russian revolution, the spread of communism in Eastern
Europe, the recent victory of communist forces in China, the day
was not far that the industrial working class in India and Pakistan
would be victorious against the entrenched capitalist system (and
their feudal allies) who were being supported by the US and British
imperialists.43
The emphasis on Pakistan being at a level of ‘social evolution’
where it could be counted as being a capitalist country with a large
working class, and the struggle was for the next stage of socialist
transformation may have been a rhetorical ploy to energise the vari-
ous mass fronts, like the APPWA. Despite this rhetoric, it was evident
to Zaheer and others in the leadership of the Party that Pakistan
42
Zaheer, Sajaad, 1949, Paighamat (Messages), Sawera (Lahore) number
7–8, 10–12.
43
Ibid.
at independence was primarily a rural country and an agrarian

economy. Pakistan at its independence had 9–10 per cent of British
India’s industrial base and only 7 per cent of its population was
employed in the formal work sector.44 It can be ascertained that in late
1940s, the Party itself had not developed its own Pakistan strategy
and mostly based its analysis on the ‘Report on Pakistan’ that was
presented in the Calcutta Congress. There was an urgent need in the
Party to come up with a Pakistan-specific thesis that could elaborate
on what was the actual strength of the Pakistani bourgeoisie, its links
with the Anglo-American capital and also the effects of the war and
post-war economic crisis on the peasantry.
Purging the ‘Punjabis’
The Party headquarters for the Punjab Communist Party had already
been established at 114 McCleod Road, Lahore. This building
belonged to the daughter of Mian Fazl-i-Hussain, the deceased
Unionist leader; the CPI in Punjab had rented it from her with the
help of Faiz Ahmed Faiz in the early 1940s.45 One of the first tasks
that Zaheer put to himself was the reorganising of the Party structure
and the formation of the West Pakistan Regional Committee, the
Provincial Committees and the District Organising Committees. In
addition to the original members that formed the Central Committee
after the Calcutta Congress, Sajjad Zaheer, Muhammad Hussain
Ata, Jalaludin Bokhari, and Mirza Ibrahim, six more members were
added: Shaukat Ali (Punjab), C.R Aslam (Punjab), Mirza Ishfaque
Baig (Centre), Ziarat Gul (NWFP), Abdul Khaliq Azad and Hasan
Nasir (both from Sind). This regional committee initially served as
the new Central Committee; while Zaheer, Shaukat Ali and Ishfaque
Baig constituted the new Central Secretariat, Zaheer, Baig and Sibte
Hasan formed the Politbureau.46 It is clear that Zaheer kept his most
trusted colleagues from his Bombay days, Ishfaque and Sibte Hasan,
44
See note 4 above, page 64.
45
Fazle Hussain was the founder of the Unionist Party in Punjab. His
daughter was married to Manzur Qadir, a constitutional lawyer and one time
Pakistani Foreign Minister in the Ayub Cabinet; he was also Chief Justice of
the Punjab High Court in the 1960s. Also see Interview with C. R. Aslam,
Atish Biyan (weekly), Volume 12(13), 22 May 2000.
46
Ali, Mian Anwer, 218.
30 Kamran Asdar Ali
close to him in the Party hierarchy. Despite criticism of favouring

people who had come from India, it also needs to be stressed that
Lahore was a new place and also an entirely new cultural milieu for
Zaheer, and he needed to rely on people whom he could trust and
work with to perform his task.
Historically, Punjab had several peasant-based organisations
and some had over the years come under the CPI’s influence. For
example, in Punjab since the 1920s, there were Ghadar Party influ-
enced peasant and workers groups.47 The most prominent among
them were the Kirti-Kisaan Party (peasant-workers party), the Kisan
Sabha and Naujawan Bharat Sabha. Most had a large percentage of
Sikh membership, and they also dominated the leadership positions,
although they were 14 per cent of Punjab’s population, in relation to
56 per cent Muslims and 26 per cent Hindu. In the early 1940s, two
dominant tendencies of left activism, primarily the factions in the
Kirti Party in Punjab, had been brought together by the CPI head-
quarters in Bombay to constitute the Communist Party of Punjab.
The Provincial Communist Party in Punjab by 1947, however, still
had two dominant groups. These factions were led by Teja Singh
Swatantar and Sohan Singh Josh, respectively, and included promi-
nent Muslim communists like Ferozuddin Mansoor and Fazal Elahi
Qurban within its fold.48
By mid 1947, the difference between Teja Singh faction, which
included Qurban, and that of Sohan Singh (which was more closely
aligned with the CPI central leadership and had Mansoor in its ranks)
became more acute. Iqbal Leghari, based on interviews with some
of the actors involved in the split, argues that Teja Singh Swatantar
47
The Ghadar Party was formed by migrant Sikh workers in the United
States who during the early years of WWI decided to come back to India
and overthrow the British government by violent means.
48
Mansoor and Qurban had left British India in 1919 after the demoralising
affect at the defeat of Turkey in WWI and the end of the Khilafat movement.
They went to Afghanistan and from there to Tashkent, where they were given
military training in a school organised by M.N. Roy with Soviet assistance.
Mansoor who came back to India in 1921 was arrested and convicted on
conspiracy charges. But Qurban went on to attend the Moscow University
of Eastern Toilers and did not return unitl 1926, when he was promptly
arrested (Leghari 1979, 24 also see Overstreet and Windmiller).
and Fazal Elahi Qurban were against the central leadership of the
CPI about the change of position on the Pakistan question. The new
Party position under P.C. Joshi (prior to the Calcutta Conference)
which considered Muslim League and its demand for Pakistan as
reactionary was resisted by Qurban in his discussions with Ajoy
Ghosh, who was the central leader in-charge for Punjab. When the
central party leadership did not pay heed to their arguments, Qurban
and Swatantar along with their colleagues decided to form an inde-
pendent Pakistan Communist Party in June of 1947, basing it on the
old thesis of national self determination of the Muslim populace.49
The Bombay based CPI took serious note of this disciplinary
breach and immediately made preparations to sideline the new party
from its remaining cadres in West Pakistan. Ajoy Kumar Ghosh, a
member of the Central Committee of the CPI and, as mentioned
above, in-charge for Punjab, came to Pakistan in October of 1947
and reorganised the various provincial committees that had been
left leaderless due to the migration of most non-Muslim members,
the majority. In Punjab, the provincial committee consisted of
Mirza Mohammad Ibrahim, Shaukat Ali, Chaudhary Rahmatullah,
Ferozuddin Mansoor, and Eric Cyprian. Because of the differences
with the Swatantar group, the name of Fazal Elahi Qurban, one of the
senior most party members in the province, was left out of this list.
Further, keeping in mind the opposition to the central party’s view
on the division of British India among some members of the Punjab
(and Sind) party, it may be possible that Sajjad Zaheer’s election as
the leader for the newly formed West Pakistan party had already
been decided before the Calcutta Congress by the CPI in India.
Hence, the number of delegates was kept at a minimum from this
part of Pakistan, only three as opposed to more than 30 from East
Bengal. Soon after Calcutta Congress, on 18 March 1948, Qurban
was presented with a chargesheet that expelled him from the com-
mon membership of the party. The signature on the document was
of Ferozuddin Mansoor, a rival of Qurbans in Punjab’s communist
politics, yet also his comrade during their travels in the Soviet Union
49
They rented a house on Montgomery Road in Lahore, an address
distinct from the one used by the CPI on Macleod Road. See note 17 above,
page 34–36. Also see Communism and Communist Activities in Pakistan
(10 October 1949, Communism in West Punjab. PRO FO-1110/210).
32 Kamran Asdar Ali
earlier in the 20th century. With the removal of Qurban, Zaheer could
now come to Pakistan as the only legitimate leader of the new Party.
The chargesheet50 itself is an interesting document that rhetorically
invoked the new Ranadive line of the CPI, but primarily concerned
itself with the formation of a new Pakistan Communist Party by
Qurban and Swatantar. In the chargesheet, Qurban is accused of
siding with the Swatantar faction who on reaching India had already
flaunted the authority of the CPI by organising a new communist
party by the name of Red Flag Communist Party in Jullundhar. The
chargesheet continuously reprimands Qurban for not following
party discipline by associating himself with Swatantar, who is called
a traitor, anti party and antiworking class. Qurban is also accused
of calling his dispute with the central committee as only technical in
nature as it was a quarrel between two factions within the Punjab
communist movement. After this main charge, several points are
added that further accuse Qurban of facilitating dissension in the
party ranks and among the trade union workers close to the party.
The chargesheet calls Qurban a malicious liar as he is alleged to
have told workers of the Attock Oil Company in Rawalpindi that
the communists were allied to the CPI and were working as 5th
columnists for India, seeking to break Pakistan into pieces. Qurban
is then compared to Teja Singh Swatantar and told that his activi-
ties are exactly similar to that of Teja Singh, which could lead to
collaboration with communal and reactionary forces to disrupt the
revolutionary people’s movement.
These were extremely serious charges addressed to one of the most
senior Muslim party members in the newly formed state. Despite his
two long rebuttals of the charges against him, Fazal Elahi Qurban
was expelled by the CPI and a circular was sent out in October of
1948 to all party members with Sajjad Zaheer’s signature as General
Secretary attesting to the dismissal.
Qurban in his defence uses the rhetorical ploy of denying all
charges and then pleads for inclusion in the Party recalling his 27
years of service to the cause. In this sense he was correct, as he was
senior to all who had come from India to take on the leadership
and also to most who were already working in Pakistan after the
50
The following discussion is based on seized communist party documents
reproduced in Anwer Ali, M. The Communist Party, 7–17.
departure of other senior Hindu and Sikh members. He also criticised

the Party leadership for not giving him a fair hearing and a chance
to plead his case. Qurban argues that his expulsion is like a death
sentence to him, and it has been carried out in an arbitrary fashion
without any regard to his seniority and service to the Party itself. In
both his responses, one as an answer to the chargesheet and the other
a letter in Urdu to Sajjad Zaheer, Qurban retains a veiled criticism
of the Calcutta Congress as being undemocratic and representing a
clique within the Party. In his responses, he resists his expulsion by
decree and calls for a meeting of all the members of the Party so that
the decision could be made in a transparent fashion as he deserved
this hearing after his long dedication to Party. He also reiterates
that sane communists in Pakistan wanted an independent Pakistan
Communist Party, which should work with all democratic minded
and progressive elements to form a real Democratic Government in
Pakistan. Here again, he was forwarding a criticism of CPI’s line
on radicalising the movement. Qurban’s removal did indeed pave
the way for Zaheer to establish his authority on the fractured and
demoralised communist party in Pakistan’s early years. However,
he continued to receive internal pressure from comrades like Eric
Cyprian and Mirza Ibrahim, who had a longer history in Lahore and
were more historically and culturally linked with Pakistani society
from pre-Independence days.51
The Internal Debate
The CPP’s confrontational politics, under the influence of the

Ranadive line, harmed the day-to-day working of the trade unions,
affected the selling of literature and also resulted in periodic arrests
of the more committed cadre, leaving the offices to be run by junior
colleagues. For example, by 1948, the major communist-supported
labour federation was Pakistan Trade Union Federation. Its elected
president was Mirza Ibrahim, a veteran leader of the Railway
Workers’ Union in Lahore. In Lahore, the largest concentration
of labour force in the country lay within the Moghalpura Railway
Workshop, a public sector enterprise. Prior to the partition of British
India, the government of India had set up a Pay Commission to study
51
Ali, Anwer. Report to India. The Communist Party, 355.
34 Kamran Asdar Ali
the working conditions of the railway workers. This had come about
due to a sustained pressure exerted by the railway workers under
Mirza Ibrahim’s leadership through strikes and stoppages. Both
Congress and Muslim League had accepted the Pay Commission’s
recommendation, but after independence, the Muslim League due
to its economic problems did not address this issue. To pressure the
government on the Pay Commission issue, there were major strikes
in Lahore in December of 1947, which led to Ibrahim’s arrest. Faiz
Ahmed Faiz, the poet and intellectual, was thrust into the position of
leading the PTUF as he was the elected Vice President. The govern-
ment’s repressive machinery sensing further disturbances arrested
Faiz (in April of 1948), while other communist leaders connected
to the labour movement, Eric Cyprian, Ferozuddin Mansoor, Dada
Amir Haidar (from Rawalpindi) and Mirza Ibrahim (again), were
picked up in September of 1948. Scores of workers would be arrested
for selling the banned CPP paper, Naya Zamana, and dismissal from
work or arrests by the security agencies of the rank and file members
and industrial workers under one law and order pretext or the other
was extremely common.52
The blind following of the radical line by the CPP central leader-
ship had created some dissension among the Party members. One of
the dissenters was a senior Party colleague, Professor Eric Cyprian.
Cyprian, a pre-partition member of the Party, had received a BA from
Oxford and had taught in the Punjab (including Murray College in
Sialkot). He was member of Regional Committee of the CPP and
worked on the trade union and peasant (kisan) front.53 Although
agreeing with the party’s general radical line, Eric Cyprian, who had
travelled to the Party Congress in Calcutta as one of three members
from West Pakistan, argued in a memo that militancy without organ-
ised and coherent party discipline could lead to anarchy on the one
hand and severe repression by the state on the other.
His seniority allowed him to speak openly in Party meetings and
send letters critical to the leadership, criticising them on their policies.
For example, Cyprian seriously supported the training of new cadres
52
See note 17 above, page 53. Also see Pakistan Times, 17 April 1948,
1 and Pakistan Times, 27 April, 3.
53
He was originally from Allahabad, but had settled in Lahore for some
years prior to partition.
and the purging of those who were of doubtful use or had ‘reformist’
tendencies, which may have included people like Fazl Elahi Qurban,
Jalaluddin Bokhari (from Sind) and Kazi Mujtaba (also from Sind).54
However, in terms of Punjab politics, he particularly identified Mian
Iftikharuddin (mentioned above, an ex-Congress worker who was
close to the CPI and was asked to enter Muslim league before the
1946 elections). Just after independence, Iftikharuddin was the
Provincial Minister of rehabilitation of refugees (August–November
1947) and had resigned from the post arguing that he had not been
given a free hand in the implementation of his ministerial duties. He
had also advocated for land distribution and for putting a ceiling on
land holdings in West Punjab to absorb the rural refugees who had
entered Pakistani Punjab after the partition of British India. He was
clearly a major progressive voice in Muslim League politics and was
creating a political space to radicalise Muslim League from within.
Iftikharuddin was also close to Sajjad Zaheer.
Eric Cyprian perhaps sensing the closeness and personal friend-
ship between Zaheer and Iftikharuddin55 opposed Ifitikharuddin’s
argument for changing the Muslim League from within and called
it nothing more than an opportunistic manoeuver to capture power
54
We have met Qurban above. Bokhari and Mujtaba were pre-partition
CPI members from Sind. Both had begun to show tendencies to support the
Muslim League after partition. Mujtaba had taken on a position within the
Muslim League by 1948, while Bokhari would occasionally make speeches
in trade union gatherings in favour of Jinnah.
55
It was an open secret that Eric Cyprian resented the fact that the Central
Committee was dominated by people from the United Provinces (UP). See Ali
Anwer, The Communist Party, Memo to Sajjad Zaheer by Mohammad Ata,
328–29. Zaheer and Iftikharuddin were of course old friends from their joint
work in the 1930s and early 1940s with the progressive wing of the Indian
National Congress. Both had also studied at Oxford, Iftikharuddin predating
Zaheer by a few years. He went to Balliol College at Oxford (1927–1930),
joined the Indian National Congress in 1936 and was elected to the Punjab
Assembly in 1937 and later was a founding member of the Congress Socialist
Party (1938). As noted above, he joined the Muslim League in 1945, most
probably under pressure from friends in the Communist Party of India. See,
Biographical Note in Malik, Abudullah, ed. 1971. Selected Speeches and
Statements. Mian Iftikharuddin. Lahore: Nigarishat.
36 Kamran Asdar Ali
while keeping the state machinery intact. Perhaps on policy grounds

or due to his own apprehensions about those who came from India
to lead the Party, like Zaheer, Cyprian remained suspicious of
Iftikharuddin’s politics and deemed all Muslim League and other
nationalist leaders (like the Pashtun leader, Ghaffar Khan) as either
representatives of landlords (like the Nawab of Mamdot in Punjab)
and painted them, either Punjabi, Sindhis or Pathans, as reactionaries
who may raise progressive slogans and criticise the central govern-
ment, yet in fact were quarrelling about their right to hold on to their
power bases and their right to exploit the masses.56 In putting forward
this analysis, he insisted that Iftikharuddin, who was thought of as
the CPP’s man in the corridors of power due to his past personal
and political association with the CPI, should pay serious attention
to the changed party policy as put forward by Ranadive line and
more closely follow the Party dictates.57
However, the most significant break from Party line that Cyprian
puts forward was his suggestion to shift the party line toward organ-
ising rural areas as opposed to concentrating on industrial labourers
and the trade union front. Cyprian argued that because of continu-
ous repression of communist workers and the closeness of Lahore
56
Anwer Ali, Eric Cyprian’s Impression of Mian Iftikharuddin (June
1948). The Communist Party, 242 and Eric Cyprian on Ghaffar Khan
(August 1948). Ibid., 247.
57
Anwer Ali, Cyprian’s Impressions of Mian Iftikharuddin. The Com-
munist Party, 242. Mian Iftikharuddin was the President of the Punjab
Muslim League for a few months in 1948. Because of his progressive views
and general political disagreements with the Muslim League leadership
in Karachi and in Lahore, he resigned from the Party presidentship in
November of 1948. Zaheer criticised this move in a memo to the CPP’s
Punjab Provincial Committee. The CPP, on the one hand, had kept a distance
from Muslim League and had been unrelentant in its criticism, yet also
wanted to retain a hold on the progressive elements in the Muslim League
structure; Iftikharuddin was their foremost supporter within Muslim League.
However, he had to work with his own constituency and within the limits of
party politics. His decisions were at times not completely in accord with the
CPP line, which would then irk the CPP leadership. Hence, Zaheer, despite
his friendship, in the memo mentioned above calls Iftikharuddin unreliable
and a person who continuously vacillates. See ibid. Zaheer on Daulatana,
Siddiqui and Iftikharuddin (28 November 1948), 281–83.
to the border (a geographical argument), the trade union activity

alone could not lead to a radical change in the political status quo.58
The price that the workers would pay for even a partial struggle
would be more than what the Party could sustain in state repres-
sion. Following this, he called for the Party to move its organising to
landless peasants and recent refugees all over West Pakistan, while
concentrating initially on the peasantry in the Multan and Rawalpindi
divisions in Punjab. His arguments were based on his assessment that
there was widespread poverty among the non-organised and non-
political peasants, and they would join the struggle out of desperation
to see a better future for themselves. Hence, the trade union front
should have minimum cadres working in it and the Party should send
members to the rural areas to the two named divisions, to establish
Party centres, contact local leaders who have conducted spontaneous
peasant struggles, form kisan (peasant) committees and start leading
small struggle on day to day issues, which may then cohere to form
larger movements.59
Although Cyprian shifted the discussion to peasant mobilisation
from the struggle of the industrial workers in cities, his radicalisa-
tion and argument on agitational politics remained very similar to
the Ranadive line of intensifying the struggle,60 the difference was
in tactics as Cyprian was advocating a shift from urban to rural
milieu. This shift was a precursor to some of the debates in Indian
communism as well (the Andhra Committee), albeit at a later date,61
he may well have been influenced by the advancing Maoist forces in
China or was in communication with the Andhra Committee itself.62
58
Meaning that the already security conscious Pakistani state would not
allow civic disturbances in Lahore, so close to the Indian border.
59
Ibid., 142.
60
See note 40.
61
Letter of the New Central Committee of the CPI to All Party Members
and Sympathisers. In Documents of the Communist Movement in India.
Volume VI (1949–1951), 105–42. Calcutta: National Book Agency (1997).
First issued, 1 June 1950.
62
The Andhra Committee in Spring of 1950 created a new consensus
against Ranadive’s leadership and forced him out of the Secretary General’s
position. There is a longer discussion about Soviet pressure based on the
editorial titled, ‘Mighty Advance of the National Liberation Movement
in the Colonial and Dependent Colonies’ in the Cominform weekly For a
38 Kamran Asdar Ali
Conclusion
The CPP agreed with the CPI analysis of Muslim backwardness and
considered the territories of the new state as economically underdevel-
oped, lacking industrialidation and under entrenched feudal control.
In this they were not off the mark. For example, as mentioned above,
Pakistan, at its independence in 1947, inherited only 9 per cent of
the total industrial establishment of British India, and the industrial
workforce was estimated to be around half a million within a total
population of 75 millions in both wings. Following this assessment,
many have argued that the fragmented and low concentration of
industrial capital was mirrored by the weakness of organised indus-
trial labour.63 Given the cultural ‘backwardness’ thesis on Muslims
and the economic underdevelopment of Pakistan, it was obvious
that in the progressive and somewhat developmentalist narrative
of the communist party, as exemplified by Bhowani Sen’s position
on Pakistan, there was much work to be done to educate, motivate
and organise the citizens of the new land about their historical task
toward ‘true’ liberation.
Given this background, the initial insistence by the CPP leader-
ship (following the CPI line) on an urban insurrectionary model
was rightly critiqued by Eric Cyprian. His argument on the peasant
question was the seed that later matured in the 1960s, after the
international Sino-Soviet rift, into a major division in the progres-
sive forces on the question of revolutionary praxis. Of course in
the late 1940s, with the success of the Chinese Revolution and the
support it received from the Soviet Union, these arguments had not
yet surfaced. But the shift in a political strategy in a country where
the majority still lived in rural areas was already being imagined by
some in the Communist Left.
Lasting Peace, For a People’s Democracy on 27 January 1950. This editorial

and another lead article by P.N. Pospelov (commemorating the 26th death
anniversary of V.I. Lenin) together created a major shift in the political
thesis of the Communist Party of India with major reverberations on the
CPP. The editorial did not directly criticize the Ranadive line, but for the
CPI it created a major crisis of leadership and policy.
63
Alexeyev, ‘The Political Situation in Pakistan’, 9–12.
Cyprian’s intervention is one of the many criticisms and sug-

gestions that were being offered right from the very beginning of
Zaheer’s arrival in Pakistan. As much as they show the inner party
debate on what the correct line should be, it also makes us aware
that Zaheer was not entering a space that he was culturally and
politically that familiar with. His lack of experience in trade union
work (in Bombay (now Mumbai) he was linked with literature and
publication issues and the Muslim front for the CPI) and his lack of
knowledge about the cultural and geographical terrain of the new
country did not make it easy for him to settle into his new task.
Given this background, and as suggested in the introduction,
within the first few years of its existence, the ruling elite of Pakistan
became suspicious of any challenge to its authority. The Prime
Minister, Liaquat Ali Khan, openly advocated the supremacy of one
ruling party and derided those who opposed the Muslim League as
traitors and enemy agents.64 Pakistan, very soon after its indepen-
dence, also became a political stage for cold war politics. British and
US intelligence agencies periodically worked closely with the higher
echelons of the Pakistani state apparatus to help them in their efforts
to curtail the real or imagined communist threat from within or
across the border.65 Public Safety Acts and other draconian measures
from the colonial period were reinvigorated and used to arrest and
harass party workers and sympathetic trade unionists. Important
members of CPP’s central committee were periodically put in jail,
and communist publications were routinely banned or confiscated.
Even literary journals linked to the Progressive Writers Association—
Sawera, Adab e Latif or Nuqush—were constantly asked to stop
publication for disseminating anti-state literature. Further, the state
also started using Islam as a political weapon to counteract various
democratic forces. Islamic doctrine was employed in the media to
persuade people against the antireligious (meaning anti Islam) and,
linked to it, anti Pakistan political stance of the communists.66 Public
gatherings by communists were occasionally attacked and disrupted
by mobs claiming Islamic tendencies or love for Pakistan.
64
McGrath, The Destruction of Pakistan’s Democracy, 65–68.
65
See Communist and Communist Activities in Pakistan, 1949 FO
1110/210. Public Record Office, UK.
66
Ibid.
40 Kamran Asdar Ali
Despite such pressures, Zaheer, working under semi-legal condi-

tions and after the collapse of the Party structure and loss of able
cadres and members along with the constant harassment and arrests
of Party members, worked hard toward rebuilding the party by hold-
ing of cell meetings, sending out assignments to individual and groups
(while checking up on their completion), seeing to it that the work
is performed according to time and schedule, creating opportuni-
ties for regular study groups and education and yet being cautious
enough so that the leadership and other members are not exposed
and arrested leading to a stoppage of the Party’s basic functioning.
These were not the easiest of tasks where a new kind of individual
trust had to be formed between him and those who had a longer
history in Pakistan. It is obvious that in these circumstances he relied
heavily on people whom he knew from his Bombay days, like Sibte
Hasan and Ishfaque and those he had known earlier from his own
political, personal or literary connections, people like Faiz Ahmed
Faiz and Mian Iftikharuddin.
Further, with constant government surveillance, as Secretary
General of the CPP, Zaheer remained underground throughout his
tenure until his arrest in February–March of 1951 in connection
with the Rawalpindi Conspiracy Case. In February–March of 1951,
the Pakistan Government brought charges of sedition and of plot-
ting a military coup against certain leaders of its own military67 and
members of the Central Committee of the CPP, Sajjad Zaheer and
Mohammad Ata.68 The poet and progressive intellectual Faiz Ahmed
Faiz (Faiz was never a card carrying member of the Communist Party)
67
The conspiracy was exposed by the government on the eve of the first
post-independence provincial elections in Pakistan (Punjab). Liaquat Ali
Khan, the Prime Minister, was touring Punjab and his party was facing a
stiff challenge from newly formed parties, the Jinnah Muslim League of
Nawab of Mamdot and the Azad Party of Mian Iftikharuddin. There are
indications that the announcement of a threat to the country was used as
a cynical ploy to consolidate votes by the Muslim League leadership in its
own favour. See Dawn, 10 March 1951 and also see Inward Telegram to
Commonwealth Relations Office from UK High Commissioner in Pakistan.
FO-371-92866 (Public Records Office).
68
Major General Akbar Khan, Chief of the General Staff of Pakistan
Army, was deemed the leader of the coup attempt. His deputy in this alleged
was also accused of being a co-conspirator and was jailed along with
the others.
Whether this was a real conspiracy or the Party was holding a ten-
tative dialogue with some army officers is a question that still makes
the rounds in intellectual circles. Following the announcement of the
conspiracy, there were widespread arrests and blanket clampdown
on the communist party’s activities. The entire process crippled
the movement and demoralised cadres. The discussions with the
disaffected military leaders that became the basis of the Rawalpindi
Conspiracy Case, howsoever tentative, did expose the political stance
of CPI’s leadership: a party position that may have thought of rely-
ing on the military to bring about social change from above. These
discussions could themselves be interpreted as an elitist move by the
CPP to short circuit a future popular revolution. This ‘change from
above’ model was based on the CPP’s analysis of Pakistan’s economic
development. It showed the CPP’s leadership’s understanding of
‘Muslim masses’, as being socially backward due to religious influ-
ence and susceptible to manipulation by Muslim League’s politics.
It may also be a sign of the non-rootedness of the CPP’s immigrant
(mohajir, Urdu speaking) leadership that could not completely link
itself with the cultural politics of the masses and commit itself to the
task of building a popular movement from below. Irrespective of the
cause, the communist movement in Pakistan, nascent as it was, took
years to recover from this suppression.69 When the communists in
conspiracy was Brigadier M.A. Latif, who was a Brigade Commander at

Quetta. Mrs. Nasim Akbar Khan, daughter of a prominent female Muslim
League politician Begum Shahnawaz, was also accused of being a co-
conspirator.
69
Zaheer spent the next several years in jail and soon after his release in
1955 he went back to India. Tufail Abbas, who later became the secretary
general of the Party in the late 1950s, among other criticisms addressed the
Rawalpindi Conspiracy Case as a process that showed haste on the part of
the leadership (personal interview). He argued that people were in a hurry
to bring about the revolution and could not wait for the Party to develop
its roots among the masses. Whether this is a serious analysis or not, it
does seem that the CPP leadership in the early 1950s had decided to keep
all options for capturing state power open. Similar views were expressed
by Eric Cyprian, member of the CPP’s central committee at the time of the
42 Kamran Asdar Ali
East Bengal tried to regroup, they were again crushed and the entire
Party banned in 1954: a legal stricture that remained in force for
almost four decades.
References
Adhikari, G. M., ‘Pakistan and Indian National Unity’, Labour Monthly,
March 1943, 29.
Alexeyev, A., ‘The Political Situation in Pakistan’, New Republic 47 (1951):
9–12.
Amjad, Ali, Labour Legislation and Trade Unionism in India and Pakistan,
Karachi: OUP, 2001.
Ansari, Khizar Humayun, The Emergence of Socialist Thought among North
Indian Muslims (1917–1947), Lahore: Book Traders, 1990.
Anwer Ali, M., The Communist Party of West Pakistan in Action, Punjab:
Criminal Investigation Department (CID), 1952.
Aslam, C. R., Atish Biyan (weekly), Volume 12(13), 22 May 2000.
Chaudari, Tridb, The Swing Back: A Critical Survey of the Devious Zig
Zags of the CPI Political Line (1947–1950), Marxist Internet Archive.
Chapter, Since Calcutta Thesis, 1950. http://www.marxists.org/archive/
chaudhuri/1950/swing-back/ch02.htm, accessed 15 April 2011.
Dyakov, A, ‘A New British Plan for India’, New Times, Moscow, 13 June
1947.
Gilmartin, David, Empire and Islam, Berkeley: University of California
Press, 1988.
Grande, Robert W., Communist and the Pakistan Movement in Punjab
Province, unpublished manuscript, 1977.
Hasan, Sibte, Mughani-e-Aatish Nafs, edited by Syed Jaffar Ahmad, Karachi:
Maktab Danyal, 2005.
Jalal, Ayesha, The State of Martial Rule, Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1990.
Joshi, P. C., Congress and Communists, Bombay: People’s Publishing
House, 1944.
‘conspiracy’, in his interview with Hasan Zaheer in 1995. See Zaheer, The
Rawalpindi Conspiracy Case 1951 (Specially see chapter 4). Also see, Inward
Telegram to Commonwealth Relations Office from UK High Commissioner
in Pakistan. FO-371-92866 (Public Records Office).
Krishnan, N. K., ‘People’s War’, Supplement 18 November 1945. Quoted in

Leghari, Iqbal, 1979. The Socialist Movement in Pakistan: An Historical
Survey, (1940–1974). Unpublished PhD Thesis, Laval University,
Montreal.
Leghari, Iqbal, ‘The Socialist Movement in Pakistan: An Historical Survey
(1940–1974)’, unpublished PhD Thesis, Laval University, Montreal,
1979.
Malik, Abdullah, ed., Selected Speeches and Statements, Mian Iftikharuddin,
Lahore: Nigarishat, 1971.
Malik, Hafeez, ‘The Marxist Literary Movement in India and Pakistan’,
Journal of Asian Studies 26, no. 4 (1967): 649–64.
McGrath, Allen, The Destruction of Pakistan’s Democracy, Karachi: Oxford
University Press, 1996. ‘Might Advance of the National Liberation
Movement in the Colonial and Dependent Colonies’ in the Cominform
weekly For a Lasting Peace, For a People’s Democracy, 27 January 1950.
Overstreet, G. and M. Windmiller, Communism in India. Bombay: Perennial
Press, 1960.
Palme Dutt, Rajani, A New Chapter in Divide and Rule, Bombay: Peoples
Publishing House, 1946.
Pandey, Gyanendra, Remembering Partition, Cambridge: Cambridge
Talbot, Ian, Pakistan: A Modern History, London: Hurst and Company,
1998.
Zaheer, Hasan, The Rawalpindi Conspiracy Case 1951, Karachi: Oxford
Zaheer, Noor, Mere Hisse Ki Roshnai, Karachi: Sanjh Publishers, 2006.
Zaheer, Sajjad, A Case for Congress-League Unity, Bombay: People’s
Publishing House, 1944.
———, Paighamat (Messages), Sawera (Lahore) no. 7–8 (1949): 10–12.
Newspapers
Dawn, 10 March 1951, 1.
Pakistan Times, 17 April 1948, 1.
Pakistan Times, 27 April 1948, 3.
Archival material
American Consul General to Dept. of State, Dacca Despatch no. 123, 22 May
1954, NND 842909890d.062.
Chief Event in Past History of Communist Party of Pakistan. Public Record
Office, D0 35/2591. Communism and Communist Activities in Pakistan.
10 October 1949, Communism in West Punjab Public Record Office
FO 1110/210.
44 Kamran Asdar Ali
Documents of the Communist Party of India. 1997. Letter of the New Central
Committee of the CPI Volume VI, 105–141. Calcutta: National Book
Agency. First issued, 1 June 1950.
For the Final Assault: Tasks of the Indian People in the Present Phase of
Indian Revolution, 1946, Bombay: People’s Publishing House. Reprinted
in Documents of the Communist Party of India, Volume 5. Calcutta:
National Book Agency.
Inward Telegram to Commonwealth Relations Office from UK High
Commissioner in Pakistan 1951. Public Records Office. FO-371-92866.
Report on Pakistan. 1997. Review of the Second Congress of the Communist
Party of India, 757–761. Documents of the Communist Party of India.
Vol. 5. Calcutta: National Book Agency.
Secretary Communist Party. 1947. Zaghmi Punjab Ki Faryad (Wounded
Punjab’s Plea). Lahore: Qaumi Dar-ul-Isha’t. Extracts from Naya
Zamana, 7 September 1947.
 3
Majlis-i-Ahrar-i-Islam:
Religion, Socialism and
Agitation in Action
Tahir Kamran
R adical history has often become synonymous with left-wing

movements and communist parties. However, in the South Asian
context the infusion of religion with politics during the colonial era
means that radical movements were often contradictory in terms
of whether they were left wing or right wing. The Majlis-i-Ahrar
movement,1 with its street-level agitation politics in the 1930s and
the 1940s, and in particular, its key ideology of Hakumat-i-Illahia
(rule through the dictates of Allah), is perhaps the best example
of a radical movement that embodies multiple traditions. Indeed,
even the name Ahrar, as the movement was usually referred to, is
a plural form of the Arabic word hur or har, which means become
to be free. The Ahrar movement has yet to find any space in the
national discourse of Pakistan. From the very outset Pakistan’s his-
toriography was dominated by the official version of freedom, which
excluded those movements and parties that had been pitched against
the All-India Muslim League. The conspicuous absence of parties
like Khudai Khidmatgar Movement in NWFP (presently Khyber
Pakhtun Khawah), Jeeya Sindh in Sindh and the Awami League in
East Bengal from the mainstream political discourse leaves a vacuum
in the mainstream scholarship on Pakistan. The works of the two
most prominent historians of Pakistan, Ishtiaq Husain Qureshi and
Sheikh Muhammad Ikram, set the historiographical trend for the
1
For details on the correct usage of the word ‘Ahrar’, see Steingass,
Arabic–English Dictionary, 269. Introduction 45
46 Tahir Kamran
later generation by reducing these movements to the margins.2 Yet

they all, in different ways, played extremely important roles in Indian
Muslim politics of the late colonial era. The history of the future
Pakistan areas cannot be completely understood without reference
to their careers and legacies.
This article highlights a particular aspect of agitation that the
Ahrar came to epitomise in the 1930s and the 1940s, which sets it
apart from other studies, conducted so far. Samina Awan’s book,
Political Islam in Colonial Punjab: Majlis-i-Ahrar, 1929–19493 is
the first in-depth study in English of the movement. The outline
that Awan provides offers a foundation from which this article will
consider the agitational mode of politics that the Ahrar deployed.
Similarly, Awan has based her study mostly on archival sources,
which obscures the points of view of the Ahrar ideologues. Hence,
this article aims to unravel the ideology and methods of the Ahrar
politics through original sources not used before, such as the writings
of Chaudhary Afzal Haq, Janbaz Mirza, Shorish Kashmiri, Master
Taj-ud-Din, and Mazhar Ali Azhar. All of them were the frontline
leaders and ideologues of the Ahrar. They wrote extensively on the
Ahrar; however, their writings have not been fully tapped in academic
histories. In this article, an attempt has been made to draw on these
vernacular sources.
Origins and Ideology
All the individuals who later constituted the Ahrar were exponents of
the Khilafat Movement in the Punjab during the 1920s. The history
of the Khilafat movement, its components and the reasons why the
movement fizzled out in 1924 have been well documented by South
Asian historians.4 Whilst the Ulema-i-Deoband was in the vanguard
2
Ishtiaq Hussain Qureshi calls ‘Ahrars’ a minor and insignificant non-
League group like the Momins, the Shia Conference and the Jamiat Ulama-
i-Hind in one of his important books. For full reference, see Qureshi, The
Struggle for Pakistan, 241. Similarly Ikram in Modern Muslim India and
the Birth of Pakistan does not mention Ahrar at all. For full reference see
Ikram, Modern Muslim India 1858–1951, 202–38.
3
Awan, Political Islam in Colonial Punjab.
4
See for details Minault, The Khilafat Movement and Qureshi, Pan-Islam
in British Indian Politics.
Religion, Socialism and Agitation in Action 47
of the Khilafat movement, they were not the only people striving
for its sustenance. The Modernist Muslim section, spearheaded by
Muhammad Ali and Shaukat Ali, mostly referred to as the Ali broth-
ers, also had its representation in the movement. Both groups worked
superficially well together in the early stages of the struggle. However,
a schism soon appeared. It was in this context that Majlis-i-Ahrari
Islam came into existence. As Shorish Kashmiri states:
Undoubtedly Ahrars were the outcome of the Khilafat Movement, the

ideas of Al Hilal and the pen of the Zamindar put together. It was
a combination of an anti-British outlook, love for Islam, patriotism,
hatred of capitalism, enmity with superstition, love for sacrifice ...
ambition to bring about revolution and enthusiasm for conducting
jihad.5
This heady combination of religion and politics, communism and

patriotism means that the Ahrar would ultimately agitate in multiple
political arenas. For example, because of its Khilafatist background
the Ahrar was close to the Indian National Congress, although it
differed from it on such issues as separate electorates. Syed Ata
Ullah Shah Bokhari, one of the founders of the Ahrar, is quoted in
a few Ahrari texts as saying that Abul Kalam Azad asked him to set
up Majlis-i-Ahrar the organisation, although Azad himself did not
relinquish his position as a top Muslim leader of Congress to join
the organisation. To solve this conundrum, a thorough appraisal of
the political scenario in the 1920s is required: both at the national
level and in the Punjab.
Before Kemal Attaturk’s abolition of the office of caliph, the
Khilafat Movement had been dealt a series of blows. These included
Gandhi’s calling off of civil disobedience after the Chauri Chaura
incident in 1922 and the movement’s own internal crisis. The
embezzlement to the tune of `1.6 million in the Khilafat fund resulted
in the erosion of trust that millions of Muslims had reposed in the
leadership. Muhammad Ali Jauhar and Shaukat Ali (Ali brothers)
also took some of the blame. The Enquiry Committee set up for
investigating the matter held them equally responsible for the mis-
management of the fund. It was headed by Maulana Abdul Qadir
Qasuri and comprised all Punjabi members branded as loyalist to
5
Kashmiri, Bou-e-Gul, Nala-e-Dil, Dood-e-Charach-e-Mahfil, 310.
48 Tahir Kamran
Abul Kalam Azad. Maulana Muhammad Ali harboured suspicion

and ill will towards the Committee, and ensured that the Central
Khilafat Committee ostracised it. The Committee itself split into two
factions: namely the Muslim Nationalist Party under the leadership
of Muhammad Alam, which could not keep its distinct character for
long and subsequently submerged into Congress, and the Majlis-i-
Ahrar-i-Islam. Zafar Ali Khan (editor of The Zamindar newspaper),
Maulana Daud Ghaznavi, Syed Ata ullah Bokhari, Chaudhri Afzal
Haq, Maulana Mazhar Ali Azhar, Khawja Abdul Rehman Ghazi
Sheikh Hassam ud Din and Maulana Habibur Rehman Ludhianvi
constituted the core leadership of the Ahrar. Afzal Haq writes as fol-
lows regarding the background to the Ahrar movement’s emergence:
Punjab Khilafat Committee was the soul of the Central Body, unin-
tentionally and unconsciously it had two distinct factions in itself.
Khilafat Punjab had an elite faction and a downtrodden faction. The
elite, like the son of a prostitute and the horse of a trader, had been
sluggish and enjoyed the easy life. All the laborious work was the
fate of the downtrodden faction. The elite were conscience of their
distinctness as a class whereas the downtrodden had no such realiza-
tion, they thought of themselves as a part of the totality . . . . When
Majlis i Khilafat Punjab severed its link with Central body, the elite
formed its organization by the name of Muslim Nationalist Party and
the downtrodden constituted Majlis i Ahrar.6
This explicit division of the movement along class lines perhaps

reveals why the author Afzal Haq Razi Wasti was widely known
as Mufakir-i-Ahrar or ‘the brain of Ahrar Party’. Haq undoubtedly
created a stir amongst the Muslim ulema by writing a pamphlet
Islam mein Umara Ka Wajud Nahin (The rich have no existence in
Islam). Iftikhar Malik therefore contends that the Ahrar imbibed
the ‘impact of the October Revolution in Russia (1917) and the
communist ideas that it had disseminated’. In 1931, addressing the
annual meeting of the Ahrar, Sahibzada Faizul Hassan enunciated
that socialism was not at all different from the Islamic concept of
musawat (equality):
The unjust distribution of production is the real root-cause of all

maladies and social injustice. To control it properly will be the actual
6
Haq, Tareekh-e-Ahrar, 70.
cure of a big problem faced by human beings. Such control can be

called musawat, too. Socialism is an ideology brought out after a
thorough research, and to me, is better than capitalism, fascism and
other contemporary ideologies.7
However, it would be a mistake to perceive the Ahrar as solely a

left-wing party influenced by Communist ideology. Although many
of its members came from poor backgrounds, they displayed reli-
gious zeal and conviction. Hamza Alvi regards the humble origins of
many of its leaders as a source of strength. ‘Its main assets were the
devotion and zeal of its members and the eloquence of its leaders.
Some of them could cast spell bound influence upon their audience.
In spite of a lack of material resources, the Ahrars, within a short
period, became one of the strongest political parties in the Punjab’.8
The Ahrar had the following aims: to work for complete Indian
freedom through peaceful means; to provide political guidance to
the Muslims; to strive for ensuring betterment of the Muslims in the
fields of religion, education, economic and social plight; to promote
indigenously manufactured products; to organise peasants and work-
ers on the economic principles and to set up voluntary organisations
by the name of Jayush i Ahrarul Islam throughout India. The work-
ing Committee of Ahrar approved its party’s red-colour flag with a
white crescent and a star in the middle. The Ahrar leaders decided
on a red-coloured uniform for the Ahrar volunteers who regularly
drilled with a band and a drum and carried hatchets.9 The decision
to wear red was made in the memory of those Khudai Khidmatgars
who died in an armed clash with the British in Qisa Khawani Bazar,
Peshawar on 23 April 1930.10 During the early days, Ahrar volunteers
were widely known as surkhposh (people in red outfit) but subse-
quently that appellation became specific to the Khudai Khidmatgars.
All of these symbols nonetheless were representative of the Ahrar
leadership’s aim to imbibe influences not only from Islam but also
from socialism. Samina Awan provides a succinct account of the
7
Ibid., 9; also see Malik, Sikandar Hayat Khan, 55.
8
An interview with Hamza Alvi at Lahore in 2004.
9
Mirza, Karwan-e-Ahrar, Vol. IV, 150, quoted in Javed Haider Syed,
‘Pakistan Resolution and Majlis-e-Ahrar’, 402.
10
For details, see Taqi-ud-Din, Pakistan ki Siyasi Jamatain, 105.
50 Tahir Kamran
ideological mix underpinning the Ahrar’s ideology. The movement

not only aimed at eradicating the ‘darkness of imperialism and feu-
dalism’ but also ‘stood for equal distribution of wealth; eradication
of untouchability; respect for every religion; and freedom to live
according to the Sharia’.11
Majlis-i-Ahrar-i-Islam-i-Hind expounded the concept of Hakumat
I Illayiain, its annual meeting held at Sahranpur on 26 April 1943.
Hakumat I Illayia12 had its conceptual basis in unequivocal opposi-
tion to the British Raj, as the very first clause of the resolution put
forward at Saharanpur explicitly suggests (a) ‘we cannot support
any political move or settlement for which one has to go to London
obsequiously and cringingly’.13 Hakumat I Illayia called for more
powers to be devolved to the provinces and considered the schemes
like Akhand Bharat (United India), and the establishment of Pakistan
or Independent Punjab as lethal for communal harmony. The orga-
nization laid optimum stress on inter-communal peace and so the
Ahrar would not oppose any effort aimed at forging an alliance
between Congress and Muslim League but the Ahrar itself would not
have any alliance with any political group. Most significant was the
Ahrar’s avowed stand against any machination professing division
on the basis of geographical, ethnic or linguistic considerations as,
to them, this was not a religious obligation of the Muslims.
The concept of Hakumat i Illayia suggests a complete dispar-
ity between the Ahrar’s ideals and those of the Muslim League.
Nevertheless, the two organisations briefly allied in 1936.14 This alli-
ance reflected Jinnah’s marginalisation in the Punjab politics on the
eve of the Provincial elections, and the Ahrar’s declining popularity in
the wake of the Shaheed Gunj affair (as explained later in this article)
rather than any coming together of ideologies. The alliance could not
survive because of the inherent contradictions between the separatist
stand of Muslim League and Ahrar’s aversion for any division based
on linguistic or ethnic differentiation. Therefore, the issue of fees for
party tickets, which drove a wedge between the components of the
11
Awan, Political Islam in Colonial Punjab, 15.
12
See Hassan, Legacy of Divided Nation, 66; also see Kashmiri, Bou-e-
Gul, Nala-e-Dil, 305–21; and Afzal, Political Parties in Pakistan, 27.
13
For a brief reference, see Haq, Tareekh-e-Ahrar, 61.
14
Afzal, Political Parties in Pakistan, 27.
alliance, took nobody by surprise. When the Muslim League Central

Committee at once raised the fee for the party ticket from `50 to
`500, the Ahrar registered its discordant note and the ‘marriage of
convenience’ was over.15
Despite falling out in the Khilafat committee, in terms of religious
ideology the Ahrar were clearly inspired by Dar-ul-Ulum Deoband
(established in 1867 near Sahranpur). The Deobandi ulema professed
a puritanical version of Islam that called for strict adherence to the
sharia and attacked the intercessory activities of the Sufi shrines.
This was most apparent in the Ahrar’s opposition to the Ahmadis.
Khatam-i-Nabuwat or finality of the prophet-hood16 assumed extra-
ordinary significance ever since the Ahmedya17 sect emerged in the
late 1890s. The Ahmadis refuted the very idea of the last prophet,
considered as one of the five fundamentals of Islam. Ahrar leaders,
through the eloquence of such speakers as Ataullah Shah Bokhari,
whipped up so much of an enthusiasm for Khatam-i-Nabuwat that it
became one cornerstone of its agitational politics. Indeed, the Ahrar
became increasingly sectarian in their various stances on religion and
perhaps their ideological legacy will be that of providing inspiration
to the sectarian movements in contemporary Pakistan. However, in
15
Conversely, Ashique Hussain Batalvi states in his celebrated book Iqbal
Key Akhree Do Saal that Ahrar had an impression that the Nawabs of
various Muslim princely states and Muslim traders and Seths (businessmen)
from Bombay had contributed generously in the League fund, specifically
for the elections. Its leadership, therefore, was expectantly looking towards
the League to bear the election expenses of the Ahrari candidates. Chaudhri
Afzal Haq and Maulana Habibur Rehman were hoping that the exorbitant
sum to the tune of at least `100,000 would be set aside for the election
expenses exclusively for Ahrar candidates. When the reality dawned on
them (that the League had no lavish funds), they decided to part ways and
resigned from the Muslim League Parliamentary Board. For details, see Tajud
Din Ludhyanvi, Majlis-e-Ahraraur Tariekhi Tahrief ki Yalghar, 5–13; and
Batalvi, Iqbal key Akhri Doo Saal, 321.
16
According to the concept of Khatami Nabuwwat, ‘Prophethood
(nabuwwat) ceased with the death of the Holy Prophet and that no new
prophet (nabi) shall appear hereafter is said to be deducible from the
following verses of the Quran: Sura XXX111, verse 40, Sura III, verse 81,
Sura V, verse 4’. See for reference, Report of the Court of Inquiry, 185.
17
For detail, see Ali, The Ahmadiyyah Movement. Also see Friedmann,
Prophecy Continuous.
52 Tahir Kamran
the context of the late colonial Punjab their activities were much less
easy to confine solely within the religious domain.
The Ahrar’s Relations with Congress
If relations with the Muslim League were strained then things were
not much better with the Congress. While describing the election of
the All India Congress Committee at Karachi in 1931, Nehru says:
Some Muslim members of the A.I.C.C. objected to this election, in

particular to one (Muslim) name in it. Perhaps they also felt slighted
because no one of their group had been chosen. In an all-India
committee of fifteen it was manifestly impossible to have all interests
represented, and the real dispute, about which we knew nothing, was
an entirely personal and local one in the Punjab. The result was that
the protestant group gradually drifted away from the Congress in the
Punjab, and joined others in an ‘Ahrar Party’ or ‘Majlis-e-Ahrar’.18
That observation evoked an incisive response from Afzal Haq.

Nehru’s calling the Ahrar, the representative of the lower middle
class, in Afzal Haq’s opinion, amounted to an attitude of insolence
perpetrated by a rich bourgeoisie socialist leader. He narrated the
details of the ‘election’ more exhaustively and differently too. In
fact, Dr Muhammad Alam was nominated to the All India Congress
Committee at the recommendation of Abul Kalam Azad and Abdul
Qadir Qasuri. That nomination caused a stir among the people
gathered in the pandal (a place of public meeting) and some voices
of dissent in particular were raised from amongst the members of
the Working Committee. However, Nehru was not all that wrong in
his observation. The nomination of Muhammad Alam at the AICC
was one of the reasons that alienated the members of the erstwhile
Punjab Khilafat Committee from the All India Congress Committee.
The Ahrar had been constituted in 1929, two years earlier than
the Karachi session of AICC, and its leadership had till this point
enjoyed close ties with the Congress. When Gandhi gave a call for
Civil Disobedience, the Ahrar leadership had participated with full
enthusiasm and many, including Afzal Haq, were incarcerated.
Subsequently, after the conclusion of the Gandhi-Irwin Pact in 1931,
18
Nehru, Jawaharlal Nehru: An Autobiography, 269.
Ahraris along with all other political prisoners were released. The
final break with All India Congress eventually came about in 1931.
A renowned Ahrari, Abu Yusuf Qasimi, while drawing on Afzal
Haq’s narrative ‘Tarikh i Ahrar’ sheds light on the break-up. The
foremost reason for the ‘parting of the ways’ between Congress and
the Ahrar was the issue of separate electorates and the misgivings they
created on all sides. The Punjab Khilafat Committee, right from the
very beginning, was in favour of separate electorates, a weak centre
with a federal form of government ensuring complete autonomy to
the provinces. When Nehru’s Report proposed adult franchise in its
recommendation for the Indian Constitution, the Punjab Khilafat
Committee found its thrust quite consistent with the interests of
Punjab Muslims. Therefore, it acceded to the joint electorate.19
However, the Nehru Report soon ran into trouble and protests
on the question of other minorities and could not muster enough
overall support. Even Gandhi did not approve of it, particularly on
the question of the representation of Sikhs. As J.S. Grewal explains:
The report prepared by the committee (Nehru Committee)

recommended separate electorates for Muslims in provinces other than
Punjab and Bengal. When the report was taken up in the All Parties
meeting at Lucknow in August, the Sikh delegates raised the issue
regarding their position in the Punjab. Some of them demanded that if
separate electorates or weightage was to be maintained for minorities
in other provinces then a similar provision should be made for the
Sikhs. Most of the Sikh leaders dreaded the prospect of universal
suffrage without reservation of seats for the Sikhs as a minority.20
Because of these reservations, the Sikh leadership (The Central Sikh

League in Particular) rejected the Nehru Report and decided to
boycott the Lahore Session of Congress. Gandhi, Moti Lal Nehru
and M. A. Ansari met Master Tara Singh and Kharak Singh and
persuaded them to attend the Session with the promise of safeguards
for minority communities. The Nehru Report was also suspiciously
viewed by Punjabi Hindus. If adopted, the provision of separate
electorates would definitely have a negative bearing on their politi-
cal status in the Punjab, where Muslims were in a clear majority.
19
Ibid., 159–60.
20
Grewal, The Sikhs of the Punjab, 168.
54 Tahir Kamran
On the Muslim side, Afzal Haq and Jan Baz Mirza had altogether
different views vis-à-vis those expressed by the Sikh and Hindus.
In the end, it was clear that though Punjabi Hindus and Sikhs
had endorsed the Nehru Report, both communities held serious
reservations about the ‘Joint Electorate’ as proposed by the Nehru
Committee. It is likely that the commotion engendered by the Nehru
Report among the minority communities, particularly the Sikhs,
convinced the Congress high command to dump the Nehru Report
at its All India session held in Lahore on 28 December 1929.21 While
discarding the Nehru Report, the Congress leadership did not even
bother to consult those individuals who had lent unequivocal sup-
port to it, that too at the behest of Congress itself.
Such treatment gave rise to grief and dismay in the ranks of the
Punjab Khilafat Committee, who ultimately decided to chart their
own course of action. When the participants of All India Congress
Committee were disposing off the copies of the Nehru Report in one
corner of the same pandal, the leaders of the defunct Punjab Khilafat
Committee were holding a meeting to form a new party, Majlis-i-
Ahrar-i-Islam, on 29 December 1929 in Lahore.22
Another factor leading to the alienation of these people from
Congress was the election of the Amritsar Congress Committee.
Dr Saif-ud Din Kitchlew and Ghazi Abdul Rehman were the two
contestants and Ata-ullah Shah Bokhari was the polling officer.
Those elections were held based on joint electorates. Dr Kitchlew
won the elections, much to the chagrin of Afzal Haq and Ata-ullah
Shah Bokhari. Afzal Haq narrates the situation, prevailing on the eve
of that election and also the estimate of the two candidates:
Dr. Saifud Din was undoubtedly a selfless but articulate person. He

had established his writ among Hindus and Sikhs more than Muslims.
Therefore, he was not quite well known in the circle of Muslims. Since
the zeal about freedom was very pronounced in him, that prevented
him from becoming unpopular among the Muslims also. Ghazi Abdul
Rehman on the other hand enjoyed an enviable reputation that he
earned through serving the interests of the local Muslims. He was
an eloquent speaker and well versed in the art of luring people to
his side. Kitchlow won the contest because Hindu capitalists made
21
22
Taqi-ud-Din, Pakistan ki Siyasi Jamatain, 176.
substantial investment for Kitchlow, which proved to be a decisive

factor in those elections. Ghazi did not have such clout, so he lost.
After seeing the effect of the joint electorate in practice, Ata-ullah
Shah Bokhari prepared a resolution in favour of separate electorate.
Ghazi also supported the move.23
That resolution worked as a catalyst in the formation of Majlis-i-

Ahrar as a separate political organisation. Therefore, in July 1931,
the Ahrar Conference was convened in the Habibia Hall of Islamia
College Lahore. It was presided over by Maulana Habibur Rehman
Ludhianvi and Maulana Daud Ghaznavi was its secretary. Addressing
the audience, Maulana Habibur Rehman declared: ‘I want to tell
all the nations of Hindustan in clear words that the Ahrars do not
want to do any injustice to any other nation. However they are not
prepared to live as a scheduled caste either. The Muslims are equally
entitled to the share in the Indian affairs’.24 The assertion of Maulana
Habibur Rehman that Muslims must not be deemed ‘scheduled caste’
provides a context to Afzal Haq’s reference recurrently made in
both of his representative works, namely Tarikh-I-Ahrar and Meira
Afsana to the chootchaat (untouchability) practiced by the Congress
Hindus against Muslims.25 That factor also provided sufficient basis
for the Ahrar leaders to chart their own course. The Conference
passed a unanimous resolution in favour of separate electorates for
Indian Muslims.
The Ahrar Conference at Lahore drew a lot of criticism from
the pro-Congress section of the press. Nevertheless, the umbilical
cord providing a link between Congress and Ahrar remained intact,
largely because of its leadership’s reverence for Abul Kalam Azad
and Gandhi.
The Ahrar Movement in the Punjab
Although the Ahrar aspired to all-India support, its greatest influence

was in the Punjab. It played an important role in the Muslim politics
of the province during the 1930s. This is not always acknowledged
23
Qasmi, Mufaker-e-Ahrar, 160–61.
24
Malik, Sikandar Hayat Khan, 55.
25
Haq, Mera Afsana. Also see Qasmi, Mufaker-e-Ahrar, 160–61.
56 Tahir Kamran
by Pakistani scholars because of its chequered relationship with the

Muslim League. Immediately after the Lahore Conference, where
it assumed the formal status of a political party, Majlis-i-Ahrar
plunged into political work. Until the setback of the Shaheed Gunj
affair in 1935 (explained later in this article), it posed the only
major challenge to the Unionists in urban Muslim politics.26 The
Unionist Party was an agriculturalist party.27 All the major land-
lords and tribal Sardars (chieftains) had gathered under its banner.
The Ahrar had to contend not only with fortified landed interests
but also with Mian Fazl-i-Husain’s (a Unionist leader) tenacity in
the realm of politics. Interestingly, this leading exponent of Muslim
Punjabi interests initially revered Chaudhri Afzal Haq because of
the rectitude and forthrightness, which he had demonstrated in the
Punjab Legislative Council. Afzal Haq too held Fazl-i-Hussain in
high esteem. In Tarikh-i-Ahrar, Haq rates him as the best political
figure among the Muslims. Even M.A. Jinnah was not considered a
match for Hussain’s sagacity and ingenuity in the political arena.28
This mutual respect and reverence turned into avowed hostility when
Fazl-i-Hussain recommended Sir Zafarullah Khan, an Ahmedi leader
from the Punjab, for a vacant slot in the Viceroy’s Executive Council.
The Ahrar party’s uncompromising stand on the issue of Khatam i
Nabuwat meant that any association with the Ahmediya sect was
considered out of bounds. Following the selection of the Ahmedi
leader, Hussain, became a special target for Ahrar wrath. Deploying
the tactics of religion did not however disturb the Unionists’ rural
powerbase.29 Local power relations connecting shrines and their
incumbents, the Sajjada Nashins, to a form of Sufi Islam infused
an added vigour through thousands of their devotees to the already
impregnable Unionist Party. They successfully countered the religious
appeal of the Ahrar, who had among their leaders, religious scholars
from all the sects of the Islamic faith.30
26
Azhar, Masala-e-Shaheed Gunj, 38.
27
See for details on Unionist Party, Talbot, Punjab and the Raj.
28
29
For details, see Husain, Fazal-i-Husain: A Political Biography, 226–66.
Also see Batalvi, Iqbal key Akhari Do Saal, 320.
30
The Ahrar leader included representatives of other sects, like Dawud
Ghaznawi from the Ahl-e-Hadith and Maulana Mazhar Ali Azhar, who
were of Shii descent, a cooperation that was based less on common doctrinal
It was the other dimension of the Ahrar that had more success in
the rural areas, that of socialism. Majlis-i-Ahrar’s radical economic
programme carried more impact because of agricultural depression
in the Punjab. Nevertheless, similar to the Kisan Sabhas, the Ahrar
found that the Unionists were still able to deflect rising discontent
by blaming the harsh conditions on the depredations of the bania
(moneylending) class. Even so, the Ahrar success in a by-election to
the Central Assembly in 1934 revealed that the Punjab’s depressed
conditions had opened up at least some chinks in the Unionists’
armour. Sir Fazl-i-Hussain selected Khan Bahadur Rahim Baksh
as the Unionist candidate for a constituency comprising four dis-
tricts, namely Lahore, Amritsar, Ferozepur, and Gurdaspur. Ahrar
fielded Khalid Latif Gabba (he was the son of Lala Harkishen Lal,
a famous Punjabi entrepreneur; he embraced Islam just to renounce
it afterwards) as their candidate. As the time for the election drew
near, the propaganda for an Ahrar candidate gathered momentum,
rightly causing panic to the Unionists as the Ahrar won the seat. This
was at a time when the party was at the peak of its popularity, the
basis of which came from their activities in Kapurthala and Kashmir.
The Kashmir Agitation
The Ahrar’s agitation for the rights of the Muslims of Kashmir who
were suffering under the oppressive rule of Maharaja Hari Singh is
not as fully acknowledged in contemporary Pakistani historiogra-
phy as they deserve to be. Indeed, their contribution is surprisingly
omitted in the otherwise excellent studies by Victoria Schofield
and Alastair Lamb into the Kashmir issue.31 The 1931 agitation
was important also because it raised the Ahrar party’s popularity
in urban Punjab to an unprecedented degree.32 This was due to
the presence of large Kashmiri Muslim communities in such cities
as Amritsar, Lahore and Sialkot. In combination with the Ahrar’s
efforts in Kapurthala, a Muslim majority Punjabi state with a Hindu
ground than on shared allegiance to the congress. For details, see Reetz,
Islam in the Public Sphere, 78.
31
For the details of Glancy Commission, see Mirza, Karwan-e-Ahrar,
Vol. I, 314–15; and Haq, Tareekh-i-Ahrar, 125–26.
32
For details, see Ludhyanvi, Ahrar Aur Tehrik-e-Kashmir 1932.
58 Tahir Kamran
leader (as explained later in this article), this agitation was to provide
electoral dividends in the assembly elections of 1934. In some senses
the mode of mobilisation in Kashmir was very similar to the model
subsequently followed in Kapurthala: a series of incidents that took
a communal tinge were exploited for political mileage by the Ahrar.
The Kashmir case first. Dogra rule in Kashmir (1847–1948) was
notorious for its ‘autocratically wayward methods of administration’
and its religious intolerance. Killing a cow was a cognizable offence
punishable with seven years of rigorous imprisonment. A special
tax was levied on the slaughter of goats and sheep, even on Eid.
A Hindu in case of embracing Islam had to forfeit all his inherited
property. The State had usurped many Muslim places of worship and
pilgrimage, which the Glancy Commission subsequently restored to
the Muslims in 1931. Such discrimination reflected quite conspicu-
ously on the distribution of economic resources, especially those at
the behest of the state. Suddans of Poonch and the Sandans from
Mirpur were the only people among the Muslims recruited into the
army but in the subaltern positions. They were culturally different
from the Kashmiris of the valley and therefore the Maharaja believed
he could use them to quell any uprising stirred by the valley people.33
Punjabi Muslim newspapers in the 1920s and the early1930s
consistently highlighted the miserable plight of the Kashmiri
Muslims. The daily Inqalab and its editor Abdul Majid Salik were
particularly critical on the discriminatory policies of Maharaja Hari
Singh towards the Muslims. Its circulation in the state of Kashmir
was accordingly disallowed.34 A series of incidents were then high-
lighted by the Ahrar indicating discrimination against the Muslim
population.35 The arrest of Abdul Qadeer, from Amroha District
Muradabad who was in Srinagar as a guide to a few English travel-
lers, provided the catalyst for violence, when he urged Muslims
to launch an active struggle against the Maharaja’s rule. The State
authorities promptly arrested him. When his trial began in the
Sessions Court of Srinagar on 6 July 1931, Muslims assembled there
in such a huge number that proceedings were shifted to the securer
environment of Srinagar Central Jail. When the trial commenced at
33
Schofield, Kashmir in the Crossfire, 100.
34
Salik, Sar Gazasht, 264.
35
For the general details, see Mirza, Karwan-e-Ahrar, Vol. I, 236–37.
the newer venue, people thronged again and the police ruthlessly
baton-charged them. The violence escalated and the police opened
firing, thus killing 22 demonstrators. Therefore, 13 July 1931 came
to be known as ‘Martyrs Day’.36
The killings immediately triggered clashes between Muslim dem-
onstrators and the state police throughout Jammu and Kashmir. The
violence took a communal turn when a procession of demonstrators
forced a Punjabi Hindu shopkeeper to close his shop in protest. When
he refused the protestors ransacked his and other Hindu-owned
shops. ‘In terms of casualties and damage to property’, concludes
Ian Copland, ‘it was possibly the most serious communal outbreak
in India between the Moplah rebellion of 1921 and the Calcutta
riots of 1946’.37 Consequently the law enforcement agencies of the
state arrested more than 300 Muslims, including Chaudhri Ghulam
Abbass and Shiekh Abdullah. Sporadic processions, strikes and riots
kept the tension soaring in Kashmir.
During the last week of July, leading Muslims assembled at Nawab
Sir Zulfiqar Ali’s residence at Simla and formed the All India Kashmir
Committee.38 The head of the Ahmadiya community, Mirza Bashir
Ahmed, was the Kashmir Committee’s President and Sir Muhammad
Iqbal, Sir Zulfiqar Ali, Khawja Hassan Nizami, Syed Mohsin Shah,
Khan Bahadur Sheikh Rahim Baksh, Maulana Ismael Ghaznavi,
Abdul Rahim Dard (an Ahmadi and secretary of the committee),
Maulana Nurul Haq (owner of the English daily ‘Outlook’) and
Syed Habib Shah (owner of the daily ‘Siasat’) were its members. The
Committee pledged to redress the grievances of Kashmiri Muslims
through peaceful and constitutional means. Therefore, it called for
the appointment of an impartial Commission of Enquiry to deter-
mine the causes leading to the crisis. It also proposed to observe
14 August as a special Kashmir Day in the memory of the martyrs
of 13 July 1931.39 Bashir ud Din Mehmud also had some important
local contacts in Srinagar — notably Jamal-ud-Din, the Director of
Public Instruction, and Sheikh Abdullah, the emerging Kashmiri
leader.40 More so Qadian was made headquarters of ‘the freedom
36
Ibid.
37
Copland, ‘Islam and Political Mobilization in Kashmir’, 231.
38
Mirza, Karwan-e-Ahrar, Vol. I, 181.
39
Ibid.
40
Copland, ‘Islam and Political Mobilization in Kashmir, 1931–34’, 231.
60 Tahir Kamran
movement’ for Kashmiri Muslims. The prominence of the Ahmadiyas

was too much for the Ahrars, who were both ideologically opposed
to the Ahmadis but also aware of the political mileage that the new
group could take from them. Afzal Haq, Ata-ullah Shah Bokhari and
Mazhar Ali Azhar excoriated the Ahmadis and the ruler of Kashmir
alike. They evoked considerable response from the masses in support
of their stand.41
The Ahrar leadership became proactive and requested the
Government of the Kashmir for an inquiry committee to be permit-
ted into the valley. After getting no response, it forced its entry into
the Kashmir. On their way Ata-ullah Shah Bokhari, Afzal Haq and
Mazhar Ali Azhar addressed huge rallies at Gujranwala and Sialkot,
which caused a lot of concern for the state government. Despite this,
however, on the advice of Prime Minister Hari Kishan Kaul,42 they
received free passage, whereupon they put forward their demand for
the establishment of a responsible government in the state. They also
unsuccessfully attempted to woo Sheikh Abdullah, the leader of the
National Conference.
Failing on all these fronts, they organised Jathas (bands of Ahrar
volunteers) with the aim to enter Kashmir from Sialkot on 6 October
1931 onwards. The Jathas were detained by the Darbari police
(those loyal to the Maharaja). Nevertheless ‘the stream of volun-
teers kept flowing — 2376 had crossed the border by the beginning
of November’.43 Soon afterwards, batches of 21 Ahrar volunteers
sneaked into Kashmir. From the Punjab alone, according to one esti-
mate, 45,000 volunteers entered and courted arrest. Such a massive
invasion by Ahrar volunteers paralysed the state machinery.
David Gilmartin notes that the agitation expanded so rapidly that
‘the sheer number of those arrested embarrassed the jail department
and forced the opening of special camp jails’.44 The Maharaja found
41
Ahmed, From Martial Law to Martial Law, 129.
42
Raja Hari Kishen Kaul was the prime minister of Kashmir. Previously
he was civil servant from Punjab and had replaced G.E.C. Wakefield as
prime minister. The Government of India characterised him as ‘a noted
intriguer’ and urged his replacement by another British officer. In February
1932, Lieutenant Colonel E.J.D. Colvin was appointed prime minister by
Maharaja of Kashmir. See Huttenback, Kashmir and the British Raj, 140–42.
43
Copland, ‘Islam and Political Mobilization in Kashmir, 1931–34’, 234.
44
Gilmarten, Empire and Islam, 47.
it expedient to replace Hari Kishan Kaul with a new Prime Minister,

Colonel E.J.D. Colvin, who was approved by the Indian Political
Department and remained in office until 1936.45 Hari Singh, in
order to lower the political temperature, also constituted an Enquiry
Commission into the 13 July episode headed by a senior officer in
the Political Department of India, Sir Bertrand Glancy. Prem Nath
Bazaz and Ghulam Abbass were amongst the co-members of the
Commission. This step did not go far enough to appease the Ahrar,
but owed much to their agitation.
The agitation in Kashmir proved to be a stepping-stone in the
Ahrar’s political ascent in Punjab. The Kashmir movement was
closely mirrored in the subsequent Ahrar action in Kapurthala and
this level of influence in local politics in these two states was rewarded
with a foothold in legislative politics. By 11 February 1934, the Ahrar
had three representatives in the Punjab Legislative Council, namely
Chaudhri Afzal Haq from Hoshiarpur, Chaudhri Abdul Rehman
from Jullundur and Maulana Mazhar Ali Azhar from Lahore.46
Although this was only a small beginning and revealed the limit of
their influence to the urban middle class, the Ahrar were emerging
as a serious rival to the Muslim League in appealing to this section
of the Punjabi Muslim society.
The Kapurthala Agitation
Along with Kashmir, the Ahrar were involved in a powerful agi-

tation in the Sikh princely state of Kapurthala.47 It was situated
west of the River Beas and although it had a Sikh ruler, Maharaja
Jagjeet, 57 per cent of the population was Muslim. The vast major-
ity of the Muslims were poor peasants. Sixty per cent of the state
income accrued through the taxes they paid, but the state expended
a meagre sum of `8440 on poor Muslims as stipends and charity
whereas `68,338 was allocated for the welfare of non-Muslims.48
The agitation in Kashmir stirred the Muslim Rajputs who resided
in the Begowal area of Kapurthala who suffered exploitation at the
45
For details, see Mirza, Karwan-e-Ahrar, Vol. I, 255–79.
46
Ibid., 411–12.
47
See for details, Mirza, Karwan-e-Ahrar, Vol. I, 324–29.
48
62 Tahir Kamran
hands of Hindu moneylenders.49 Since the Land Alienation Act (1900)

was not in place in the princely states of the Punjab, moneylenders
operated freely at the expense of peasants. Following a Muslim rally
in Begowal, a boycott of Hindu shopkeepers was enacted. Hindu
moneylenders and shopkeepers vociferously condemned this action
and announced a two-day-long strike. Consequently, Muslims seized
the opportunity by setting up their own shops in Begowal and Bholeth
areas. This development exasperated the Hindu shopkeepers who
were moneylenders as well as retailers. They refused to advance
further loans to Muslim peasants and pressed them for the immedi-
ate return of the money.
One of the first individuals to respond to the emerging crisis in
Begowal was Chaudhri Abdul Aziz, Vice President of the Majlis-
i-Ahrar, who voiced his concern over the crisis that the Muslim
peasantry had been plunged into; he formed an umbrella Zamindara
League organisation early in 1931. It gained momentum when it
was joined by Ahrar volunteers, who, following their release by the
Kashmir Government in February–March 1932, crossed over to
Kapurthala. As in Kashmir, they fell foul of the State authorities.
Abdul Aziz of Begowal was arrested and sentenced to five years of
rigorous imprisonment for inciting trouble and disrupting peace.
Despite these harsh measures, the Ahrar continued lending unequivo-
cal support to the peasants.
In June 1932, the Muslims of Bholeth submitted a list of demands
calling for the implementation of all those reforms that had already
been carried out in other parts of India. Among their demands was
the call for the introduction of the Punjab Land Alienation Act, the
reduction in land revenue and the security of the non-transferable
land of labourers and artisans against any act of forfeiting or con-
fiscation.50 The Maharaja, after sensing the gravity of the situation,
constituted a committee headed by the magistrate of that particular
area. It made little progress, with the result that communal tensions
intensified. The Prime Minister of Kapurthala State, Sir Abdul
Hameed, next invited the representatives of both the peasants and the
commercial castes for parleys. The agriculturists mistrusted Hameed,
who they thought was in league with the Hindu moneyed classes. As
49
Qasmi, Mufaker-e-Ahrar, 174–75; and Haq, Tareekh-e-Ahrar, 142–46.
50
the Secretary General of Ahrar, Dasoha, District Hoshiarpur stated

in the Daily Zamindar:
The peasantry and labourers of this Tehsil (Bholeth) are passing

through a very critical phase. The Northern part of the Tehsil which is
largely inhabited by the Muslims has fallen prey to the atrocities of the
Police and Civil officers, who have made the lives of these poor fellows
so miserable, that many of them are ready to migrate from the area.51
Disquiet caused by the upsurge among the ranks of Begowal Muslim

peasantry remained unabated in the southern belt of Kapurthala
State when another event that heightened communal tension was
unfolding, adding to the gravity of an already inflammatory situation.
When in the first week of January 1934, the Land Alienation law
was enforced in Kapurthala mostly because of the pressure exerted
by the Zamindara Movement, moneylenders and shopkeepers in
response began their own civil disobedience.52 They also put forward
a demand for the establishment of an Executive Council to take
care of the state’s administration. Maharaja Jagjeet acquiesced to
the demand and established a six-member Council, two of whose
representatives were to be Muslims. This relative marginalisation of
Muslim opinion in a Muslim-majority state caused disquiet amongst
the local population, although it inevitably pleased the banias (mon-
eylenders). The Ahrar was now provided with a new Muslim cause
in the state.
At an Ahrar Conference held on 3–4 April 1934, the represen-
tatives called for the establishment of a responsible Assembly, in
addition to job opportunities for the Muslims in proportion to their
population. The State’s prime minister responded positively,53 which
duly agitated the non-Muslims. As Abdullah Malik, a known sym-
pathiser to the cause of Ahrar explained ‘in a bid to foil any such
attempt to ameliorate the lot of the peasants, subjected to the exploit-
ative modes of the affluent class (comprising of Hindu Moneylenders
and Sikh officials, who were also engaged in the practice of lending
money as a side business) it fanned the flame of communalism’.54
51
52
For details, see Haq, Tareekh-i-Ahrar, 164–66; and Malik, Punjab ki
Siyasi Tahrikain, 188–89.
53
54
Malik, Punjab ki Siyasi Tahrikain, 202.
64 Tahir Kamran
On 22 April 1934, Kapurthala State police baton-charged the

Muharram procession at Sultanpur Lodhi. However, the real tragedy
was yet to occur. In the month of Muharram (the first month in the
Islamic calendar) in Sultanpur District, the Tazia procession (the
procession that is taken out on the 10th day of Muharram in com-
memoration of Hussain’s martyrdom) had a prescribed route through
a particular street where a huge oak tree was obstructing its smooth
passage. Apart from Hindus, Sikhs also revered that very tree, which
according to them Bibi Nanaki (sister of Guru Nanak) planted many
centuries ago. It was a situation ripe for mischief. Mindful of this,
Master Tara Singh and Prof. Jodha Singh, the honourable members
of the Gurudwara Parbandah Committee, Amritsar, published a
joint statement in the daily Tribune on 30 April. In it, the two lead-
ers categorically denied the sacrosanct status of the tree and also
questioned its age. Unfortunately, that statement came when all the
damage had already been done.55 The Muslim processionists were
adamant in passing through the contentious route with their Tazia,
Hindus and Sikhs vowed to resist any attempt to cut the overhanging
branches of the oak tree. The state authorities, rather than encour-
aging negotiations to resolve the dispute, sought to limit its impact
by pre-emptive arrests of some 450 people in the days before the
procession. They did not however manage to prevent the violence
on the 10th day of Muharram in which 20 Muslims were shot dead
and 33 were injured.56
On 2 May, the Working Committee of Majlis-i-Ahrar met
at Lahore and expressed its grief over the tragedy of Sultanpur.
Ironically, no one but Ahrar took a serious note of the incident with
the exception of the daily Inqalab. The Ahrar constituted a deputa-
tion comprising Abdul Ghaffar Ghaznavi and Abdul Gaffar Akhtar
on 27 April 1934. It went to Phagwara, Begowal and Sultanpur to
investigate the whole affair. It laid the blame squarely on the Hindus
and the Sikhs and the negligence of the state authorities. The Central
Majlis-i-Ahrar announced that it would commemorate 11 May as
the Sultanpur day.57 The State Government published its own report
on 7 June 1934. It held that the Inspector General Police, Major
Kothewala, was guilty for the massacre and he was immediately
55
For further details, see Haq, Tareekh-e-Ahrar, 154–57.
56
Ibid., p. 164; and Malik, Punjab ki Siyasi Tahrikain, 197–201.
57
Malik, Punjab ki Siyasi Tahrikain, 203–4.
dismissed. Nevertheless, this hardly brought any gratification to the

Ahrar. Its leadership demanded far sterner action and claimed that the
State authorities had enacted a travesty of justice.58 The Kapurthala
Movement was a very important link in the chain of events that
enhanced the credibility of the Ahrar. Just as in Kashmir, it estab-
lished its credentials as an organisation that reposed firm belief in
the politics of activism and agitation combining socialist ideals in a
Muslim framework. The Ahrar were however stopped in their tracks
in the July 1935 Shahid Gunj affair in Lahore.
The Shahid Gunj Affair
Ahrar volunteers never flinched from courting arrest, taking out

processions in protest or resorting to civil disobedience. However, the
Ahrar was involved in not only agitational activities but also social
service. In this respect, it displayed similarities with the Khaksar
movement, which was also active in the Punjab at this time. The
social service dimension of the Ahrar’s activities was especially evi-
dent at the time of the 1935 Quetta earthquake. After the calamity
had hit Quetta, ‘Ahrars performed outstanding service in connection
with the relief work ... Among the camps set up by non-government
agencies the most organised and helpful was that of the Ahrars’.59
Nonetheless, their primary mode of mobilising support was through
public agitation and it was this that was to ultimately result in their
decline, most notably around the issue of the Shahid Gunj mosque.
The issue of Shahid Gunj revolved around a Mosque (Abdullah
Khan Ki Masjid), located in the Landa bazaar at some distance
from Lahore Railway Station. Khan-i-Saman of Dara Shikoh (the
kitchen in-charge of the Crown Prince of the Mughal Emperor Shah
Jehan), whose name was Abdullah Khan, built the mosque in the
17th century. Before the onset of the Sikh rule, the mosque was in
use. When the Sikhs rebelled against the Mughals, the Governor of
the Punjab Nawab Moin-ul-Mulk was entrusted with the task of
quelling the resistance. During those days, adjacent to the Mosque
was a kotwali (a police station), where criminals or dissidents were
executed. One of those fighting against the Mughal state was Tara
Singh who was brought to this kotwali, tortured and executed. The
58
Ibid., 204.
59
For details, see Mirza, Karwan-e-Ahrar, Vol. II, 193–201.
66 Tahir Kamran
Sikhs subsequently built a samadhi (a monument for the dead) on the

spot where Tara Singh had breathed his last and named it as Shahid
Gunj, which was subsequently converted into a Gurudwara. Before
Maharaja Ranjit Singh’s assumption of power in the Punjab in 1799,
three Bhangi Sardars (Gujjar Singh, Lehna Singh and Sobha Singh)
established their writ over Lahore (1765–1799). At this time, the
Sikhs occupied the mosque and the granthi (priest) of the Gurudwara
started using it as his residence and took rent for the shops attached
to the building. The arrangement remained the same even after the
annexation of the Punjab by the British in 1849.
The promulgation of the Gurudwara Act in 1925 caused a
considerable change in the Shahid Gunj scenario. That Act nul-
lified the control of the Mahants (priests) over the Gurudwaras
and the trust properties worth crores of rupees. The Shiromani
Gurudwara Prabandhak Committee (SGPC) assumed control over
the Gurudwaras as laid down in the Act. Soon after the Act was
invoked, the Sikh occupants of the mosque and the property attached
to it approached the tribunal set up under the Act and ‘prayed for
exemption from this regulation under the plea that the Mosque
building and the attached shops were their personal property’.
In these circumstances, the secretary Anjuman-i-Islamia (Islamic
Association) of Punjab, Syed Mohsin Shah, also filed a petition
claiming the Anjuman’s right over the mosque and the property
attached to it. However, the tribunal dismissed the claims of both
parties and declared the mosque and the building as the property
of the Gurudwara. The Sikh occupants challenged the tribunal’s
verdict in the High Court, but Anjuman-i-Islamia did not file any
appeal. A division bench of the High Court affirmed the decision of
the tribunal in December 1934 and the building was transferred to
the Lahore branch of SGPC in March 1935.60
After securing the possession of the building, SGPC embarked
on an extensive renovation of the compound. Initially the reaction
of Muslim leaders was quite moderate. They constituted a com-
mittee, the Anjuman-i Tahaffuz-i Masjid Shahid Gunj (commit-
tee for the protection of the Shahid Gunj mosque).61 As the work
60
For details, see Ahmed, From Martial Law to Martial Law, 130–31.
61
A wide spectrum of Unionist Muslims, lawyers, journalists, and biradari
leaders like Mian Abdul Aziz became the members of the committee, to find
legal means to protect the mosque and press for the peaceful settlement
progressed, Muslims started thronging to the place of work; some

of them came there to protest and some just to watch. Mala Singh,
one of the masons, fell to his death. Muslim newspapers claimed
that his death was a punishment for perpetrating a sinful act of
demolition of a mosque. Thereafter, the site drew larger crowds
of Muslims and the tension with the Sikhs palpably increased. The
Deputy Commissioner forbade the Sikhs to touch the mosque. He
also persuaded the Muslims to disperse and posted a police guard
around the compound. Nevertheless, the tension continued to mount
despite the Deputy Commissioner’s assurance that the structure of
the mosque would not be ‘torn down until a final settlement was
made’.62 Governor Emerson also after meeting the Muslim notables
agreed to consider the proposals put forward by them. However, to
the chagrin of the Muslims, the mosque was razed to the ground by
the morning of 9 July. Muslims felt cheated by the Governor and
tempers rose to crescendo proportions. Notable by their absence
from this mobilisation were the Ahrar.
On 14 July a public meeting at Mochi Gate was held, Zafar Ali
Khan being the main speaker. He chastised the Ahrar’s opportun-
ism and said ‘despite great efforts to bring the Ahrar leaders to the
assemblage they had refused to come’. Thereafter the bubble of
Ahrar’s popularity was said to have burst. Immediately after the
meeting, Zafar Ali Khan formed a group, the Majlis Ittehad-i Millat
(association for unity among the Muslims) and the enrolment of the
Niliposh Razakars (blue shirt volunteers) began with the intention of
embarking upon a civil disobedience movement.63 Consequently, four
persons were externed from Lahore: Zafar Ali Khan, Syed Habib,
Malik Lal Khan, and Mian Ferozuddin. On 15 July public meetings
were banned by the British and press censorship was stiffened.
The Ahrar leaders perceived the Masjid Shahid Gunj issue as a
conspiracy against them. They also saw Zafar Ali Khan as a stooge
of the issue. Report on the Shahid Gunj affair by Mian Abdul Aziz, n.d.
(Abdul Aziz collection); F.H. Puckle, chief secretary, Punjab to deputy
com- missioners, 19 July 1935 (NAI, Home Political, file 5/14/35), quoted
in Gilmartin, Empire and Islam, 100. Also see Gilmartin, ‘The Shahid Gunj
Mosque Incident’, 146–68.
62
Ahmed, From Martial Law to Martial Law, 132.
63
Gilmartin, Empire and Islam, 101.
68 Tahir Kamran
of the Unionists who had been their arch enemies.64 The Shahid Gunj
incident remained unresolved, despite the popular protests. Feroze
Khan Noon, in his correspondence to Fazl-i-Hussain, divulged that
some Ahrar leaders, wanting to forge an electoral alliance with the
Sikhs in the forthcoming elections, kept quiet about the Shahid
Gunj issue.65 Abdullah Malik contends that the Ahrar stayed away
from that contentious issue because joining the fray could have put
its leadership in jail, which would have amounted to handing over
the electoral victory to the Unionist party in a silver platter.66 Malik
also asserts the collusion of Zafar Ali Khan with Governor Emerson
against Ahrar because of its soaring popularity.67 Zafar Ali Khan
and his newspaper Zamindar along with Sayyid Habib’s the Daily
Siyasat launched a condemnatory campaign against the Ahrar even
though the Zamindar had previously been such a staunch supporter.
Consequently, the Ahrar movement was permanently undermined
in its Punjab heartland.
Sectarianism and Decline
The Ahrar’s major impact came in those political moments where

it was able to mobilise the peasantry and the exploited through a
religious idiom against the existing powers of the state. However,
there was always an undercurrent of sectarianism in their politics,
particularly when it came to the Ahmediyya. As Indian politics
became increasingly communalised, the Ahrar seemed to also become
increasingly sectarian. Although its mobilisation in Kapurthala
ignored the Shia–Sunni divide (as it was defending a Muharram
march), and its last large-scale mobilisation ostensibly carried on
this practice by preaching Muslim unity, it was always nevertheless
within an overarching framework of Sunni hegemony. Ultimately,
this strategy backfired.
The Ahrar were involved in a movement called Madeh-i-Sahaba,
which translates as eulogising the companions of the Prophet in
United Provinces (UP).68 Its main target was the Shia practice of
64
See for details Haq, Tareekh-e-Ahrar, 242–46.
65
Malik, Book of Readings, 559.
66
Malik, Purani Mahfilain, 102.
67
Ibid.
68
Haq, Tareekh-e-Ahrar, 218–43.
revering Ali to a higher status than the other Caliphs (companions).

One of the Ahrar spokesperson Atta-ullah Shah Bokhari, while
addressing a public gathering in Lucknow (a city with a Shia major-
ity among the Muslims), referred to the second Caliph Umer with a
suffix Raziallaha (may Allah be pleased with him). Someone from the
gathering told him: ‘alluding to the first three caliphs with so much
of deference is legally proscribed here in Lucknow’.69 But Bokhari
kept on quoting the companions of the Prophet reverentially. He
also said, ‘to respect some personality is not crime though abusing
him is definitely a crime’. His speech ended peacefully and Bokhari
went back to Lahore and broached the issue in the meeting of the
Ahrar working committee. The working committee deputed Maulana
Mazhar Ali Azhar to investigate the issue. The report he presented
is summarised below:
Before 1905 Shias and Sunnis lived like brothers and participated
in the Tazia procession, in which Hindus also took part without
any sectarian misgivings. As Shias were in majority so most of the
municipal committee members adhered to Asna Ashari faith. It was
in 1905 that a split occurred between them and one faction called
in a Shia Maulvi (religious Scholar) by the name of Maqbul Ahmed
from Rampur. He exacerbated the sectarian difference. Consequently,
Shia-Sunni riots took place for the first time in the entire history of
Lucknow. Therefore, Hindus stopped joining Muslims in the Tazia
procession. And Sunnis set up their own Karbala outside the city and
started taking out their own procession. To investigate Shia-Sunni riots
the government set up a commission under a British officer Mr. Piggot
and thereby the sectarian divide got perpetuated.70
In these circumstances, the Ahrar decided to launch a movement

against the UP government. From the different cities of UP and
Punjab, Ahrar volunteers started pouring in to Lucknow. After
disembarking from the trains, they used to enter the city by reciting
these verses:
Hain Kirnain Eik hi Mushal ki

Abu Bakar, Umer, Usman Ali
Hum Martaba Hain Yaraan-e-Nabi
69
Taqi-ud-Din, Pakistan ki Siyasi Jamatain, 195–97.
70
Farouqi, Imam e Ahl e Sunnat Hazrat Allama Muhammad Abdul
Shakoor Farooqi Lucknavi, 214–55.
70 Tahir Kamran
Kuch Farq Nahin in Charoon Main71

(Rays emanating from the same lamp
Abu Bakr, Umer, Usman and Ali
Companions of prophet have equal status
There is no difference in these four.)
While reciting these verses they courted arrest in large numbers.

Concurrently, the 5th Shia political conference was held in Lucknow
in December 1937, which was presided over by Prince Ikram Hussain,
son of the last Nawab of Awadh. A Resolution was passed that added
further fuel to the fire in which it was said: ‘we warn the Government
and Sunnis to respect the rights and sentiments of Shias. Our status
and rights are practically ignored and Madha-i-Sahaba movement is
anti-Shia which aims at extirpating Shia political influence’.72
More than 1000 people were imprisoned during the agitation.
Eventually the governor of UP intervened and with the help of
Sunni notables of Lucknow the Majlis-e-Ahrar was pleaded to stop
that movement, which it did, although unrest kept resurfacing from
time to time throughout the 1940s. In the long term, the movement
intensified the sectarian division within the Muslims and its impact
is explicitly visible in the present-day state of Pakistan. Indeed,
sectarian militants such as Haq Nawaz Jhangvi (1952–1990), the
founder-leader of Sipah-e-Sahaba (Army of the Companions of the
Prophet) Pakistan, have acknowledged the legacy of Atta-ullah Shah
Bokhari and his colleagues in Majlis-e-Ahrar. By organising solely on
a religious issue and without any base in the peasantry, the legacy
of the Ahrar in this context is the exacerbation of religious conflict
rather than decline in exploitation.
The Ahrar decline, according to Shorish Kashmiri, began as early
as in 1931 with the desertions of its founding members like Zafar Ali
Khan and Ghazi Abdul Rehman. It was however the Shahid Gunj
affair that began the rot and this was completed by the changes in
all-India politics in the 1940s. The Pakistan demand in the Punjab,
as elsewhere in India, changed the terms of political discourse.73 The
71
Quoted in Taqi-ud-Din, Pakistan ki Siyasi Jamatain, 196.
72
Ibid., 197.
73
Ahrar vehemently opposed the Lahore Resolution. They were
particularly opposed to the idea of transfer of population based on religion.
For Ahrar’s point of view, see Azhar, Humarey Firkawarana Faysaley ka
Istadraj, 162–69.
Ahrar opposed the Pakistan demand but also became estranged from
Congress and Jamiat Ulema-i-Hind (JUH).74 It tried hard to bounce
back to the political mainstream by passing the Hakumat-i-Ilahiyya
resolution, but no gains accrued.75 That resolution meant promul-
gation of the Islamic System as ordained by Allah and his Prophet.
Hakumat-i-Ilahiyya deprecated any geographical or ethnic solution
to the communal problem that confronted India at the time.76 It also
widened the gulf between Congress and the Ahrar because the latter
chose to focus on this aspect instead of lending support to the Quit
India Movement in 1942.
Consequently Congress turned its back on the Ahrar and so did
its political ally JUH, thus marginalising the movement and leaving
its leadership little option but to quit politics. Yet, its brief politi-
cal career — its capacity to mobilise the peasantry and its mixed
ideological appeal on economic and religious registers — provide an
important case study in the politics of late colonial Punjab.
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mission of Historical and Cultural Research, 1976.
Ahmed, Syed Nur, From Martial Law to Martial Law: Politics in the Punjab,
1919–195, trans. by Craig Baxter, Lahore: Vangaurd Books, 1985.
Ali, Maulana Muhammad, The Ahmadiyyah Movement, trans. and ed. by
S. Muhammad Tuffail, Lahore: Ahmadiyyah Anjuman Ishaat Islam,
1973.
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Intakhabatsey Pakistan Tak, Lahore: Maktaba-i-Ahrar, 1944.
———, Masala-e Shaheed Gunj. Lahore: Bukhari Academy, 1978.
74
Kashmiri, Sayaad Ataullah, 117.
75
Afzal, Political Parties in Pakistan: 1947–1958, 27. For Hakumat-i-
Ilahiyah and its conceptual exposition, see Azhar, Humarey Firkawarana
Faysaleyka Istadraj, 244–47.
76
Azhar, Humarey Firkawarana Faysaleyka Istadraj, 247.
72 Tahir Kamran
Batalvi, Ashique Hussain, Iqbal key Akhri Doo Saal, Lahore: Idara-i-
Saqafat-e-Islamia, 1989.
Copland, Ian, ‘Islam and Political Mobilization in Kashmir, 1931–34’, Pacific
Affairs 54, no. 2 (Summer, 1981): 228–59.
Farouqi, M., Imam e Ahl e Sunnat Hazrat Allama Muhammad Abdul
Shakoor Farooqi Lucknavi: Hayat aur Khidmat, Lahore: Idarai
Tehqiqati Ahl e Sunnat, 2009.
Friedmann, Yohanan, Prophecy Continuous: Aspects of Ahmadi Religious
Thought and Its Medieval Background, New Delhi: Oxford University
Press, 2003.
Gilmartin, David, Empire and Islam: Punjab and the Making of Pakistan,
London: I.B. Tauris, 1988.
———, ‘The Shahid Gunj Mosque Incident: A Prelude to Pakistan’, in Islam,
Politics, and Social Movements, (eds) Edmund Burke, III, and Ira M.
Lapidus, Berkeley: University of California Press, 1988.
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Punjab Act II of 1954 to Enquire into the Punjab Disturbances of
1953, Lahore: Printed by the Superintendent, Government Printing,
Punjab, 1954.
Grewal, J. S., The Sikhs of the Punjab, Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1995.
Haq, Afzal, Tareekh-e-Ahrar, Lahore: Maktaba Majlis-e-Ahrar Islam, 1968.
———, Mera Afsana, Lahore: Kutabnuma, 1991.
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Husain, Azim, Fazal-i-Husain: A Political Biography, New Delhi: Longman,
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———, Sayaad Ataullah Shah Bokhari, Swanehwa Afkar, Lahore: Matbuaat-
i-Chattan, 1969.
Ludhyanvi, Tajud Din, Ahrar Aur Tehrik-e-Kashmir 1932, Lahore:
Maktaba-i-Majlis-e-Ahrar Islam, Pakistan, 1968.
———, Majlis-e-Ahraraur Tariekhi Tahriefki Yalghar, Lahore: Markazi
Maktaba Majlis-e-Ahrar-e-Islam Pakistan, 1968.
Malik, Abdullah, Punjab ki Siyasi Tahrikain, Lahore: Nigarshat, 1982.
———, Purani Mahfilain Yaad A Rehi Hein, Lahore: Takhliqaat, 2002.
Malik, Iftikhar H., Sikandar Hayat Khan: A Political Biography, Islamabad:
National Institute of Historical and Cultural Research, 1985.
Malik, Ikram Ali, ed., A Book of Readings on the History of the Punjab,
Lahore: Research Society of Pakistan, 1970.
Minault, Gail, The Khilafat Movement: Religious Symbolism and Political
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———, Karwan-e-Ahrar, Vol. II, Lahore: Maktaba-i-Karwan, 1975.
———, Karwan-e-Ahrar, Vol. I, Lahore: Maktaba-i-Karwan, 1975.
Nehru, Jawaharlal, Jawaharlal Nehru: An Autobiography, London: John
Lane the Bodley Head, 1936.
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Basat-e-Adab, 1991.
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Fiction House, 1995.
 4
An Unfulfilled Dream:
The Left in Pakistan ca. 1947–50
Ali Raza
O n the 9th anniversary of the Lahore Resolution, which enunciated

the Muslim League’s formal political demand for the creation of
Pakistan, Faiz Ahmed Faiz penned an editorial on the ‘progress of a
dream’. Speaking of the ‘common man’ and his vision for Pakistan,
Faiz wrote:
The devotion and fervour that he so plentifully offered to the national

cause sprung from other connotations of the term Pakistan and it
connoted above all, freedom and independence ... Everyone felt,
however, that Pakistan meant freedom from the poignant humiliation
of being governed by an alien people; it meant freedom from the
economic strangle-hold of a ruthless class of exploiters whose class
antagonism to the victims was reinforced by differences of culture,
creed and outlook; it meant freedom from the tyranny of officials big
and small who derived their authority from a foreign source; it also
meant freedom to speak one’s language without feeling abashed. It
means freedom from perpetual affront and insult at the hands of men
not as good as oneself; it meant freedom from the constant violence
that one’s integrity and intelligence was subjected to, by men who
had risen to power through fraud and treachery or birth and riches
... Once we get rid of this destructive combine, the people said, we
shall be able to sweep all minor obstructions aside — the stupid,
vainglorious, feudal grandee, fub-thumping obscurantist demagogue,
the tyrannous policeman, the grasping rent-racketeer, the incompetent
corrupt official, the censor and the CID.1
1
Editorial in the Pakistan Times, 23 March 1949. Majeed, Coming Back
74
Home, Amita Shah and Jharna Pathak
23.
The Left in Pakistan ca. 1947–50 75
More than the mythical ‘common man’, this tract perhaps better
represented the hopes and aspirations of Faiz and other like-minded
leftist activists. Much like the varied understandings and visions of
swaraj, the call for Pakistan too offered hope and succour to those on
the progressive end of the political spectrum. This partly explained
why the Communist Party of India (CPI) and its affiliates initially
greeted the call for Pakistan as a just and progressive demand. This
in turn was a reflection of what decolonisation meant for those
political actors whose understanding of identity, sovereignty and
socio-political objectives was at variance with the inheritors of the
colonial state. With its understandable emphasis on the themes of
Empire, Nation and Community, dominant accounts of Partition
and Independence have usually served to further marginalize these
political actors in historiography. This is especially true insofar as
the Punjab is concerned, given that it was one of the two fault lines
on which the two independent states emerged.
The Left of course is one of the more prominent victims of this
historiographical blind spot.2 This gap is even more striking when it
comes to the Left’s engagement with the Muslim League and the chal-
lenges it faced after it was reduced to a much weakened ‘Pakistani’
Left in the wake of Partition.3 This absence is both understandable
and inexplicable. Viewed from the former perspective, the leftist
movement in Pakistan, or at least its western variant, could never
claim the relative strength enjoyed by their counterparts in India. On
the other hand, Pakistan’s leftist movement, unlike any other political
2
Nevertheless, there are a few accounts that have touched on this issue.
Nearly all of these, however, have exclusively focused on the trajectory of the
Leftist movement in post-colonial India. For the earliest wide ranging work in
this genre, see the second half of Overstreet and Windmiller, Communism in
India. With respect to East Punjab, see the second half of Singh, Communism
in Punjab, which explores the movement up until the late 1960s.
3
A notable exception is the recent paper published by Ali, ‘Communists
in a Muslim Land’, 501–34, in which he skillfully charts the intellectual
and cultural exchanges between prominent leftists that were a response to
the dilemmas they faced in the nascent state. Ali’s article, then, provides
an essential intellectual backdrop to this piece, which is largely concerned
with the newly ‘decolonized’ political landscape. These and later debates
along with their wider political backdrop are also covered in Toor’s, The
State of Islam.
76 Ali Raza
force at the time, was constantly persecuted by a paranoid state

that was fearful of the Left’s overblown image and its ‘subversive’
potential, rather than the actual movement itself. Not only did this
policy point towards the survivability of the colonial state — along
with its institutional outlook and its coercive apparatus — but it
also clearly demonstrated the political and ideological priorities of
those who inherited it. Viewed this way, the Left, despite its political
impotence, cannot be neglected in a commentary on the post-colonial
state of Pakistan.
This article, therefore, aims to partially fill that gap by charting
the Left’s experiences in the immediate aftermath of Partition. This
narrative is important for a number of reasons. First, it shows how the
space for progressive politics rapidly shrunk owing to the devastation
wrought by Partition and the onslaught of triumphal nationalist chau-
vinism, which invoked religion and suppressed dissenting voices that
were deemed to be ‘anti-Pakistan’. In so doing, the nascent Pakistani
polity defined an arena of legitimacy in which the Left was perpetu-
ally at or beyond the margins of what counted as acceptable politics.
Second, this narrative provides insights into how various political
actors were attempting to mould the post-colonial state in their own
image in the immediate aftermath of decolonisation. Additionally,
these formative years set the stage for the divisive political debates
of the ensuing decades in which the state played a decidedly partisan
role. In what follows therefore, I mostly situate this narrative in the
Punjab as its leftist tradition had a richer pedigree in comparison
to other regions in West Pakistan. Moreover, the province’s leftist
movement, again in comparison to other regions, was profoundly
affected by Partition. It was also here that the Left actively engaged
with the Muslim League in the years leading up to 1947.4
There are, however, a few points that should be clarified at the
very outset. The first relates to the term ‘Left’. As should be obvious,
this was a broad category that encompassed a number of organiza-
tions and individuals who were associated with what counted as
‘progressive’ or ‘leftist’ politics. These labels too were perpetually
contested and redefined by individuals within the ‘Left’ as well as
by a paranoid state, which kept a close eye on what it considered
to be ‘communist’ or ‘leftist’ politics. Clearly then, the ‘Left’ was a
4
See Ali’s piece in this volume.
broad and slippery political category that shifted according to time

and context. It is for this reason why I refer to a number of individu-
als and organisations in this essay, and in particular, the nascent
Communist Party of Pakistan (CPP), which was the most prominent
of leftist parties operating in this period.
The second clarification relates to the sources used in this article,
which are mostly drawn from the official archive. In part, this imbal-
ance is necessitated owing to this article’s focus on the post-colonial
state and the political arena it crafted. In so doing, this narrative
provides a useful contrast to Kamran Asdar Ali’s article in this issue,
which closely examines the Left’s politics and provides an insight
into its internal debates. Still, there are some obvious problems
associated with the reliance on official sources. That said, these
sources are valuable for offering certain insights into the contours
of a state and a political landscape that outlasted the formal transfer
of power. Like its predecessor, the post-colonial state also closely
observed leftist politics. Its reporting thus had the ‘immediacy’ that
Ranajit Guha identifies in his discussion on ‘primary’ discourse.5 The
contemporaneous nature of this reporting, therefore, provides a fas-
cinating glimpse of everyday politics that the Left was engaged with.
And while these reports are inevitably coloured by state imperatives,
they also betray the anxiety with which the Left and its politics was
viewed in the nascent country. Given the backdrop of a developing
Cold War, this nervousness was also shared by the former colonial
power, which kept a close watch on leftist politics. Viewed another
way, these sources provide greater insights about the priorities and
outlooks of the institutions which produced them; then they do about
the subjects of their reporting. Put together, these documents pro-
vide an intimate view of the Left, which is further supplemented by
their meticulous reporting of publications, speeches and intercepted
correspondences that are otherwise lost to the historical record.
Notwithstanding its problems then, the official archive still remains
the largest repository of sources relating to leftist activities within
the colonial as well as the post-colonial state.6 This fact alone is a
telling reminder of the level of scrutiny and persecution the Left was
5
Guha, ‘The Prose of Counter-Insurgency’, 47–50.
6
It should be added, however, that the official record of leftist politics
beyond these formative years is still largely inaccessible.
78 Ali Raza
regularly subjected to.7
A ‘Leprous Daybreak’8
The first intelligence report after Partition remarked at very outset

that ‘the inauguration of Pakistan, which had been so eagerly awaited
by the Muslims, brought very little joy’.9
As far as observations went, this was perhaps understating
the widespread sense of disillusionment that marked the birth of
Pakistan. From the highest echelons of a struggling government to
wider society as a whole, this sense has been emotively immortalised
in much of the literature that has been devoted to Partition and
perhaps none more so than in the renowned poet and leftist, Faiz
Ahmed Faiz’s poem, Subah-e-Azadi. But Faiz’s lament and his call
for continuing the search ‘for that promised Dawn’ resonated more
with the Punjabi Left or, at the very least, the section of it which
had been left behind in Pakistan. The horrific scale of the communal
massacres gradually saw to it that the majority of Punjabi leftists,
Hindu and Sikh, were compelled to either migrate to or stay in East
Punjab. One of these was Teja Singh Swatantar, who founded the
first, albeit short lived, Pakistan Communist Party in mid 1947. What
remained was an isolated and embittered group of leftists who had
not joined the Muslim League and were still affiliated with a few
labour unions and either the CPI or the Socialist Party. Nevertheless,
the perennial (if misplaced) optimism that was a hallmark of the Left
soon expressed itself in the determination of the remaining radicals
to work in Pakistan. The Pakistan flag was hoisted alongside the red
7
Moreover, leftist activists frequently destroyed incriminating documents
themselves. According to popular anecdotes retold by leftists today, many
individuals literally ate such documents owing to a fear that the security
services would be able to retrieve them if any other method of disposal
was used.
8
Approximate translation of ‘yeh daagh daagh ujala’, which is part of
the first verse of Faiz’s iconic poem Subah-e-Azadi (Dawn of Freedom).
This verse has also been literally translated as the ‘stain-covered daybreak’.
Translation by Victor Kiernan in the book Poems by Faiz, http://www.
outlookindia.com/article.aspx?212904.
9
Lahore, 23 August, No. 34, PPSAI — West Punjab (WP) 1947, 419.
banner on party offices, while resolutions were passed offering coop-

eration to the Pakistan Government in solving the ‘problems of the
people’, appealing for acceptance of minority rights and suggesting
cooperation between Pakistan and India in economic, defence and
foreign policy questions. Further appeals were made for Pakistan to
be a secular democratic republic and not a communal state or British
Dominion.10 Plans were also made for overcoming the dearth, partly
through killings, of Muslim workers by encouraging the employment
of Sikhs converted as Muslims and calling for the ‘import’ of Muslim
workers from Delhi and other provinces of India.11
Viewed in a broader context, the Left in Pakistan was clearly faced
with seemingly insurmountable challenges. The immediate issue
facing the nascent state was resettling millions of refugees who had
mostly flooded into West Punjab. Deprived of their material posses-
sions and sources of income, the refugees were an enormous burden
on the scarce resources of both state and society. Additionally, there
were other problems that threatened to engulf the new government.
For one, there was a food grain shortage across the Province, which
resulted in an astronomical rise in the prices of foodstuffs, particularly
in the black market.12 There was also a concurrent shortage of cloth
and other commodities, while criminal incidents also increased mani-
fold. More crucially, the political uncertainty surrounding the new
state was an invitation for various groups — ranging from Islamists
to Communists — to fill the vacuum through their respective articu-
lations of socio-political visions for the new state. In doing so, they
were seeking to address the prevailing discontent and opposition to
a seemingly indifferent government and, in many cases, to the idea
of Pakistan itself. Thus, one Qazi Ahmed Jan, Imam of a mosque
in Thata, Attock district, spoke for many when he was reported to
declare at a public gathering that:
Hindustan and Hindu Government were better than Pakistan and

Muslim Government, as under the latter Government, the people
could not even get enough to eat. He (Qazi Ahmed Jan) shouted
10
Lahore, 16 August, No. 33, PPSAI — WP 1947, 417.
11
Lahore, 23 August, No. 35, 426; Lahore, 13 September, No. 38, PPSAI
— WP 1947, 454.
12
Lahore, 14 February, No. 7, PPSAI — WP 1948, 47.
80 Ali Raza
slogans of Pakistan Murdabad and Muslim League Murdabad and

said the Pakistan Government was encouraging corruption and doing
injustice.13
The Left, however, was in no position to channel this discontent,

much as it tried or wanted to, into a more progressive direction.
The experience of Partition had divided leftist groups, with many
of their best cadres and leaders migrating to East Punjab. Even the
strongholds of union and kisan activity had been weakened by the
migration of non Muslim workers and kisans. Most strongholds
had also become part of East Punjab. To add to that, there was
no united leftist party operating in Pakistan, let alone the Punjab.
Rather, leftist groups exhibited the established norms of infighting
between and within themselves. As a result, and in a continuation
from the pre partition period, there were a number of leftist groups
that often ended up working in cross purposes to each other. Aside
from the famous Pakistan Progressive Writers Association (closely
allied to the Communist Party), the most significant of these was
the All Pakistan Trades Union Federation, which was set up by the
now ‘Pakistani’ representatives of the ‘Communist controlled’ All
India Trades Union Federation. The Federation was led by Mirza
Muhammad Ibrahim, a veteran labour leader of the North Western
Railways Union in Lahore. Other than this, there was also a Pakistan
Socialist Party, led by Munshi Ahmed Din, former member and
leader of the Punjab Congress Socialist Party (CSP), and a parlia-
mentary ‘Pakistan Peoples’ Party’. There were also a slew of parties
and agrarian movements operating in Sindh, East Pakistan, and, to
some extent, the NWFP. Finally, there was a scattering of Leftists
within the Muslim League, such as Mian Iftikharuddin who was the
party’s Punjab President.14
13
Lahore 14 February, No. 7, PPSAI — WP 1948, 48.
14
Despatch No. 90 (Secret) from Office of the High Commissioner for
the United Kingdom, Karachi, dated 27th March 1948, POL 7416 1948
(henceforth referred to as ‘Despatch from Office of HCUK, Karachi’)
Communist Activities in India and Pakistan, Jan 1947–Oct 1949 (henceforth
referred to as CAIP) IOR/L/P&J/12/772, 127–30. Iftikharuddin, however,
did not last long in the Muslim League. He was unceremoniously expelled
from the party in 1950. As a Leaguer and later as a prominent politician,
he regularly criticised the ruling party for introducing draconian policies
Added to this milieu was the Pakistan Communist Party that was
established (again) in 1948. Typically though, the Party was born out
of heated debates, which provided a revealing insight into how the
prevailing political situation was understood by many activists. The
debate centred between two prominent Punjabi Leftists, Fazal Elahi
Qurban and Ferozeuddin Mansur. Qurban was in favour of setting
up a party that would be independent of the CPI and reflective of a
political reality in which the two dominions of India and Pakistan
were functioning independently of each other.15 F.D. Mansur, on
the other hand, did not agree with Qurban’s assessment as he felt
that the two Dominions would be reunited soon. F.D. Mansur then
was representing a substantial section of the Left and the initial line
of the CPI, which felt that the two autonomous states were a tem-
porary reality. This line was also pursued by the envoy of the CPI,
Sajjad Zaheer, who was deputed by the party to visit Lahore and
assist and guide the leftists there in pursuing the directives issued
by the All India Party.16 These debates were an indication of the
uncertainty prevailing after Partition and a reflection of the various
visions that political actors held, and not just in leftist circles, over
the future direction and political orientation of the two states. Soon
though, the CPI at its Second Party Congress held at Calcutta in
March 1948 relented to its branches in Pakistan forming a separate
party, the headquarters of which were in Lahore.17 Sajjad Zaheer
was entrusted to organise the Party but he was soon forced to go
and betraying its imagined progressive principles. See, for example, his
statement following his expulsion from the League: Malik, Selected Speeches
and Statements, 173.
15
It should be added that Qurban was a member of Teja Singh Swatantar’s
group, which argued for and even established a separate ‘Pakistan
Communist Party’ a few months before Partition actually happened. This line
of argument then was consistent with Qurban’s thinking on the seemingly
irreversible reality of Partition.
16
Lahore, 4 January, No. 7, PPSAI — WP 1948, 7. Zaheer was also the
founder of the All India Progressive Writers Association and one of the
leading lights in colonial and post-colonial leftist politics. For an English
translation of his account Roshnai, see Zaheer, The Light.
17
From the High Commissioner for the UK in Pakistan, Karachi, to
Commonwealth Relations Office, London, No. 61, dated 31st March 1948,
POL 7069 1948, CAIP IOR/L/P&J/12/772, 138.
82 Ali Raza
underground to escape state persecution.18 The founding principles

of the party had already been laid and were similar to the demands
and political principles articulated by other leftist groups. These
included the nationalisation of key industries, radical agrarian reform
and the repeal of regressive and repressive laws. More interest-
ingly, a proposal was also made for reorganising the new state on
a linguistic basis, in which the resulting federating states would be
granted the principle of self-determination.19 This demand reflected
an understanding and recognition of the ethnic and linguistic cleav-
ages within the new nation as much as it was a continuation of the
standard communist line of self-determination.
The Threat of Communism
The Communists or the broader Left though was handicapped from

the start in pursuing these objectives. For in addition to organisa-
tional problems and external events beyond its control, leftist activ-
ists soon became the favoured target of state persecution. Indeed,
in this regard, the post-colonial states of both India and Pakistan
showed a remarkable degree of continuity in criminalising the very
same groups that had been the primary target of their predecessor.
Both states clung onto a larger than life image of the Left, and this
official hysteria led to a series of repressive measures being put in
place. This was as much an outcome of a political movement that
had fallen foul of the ruling parties in both countries in the run-up
to independence as much as it was of a bureaucracy, which had been
institutionalised and habituated into imagining the Left as a seditious
movement that was a proxy of the Soviet Union. Thus, in India for
instance, the party was banned under a variety of pretexts between
1948 and 1951 in all its major strongholds. This was foreshadowed
by hundreds of arrests and the search of party and union offices.20
The extent of this official hysteria was reflected in the statement
18
Communism in the West Punjab, CAIP, IOR/L/P&J/12/772, 356–57.
19
Letter from the High Commissioner for the United Kingdom in Pakistan,
Karachi to the Commonwealth Relations Office, London dated 3rd March
1948, CAIP IOR/L/P&J/12/772, 81.
20
See for instance, Extract from the ‘Economist’ dated 22 November
1947 POL 12015 1947 and Reuters India and Pakistan Service 29.3.48,
CAIP IOR/L/P&J/12/772.
of an East Punjab minister who accused the Communists of being

involved in Mahatma Gandhi’s assassination as well as being partly
responsible, owing to their support for Pakistan, for the recent mas-
sacres in the Punjab.21 In this persecution Pakistan soon followed
suit, and in ways that suggested at most, a suspicious degree of
coordination between the two states or, at the very least, one of the
rare instances when the official polices of both states were perfectly
aligned with each other. This was especially the case in East Bengal,
which clamped down on communist activity immediately after a ban
had been imposed on the party in West Bengal.22
Unlike in India, however, where the communists were still a sub-
stantial force and involved in agrarian agitation and uprisings against
the state, the Left in Pakistan was hardly equipped to withstand the
onslaught of state repression. If anything, the paranoia in Pakistan
was much worse than that exhibited in India. This primarily had
to do with the fear that Pakistan, in the words of the British High
Commissioner, ‘abound(ed) with excellent material for communist
agitation’.23 Indeed, British representatives were petrified at the
possibility of communist activism within the new state and closely
liaised with their former colleagues within the Pakistan bureaucracy
to get a better sense of the ‘threat’ it faced. The ‘danger’, as was
acknowledged time and again, and reported by the head of the CID
to a British consular official in Lahore, did not come from the present
state of organisation of the Left, rather it ‘lay in the misery which
could be so easily exploited’.24 There were potentialities for agrar-
ian unrest in the Bengal25 and NWFP,26 while there was also cause
for apprehension in Sindh and West Punjab of peasant and labour
agitations. However, by far, the biggest ‘reservoir of discontent and
21
‘Sixty nine Communists arrested in Punjab Simla’, Reuters India and
Pakistan Service 3/4/48, CAIP IOR/L/P&J/12/772, 146.
22
Communist Movement in East Bengal, CAIP IOR/L/P&J/12/772, 345.
23
Despatch from Office of HCUK, Karachi, CAIP IOR/L/P&J/12/772,
132.
24
Extract from letter from Deputy UKHC, Lahore, dated 22nd February,
1948 Pol. 7071/48, CAIP IOR/L/P&J/12/772, 83.
25
See for instance, Communist Movement in East Bengal, CAIP
IOR/L/P&J/12/772, 345, 349–50.
26
See for instance, ‘NWFP Peasantry Asks Government to End Feudal
Tyranny’, Extract from Pakistan Times Date 20th February 1948, CAIP
IOR/L/P&J/12/772, 136.
84 Ali Raza
potential agitation’ was the mass of refugees who had flooded into
West Punjab. Those already resettled provided a potential audience
for leftists, while those still in camps, ‘living in conditions of appall-
ing squalor and discomfort, demoralised by what they have suffered
and by lack of employment, provide(d) even more fertile material’.
Thus, according to a report given by a former Indian Army officer
who volunteered for service with the refugees:
The refugees themselves say, ‘we were promised Pakistan, what we

got is Qabristan (cemetery)’ and from the thousands and thousands
who have died from exposure one can but sympathize with them.
I have met quite a number of wealthy people who lost their all owing
to partition, (and) they, as a class, all complain that nothing is done
for them and they are the bitterest critics of most of the ‘tops’ now
in office. The wish for Communism — which is so foreign to the
nature of the Mussalman — is very freely expressed and particularly
by the former wealthy classes, the more educated types. Of one thing
I am certain, and that is that unless the refugees are very speedily
rehabilitated Pakistan will have a permanent problem of hundreds
of thousands of ghoondas (criminals).27
Further compounding the problem was the feared encirclement of

Pakistan by international communism. This anxiety of course has
to be viewed in the broader context of the cold war and the joint
Anglo-American efforts to check the spread of Communism in Asia.
For this was a period when the Communists were on the verge of
victory in China and the advance of the Revolution was anticipated
in South East Asia and especially in Malaya, Burma, Indonesia, and
French Indo-China. In this regard, conversations were reported to
have taken place between Britain and the United States expressing
the desirability of ‘sustaining and siding with the stable nations of
Asia, particularly India and Pakistan, as their examples offer the best
counter-irritant to the “co-prosperity sphere” kind of propaganda
that is likely to be increased once a Communist regime is established
in China’.28 The reality, however, was that Pakistan, as the worried
dispatches of the British representatives indicated, was anything but
27
133.
stable. There was thus a danger that Pakistan could provide ‘a fertile
field for Soviet intervention’. Already in an ominous development
for West Pakistan, the Soviet Union was active in fomenting ‘unrest’
in Central Asia, and more worryingly Sinkiang, and it was feared
that the northernmost princely states of Hunza and Nagar had pro-
Soviet inclinations.29 On the Eastern front, Communist infiltration
from Burma, or more realistically West Bengal, remained a threat.30
Unexpectedly enough, this fear was also echoed by the Pakistani
establishment itself. Thus, Mian Anwer Ali, head of the CID, wrote
later that:
Communism is the most inexorable and momentous political force

in the contemporary world: it’s strength and potentialities are often
under-estimated. In Pakistan the complacency is partly due to the
common belief that Islam and communism are incompatible. How
many people realize that the Muslims of the southern states of the
USSR and China could not avert its advent? Malaya, despite its
Muslim population, is engaged in a gruelling life and death struggle;
in Iran, the Tudeh Party is gathering strength: in Egypt, the horizon
becomes marked with red streaks. Strangest of all, Afghanistan, in
spite of its despotic masters, has a nucleus of a party whose leader, at
any rate, hopes to overthrow the existing regime ... The threat of the
Red expansion is now turning towards India. Guerrillas battled for
years with armed forces in the States of Hyderabad and Madras and
kept them at bay. In certain provincial assemblies enough communist
MLA’s have been returned as to hold the balance of power. These
factors must have their effect in Pakistan.31
Both this passage and the report given by the former Indian Army
officer gave an insight into the hopes within certain official and British
circles about what they thought to be the ultimate defence against
28
Reuters Indian and Pakistan Service 20/1/49 POL 10496 1949, CAIP
IOR/L/P&J/12/772, 259.
29
130–1.
30
31
Preface of M. Anwer Ali, The Communist Party of West Pakistan in
Action (Lahore: CID, Govt of Punjab, 1952). I am grateful and indebted
to Kamran Asdar Ali for his generosity in giving me a copy of this report.
86 Ali Raza
communist advances: the ‘Musalmaan’ and his faith.
The Rhetorical Deployment of Islam
Even though the formation of the Republic of Pakistan did not include
(at that time) Islam in its title, the issue of religion was never far
from colonial and post-colonial discourse. Indeed, in some sections,
it was felt that communism was ‘largely beyond the Muslim mental
grasp’.32 Additionally, one of the reasons why the godless communist
‘virus’ was believed not to have attained a strong growth in 1948
was of the ‘discipline inherent in an Islamic State’, which had been
augmented by the strength of a victorious political party machine
whose appeal had been primarily religious and reinforced by a fear
of India and communal hatred of Hindus and Sikhs. It was thus felt
that the expansion of secular Government would naturally weaken
Muslim League Party discipline and gradually diminish the strength
of the religious bonds that were helping ward off imagined commu-
nist advances.33 This was particularly so where the population was
strongly bound to ‘custom’ and ‘tenets of Islam’, like Baluchistan
and the NWFP,34 while in Sindh, the ‘extreme backwardness’ of the
Sindhi hari35 made for ‘poor subversive material’.36 In addition to
these sentiments, the official establishment and the vernacular press
were only too eager to replicate these colonial tropes in their pro-
nouncements. The daily ‘Dawn’ for instance felt that ‘the spiritual
force of Islam’ could play its part in repulsing ‘the false philosophy
of Communism’, for the Muslim people were ‘naturally embattled’
against the onslaught of Communism.37 Nevertheless, it was still felt,
as Mian Anwer Ali’s report indicated, that Islam itself won’t be a
32
129.
33
Ibid., 127, 133.
34
Communism in the NWFP, CAIP IOR/L/P&J/12/772, 363.
35
Peasant.
36
128.
37
Extract No. 28, from High Commissioner for the UK in Pakistan,
Karachi to Commonwealth Relations Office, Dated 4th February 1949,
Pol. 10825/49 CAIP, IOR/L/P&J/12/772.
sufficient deterrent against communist advances. Indeed, there was no

discounting ‘the ease with which ignorant Muslim crowds (could) be
swayed by unscrupulous orators assisted by real economic distress’.38
However, Islam was still an absolutely necessary tool in the
defence against communism. In this, sufficient groundwork was
already being laid by the Islamist parties, who, much like any
other political movement during this time, attempted to direct
the prevailing uncertainty towards their imagined polity. While
demands for making Pakistan an Islamic State had been raised in
the run-up to Partition, these calls grew more vociferous after the
state had been established and, especially, as it set itself to agree-
ing on a Constitution. The implementation of Shariat law and the
establishment of a Hukumat-I-Ilahia (Divine Rule) were held to
be the solution to the manifold problems plaguing the new state.
Instead, the incumbent Muslim League leadership was (perceived
to be) preventing this from happening.39 The League leadership was
accused of protecting an immoral, indecent (particularly with regard
to women) and corrupt system and of not adopting the ‘Muslim
mode of life’ and allowing their women to disregard the observance
of purdah. Even the Premier, Nawab Liaqat Ali Khan, was urged to
‘become a true Muslim, say prayers five times, and give up drinking,
instead of exhorting others to become true Muslims’. Nevertheless,
the ‘Mullahs’, as they were derogatorily called, saved their special
ire for the Left. In part, this was due to their perceived secular or
even ‘godless’ credentials. This was particularly damaging in a situ-
ation in which the place of secularism was the most contentious
issue facing the state. In this regard, the Jamaat-i-Islami had publicly
declared that its loyalty to Pakistan was only contingent on its being
an Islamic State.40 Indeed, the more extreme form of this dichotomy
was found in Islamist posters declaring: ‘Islam Zindabad, Pakistan
Murdabad’.41 In attempting to remake Pakistan into a secular state,
the Communists were of course especially culpable. It was in recogni-
tion of this ‘threat’ that the prominent Islamist, Maulana Maudoodi,
38
130.
39
Lahore, 6 March, No. 10, PPSAI — WP 1948, 78.
40
Lahore, 13 November, No. 46, PPSAI — WP 1948, 370.
41
Lahore, 4 December, No. 49, PPSAI — WP 1948, 396.
88 Ali Raza
characterised communists as dangerous as they were gradually get-

ting a hold in Government departments, and particularly in the Press
and Broadcasting Departments.42 For others, the Left’s demands
for abolishing the zamindari system and nationalising industry
were particularly pernicious, while Islam and its system of zakat43
were considered sufficient to resolve the present inequalities of the
system.44 It was also argued that the promulgation of Shariat law
was the only way to ‘build a bulwark against the advancing tide of
Communism’.45 Despite this fierce rhetoric though, the ‘Mullahs’ still
implicitly recognised some of the legitimacy of the Left’s claims as
speeches calling for the establishment of an Islamic State contained
frequent references to the excesses of the ‘capitalist’ system, ineq-
uity of the prevailing agrarian structure and the imperialist slant of
the incumbent leadership.46 If anything, these acts of ventriloquism
indicated that the Left commanded an influence that was starkly
disproportionate to its actual presence or political clout.
42
Lahore, 24 April, No. 17, PPSAI — WP 1948, 143. Despite its
opposition, it has been argued by Humeira Iqtidar that in these initial years,
the Jamaat viewed the Left as a ‘tactical ally’ against the Muslim League.
To support her contention, she quotes from an interview of C.R. Aslam,
one of Pakistan’s most venerated leftist leaders, in which he recalled an
occasion (in 1948) when the Communist Party organised a joint rally with
the Jamaat against the Muslim League. See Humeira Iqtidar, ‘Jama’at-e-
Islami Pakistan’, 250. Notwithstanding the fact that this account is short on
specifics, I do accept her argument that in certain periods, ‘differences were
not so intense so as to prevent a coming together by some groups for specific
aims’ (248). Indeed, transitory and strategic accommodation was as much
a part of leftist politics as it was of other varieties. That does not, however,
detract from the broader argument that despite occasional dalliances, the
Jamaat was largely opposed to the Left, a fact that is amply confirmed by
its rhetoric and political mobilization in this period. And as Iqtidar shows,
this opposition only became more vocal and intense in subsequent decades.
43
Under Islamic law, this is an obligatory tax levied on the rich for the
uplift of the poor.
44
Lahore, 10 April, No. 15, PPSAI — WP 1948, 121.
45
46
See for instance, Lahore, 24 April, No. 17, 143; Lahore, 29 May, No. 22,
181; and Lahore, 28 August, No. 35, PPSAI — WP 1948, 318.
This relationship, though, inevitably went both ways as even the

Left was compelled to incorporate some of the Islamist discourse
to counter the accusations made against it and to remain politically
viable, and more crucially, legitimate in the eyes of the state. As a
result, individuals like Mian Iftikharuddin, along with their standard
demands of nationalisation, were also compelled to declare their
support for the imposition of Quranic laws.47 It was an entire differ-
ent matter though that his understanding of ‘Quranic laws’ was far
removed from orthodox interpretations. While it could be tempting to
view Iftikharuddin’s statements in light of his position as a Leaguer till
1950, the fact nevertheless remained that the pressures to conform to
a particular type of Islamic discourse extended to other sections of the
Left as well. Within labour circles for instance, the necessity for the
imposition of Sharia law was frequently invoked,48 while Kisan meet-
ings were inaugurated with recitations from the Quran.49 Audiences
were also asked ‘not to get startled at the word “Communism” as it
advocated equality, which was also the essence of Islam.’50 And yet,
invocations to Islam were the supreme tactics used to delegitimise
leftist politics. The potency of this tactic is reflected in a report filed
by a British High Commissioner on a May Day rally:
In Lahore ... where a meeting under the auspices of the Progressive

Writers Association was presided over by Faiz Ahmed Faiz, the
Acting President of the Pakistan Trades Unions Federation, an
openly communist note was struck. Revolutionary messages from
the West Punjab Committee of the CPP and from Sajjad Zaheer, the
Communist leader at present in hiding, were read out to the meeting,
which followed the Moscow line in pledging itself against war and
condemning the Marshall Plan and the Atlantic Pact. The cry of ‘Islam
in danger’ was however, promptly and successfully raised against the
organisers of the meeting. The Lahore Press carried a series of articles
alleging that speakers at the meeting had proclaimed the superiority
of Communistic over Islamic doctrines, and widespread indignation
culminated in the passage of resolutions condemning Communist
47
Lahore, 15 May, No. 29, PPSAI — WP 1948, 167.
48
See for instance, Lahore, 14 February, No. 7, PPSAI — WP 1948, 52–53.
49
Lahore, 6 March, No. 10, PPSAI — WP 1948, 81.
50
90 Ali Raza
activity on over 40 mosques in Lahore on the Friday following May

Day. This encouraging demonstration of the ease with which the
Pakistan public can be rallied to the defence of Islam against attacks by
Communist agitators is not likely to have been lost on the authorities.51
Indeed, the success of this delegitimising tactic was such that even
within labour circles, invocations to Islam were frequently employed
to discredit other factions and leaders. For instance, the leadership
of Mirza Muhammad Ibrahim was challenged by his opponent with
the demand that he should convince them that ‘he was a Muslim and
not a Communist’.52 The same individual later asked the workers to
choose between Communism and Islam.53 This was, therefore, an
indication of the powerful influence that Islamist discourse came to
wield within leftist politics — both as a legitimating and delegitimis-
ing force — almost immediately after Partition.
The uncomfortable relationship with religion was of course a
conundrum that the Left was all too familiar with, particularly within
the context of Punjabi politics. Similar (and successful) attempts at
delegitimisation had been made against Sikh leftists by the Akali
Party from the late 1930s onwards. These mirrored efforts by the
former to link the ideals of ‘Communism’ with the egalitarian tenets
of Sikh religious doctrine. Similarly, ‘Islam’ too was no exception
to these attempts at translation and creative appropriation. Such
efforts had been made soon after the Bolshevik Revolution by Maulvi
Barkatullah and activists from the Hijrat movement who founded,
along with M.N. Roy, the first CPI in Tashkent in 1920.54 Roy himself
made these connections in his famous pamphlet on ‘The Historical
Role of Islam’.55 Indeed, these linkages were repeatedly made in the
51
Despatch No. 305, Office of the High Commissioner for the United
Kingdom Karachi, dated 3rd June, 1949 POL 13980 1949, CAIP IOR/L/
P&J/12/772, 341.
52
53
54
See, for example, the second and sixth chapter of Ali Raza, ‘Interrogating
Provincial Politics’. For specifically the Hijrat movement, see for instance,
Ansari, ‘Pan Islam and the Making of the Early Muslim Socialists’, 509–37.
55
Roy, ‘Historical Role of Islam: An Essay on Islamic Culture’, Marxists
Internet archive, http://marxists.org/archive/roy/1939/historical-role-islam/
index.htm.
run-up to independence56 and well beyond, which only served to dis-

turb the ostensible dichotomy between religion — particularly ‘Islam’
— and ‘Communism’. These exercises then were as much a function
of political pragmatism as they were of convictions held by certain
activists who saw no contradiction in their professed faith and the
allegedly godless ideology they claimed adherence to.57 If anything,
many considered the fundamental principles of ‘Communism’ and
‘Islam’ to be the one and the same. Nevertheless, the mere association
with the Soviet Union and ‘Communism’ was enough for those who
wished to appropriate the religious idiom to discredit leftist politics.
In this respect, the State too was not above employing Islam to
denigrate the Left, though its tactic also involved using the ‘anti-
national’ or ‘anti-Pakistan’ card. Indeed, the State and the ruling
Muslim League provided the ultimate sanction for legitimising
the use of Islam58 and ‘Pakistan’ to discredit the Left and other
regional, linguistic and ethnic movements that sought to challenge
the hegemony of the prevailing state ideology. With respect to labour
politics, for example, the state suppressed trade unions, which had
been ‘infiltrated’ by Communists, and replaced them with other
unions who worked under the auspices of the Muslim League with
the express purpose of ‘working for Pakistan’ rather than exploiting
the Government’s difficulties. Quite often, this meant directly sup-
porting or encouraging a trend towards ‘Islamizing trade unions’.59
For instance, a ‘Muslim Employees Association’ was established as a
counterbalance to the more radical unions working within the North
Western Railways, which was considered as a hotbed of radical
labour activism. Thus, this ‘Association’ was reported to be issu-
ing posters in Urdu, replete with quotations from the Holy Quran,
56
David Gilmartin also highlights this connection in his discussion of the
Left and the Muslim League, 196–99.
57
In this regard, see, especially, the debates between Sajjad Zaheer and
Nadeem Ahmad Qasmi, which Kamran Asdar Ali has highlighted in his
MAS paper.
58
The standard had been set by Liaqat Ali Khan who lectured that ‘the
people of Pakistan should follow the teachings of the Prophet and not those
of Marx, Stalin or Churchill’. Jalal, The State of Martial Rule, 281.
59
Extract from Weekly Report No. 43 for the Period Ending 31st October
1948, from the Deputy High Commissioner for the United Kingdom in
Pakistan, CAIP IOR/L/P&J/12/772.
92 Ali Raza
‘advising the workers to work hard and in an upright manner’.60

Similar tactics were also employed at the local level to undercut any
influence that local leftist organisations may have had. In districts
like Gujranwala, for example, the local Muslim Leaguers set up a
rival Labour Party staffed by cadres of the Muslim League National
Guard to counteract Communist influence within local politics.61
Most effective, however, was the use of the ‘anti-national’ label
against the Left. Often this was dovetailed with the use of Islam,
but increasingly, and in the context of a developing Cold War, the
potency of this allegation grew all the more effective as the Left was
long suspected, even before Partition, of having dual loyalties. This
rhetoric was even used by the highest personality of all, Muhammad
Ali Jinnah, who expressed his determination to root out all ‘enemies
of the state’, who were officially described as saboteurs, fifth colum-
nists, socialists and communists.62
Repression and Survival
State rhetoric was naturally a signal for state persecution. Accord-

ingly, a prolonged campaign to suppress leftists was initiated in
which techniques of harassment, intimidation, appeals to Nation
and Religion, searches of party and union offices, and arrests proved
to be the norm. The most prominent casualties of these tactics were
prominent leftists like Sajjad Zaheer, Dada Amir Haider Khan and
M.M. Ibrahim. Sajjad Zaheer was compelled to go underground
while Khan and Ibrahim were arrested a number of times.63 The
arrest of M.M. Ibrahim was in particular quite ironic as he was one
of the first labour leaders to declare his loyalty to the Pakistani state
on the eve of Partition. He had promised Jinnah full support ‘in
the establishment and progress of Pakistan and given the assurance
that no strikes will be organized by the Railway employees to the
60
61
62
63
Khan in particular remained a favoured target for state persecution over
subsequent decades. Being a prominent and revered leftist, his life epitomised
the political trajectories of many within the Left. For an autobiographical
account of his early political life see Gardezi, Chains to Lose.
detriment of the new Dominion’.64 And yet, this assurance was not
enough to protect both Ibrahim and the Union he represented from
state repression. Like other leftists, Ibrahim felt that independence
had hardly proved to be a panacea for the problems faced by labour-
ers and peasants. He thus soon accused the government of apathy65
and stated that Pakistan had not been achieved by ‘Quaid-e-Azam,
Gandhi and Pandit Nehru, but by the individual sacrifices of labour-
ers, kisans, military men and policemen’. In so doing, ‘the workers
had expected that with the establishment of Pakistan they would get
better treatment, but their legitimate demands had not been accepted’.
He, therefore, feared a confrontation between the Government and
labourers.66 His prediction came true as he was soon arrested for
fomenting unrest and ‘disaffection’ amongst railway workers.67 As
an instance of state repression, this was but one of many arrests that
took place across Pakistan. This was particularly the case in West
Punjab and East Pakistan where the Left had a significant presence
in relation to other regions. Indeed the fear of arrest and suppression
was so acute that many workers went underground and destroyed
their party and union records.68 Ironically enough, these tactics of
survival had been learnt and perfected during the height of colonial
persecution.
The Left was also compelled to adopt other means to ensure its
survival and remain a viable and legitimate political entity. As in
the 1930s during the height of state persecution, leftists were again
compelled to deliberately eschew the terms ‘communism’ and ‘com-
munist’, especially as they were loaded with the connation of being
an ‘enemy of the state’. Indeed, these labels were also pejoratively
used by ‘loyalist’ unions to denigrate their more radical counter-
parts. These bodies warned labourers to present their demands in a
constitutional manner and not to succumb to the machinations of
‘Russian agents’.69 Faced with the dual assault of the state and its
supporters or proxies, the more radical element within leftist circles
was soon compelled to publicly defend itself against the charge of
64
Lahore, Extract, 31 July, PPSAI 1947, 406.
65
66
Ibid., 52–53.
67
68
Lahore, 2 October, No. 40, PPSAI — WP 1948, 343.
69
94 Ali Raza
being ‘anti-national’ or an ‘Indian’ or ‘Russian’ agent. Time and

again they had to protest their innocence against the suspicion that
they were ‘set out to destroy Pakistan’.70 This tendency spread to
ordinary workers as well who were left to meekly protest against
the travesty of being labelled as ‘communists’ merely for demanding
a living wage.71 Conversely, there were even concerted attempts by
certain leftists to consciously adopt nationalist symbols and publicly
affirm their patriotism, which was at the same time a tactic to escape
immediate state repression as well as wider public censure. Thus,
quite frequently, in labour rallies, the red banner and the Pakistani
flag were raised alongside each other. Moreover, M.M. Ibrahim for
instance, after being suitably chastised during his first stint in jail, felt
compelled to declare after his release that he was a ‘faithful citizen
of Pakistan and not a citizen of a foreign country’.72 Interestingly
enough, following his release, he was also bestowed with the title
of ‘Quaid-e-Azam Mazdooran’73 by his fellow workers; a tongue
in cheek attempt perhaps at signalling that the appropriation of
nationalist symbols was not the prerogative of the ruling dispensa-
tion alone. Viewed differently, these attempts indicated the extent to
which the Left was under pressure by a State that sanctioned the use
of a hegemonic discourse that effectively criminalised dissent against
the prevailing socio-economic inequities and a political system that
sought to preserve them.
This repression only intensified in subsequent years. The Left,
and specifically the Communist Party, was relentlessly persecuted
and found to be implicated in the famous Rawalpindi Conspiracy
Case in 1951.74 As with its colonial predecessor, the post-colonial
state also clung onto an image of the Left that was far greater than
the strength it actually had, which was in any case never more than
a few hundred active members.75 An indication of this can be found
70
See for instance, Lahore, 20 November, No. 47, PPSAI — WP 1948, 377.
71
72
73
Literally translated as ‘Great Leader of Workers’.
74
This concerned an attempted coup that was planned by army officers
against the government of Liaqat Ali Khan with the alleged support of
prominent leaders of the communist party. For a rare insight into this
landmark event, see Zaheer, Times and Trial of the Rawalpindi Conspiracy
1951.
75
Communism in West Punjab, CAIP IOR/L/P&J/12/772, 357.
in the report filed by M. Anwer Ali, head of the CID, in 1951. While
freely admitting that ‘very little is known about the working of the
party machine, its underground methods, its insidious technique,
the fanatic zeal of its followers and their single mindedness of pur-
pose’, he nevertheless felt confident enough to state that:
After the partition, the communist party in Pakistan lost all its veteran
workers and was left without financial resources; yet within three
years, a powerful party machine has been built up. The budget of the
party is perhaps only next to that of the Muslim League. It employs
more paid workers than any other political party. New links have
been forged and work organized amongst students, factory workers,
other laborers, kissans and writers, including journalists. Two
candidates were put up for the last assembly elections. Innumerable
strikes, processions and demonstrations have been organized. Class
consciousness, which was unknown in these parts, has been developed
and a distrust of the British created. Sajjad Zaheer, at any rate felt so
sure of himself that in February 1951, he decided to plunge his party
into the conspiracy hatched at Rawalpindi.76
Viewed within the backdrop of the Cold War in which Pakistan had
decisively aligned itself with the Anglo-American power bloc, this
extract was typical of the mindset prevailing within the official estab-
lishment, which succeeded in convicting and imprisoning prominent
leaders like Faiz Ahmed Faiz and Sajjad Zaheer in the Rawalpindi
Conspiracy Case. Indeed, the latter was later extradited to India at
Nehru’s personal intervention, which was a profound commentary
on how far the ruling dispensation had come in its relationship with
its erstwhile supporters. As for the Communist Party itself, it was
banned along with its sister organisations in 1954 but only, and in a
process starkly reminiscent of the colonial era, to remerge in various
shapes and forms in response to the almost consistently acrimonious
relationship that the Left had with the State.
Conclusion
It is important to bear in mind though that the Left was but one of
many political movements that were persecuted by the State and a vin-
dictive Muslim League leadership. Faced with political uncertainty,
76
Preface of The Communist Party of West Pakistan in Action.
96 Ali Raza
geo-strategic and security concerns, economic and social problems,

a refugee crisis, regional opposition, and above all, a desire to con-
solidate power in the hands of a select few, the incumbent leadership
sought to suppress dissenting voices. Liaqat Ali Khan, for instance,
regarded those who formed other political parties as ‘traitors, liars
and hypocrites’. Political rivals were regularly characterised as ‘dogs
of India’, while any opposition to the Muslim League was considered
equivalent to opposing Pakistan itself.77 Convinced that ‘Pakistan was
beset by enemies on every side and menaced by saboteurs within’,78
the League leadership wasted little time in reintroducing the infamous
‘Safety’ and ‘Security’ Acts that were a legacy of colonial rule. These
draconian laws served to restrict civil liberties and target political
dissidents. Ironically, this was the very same Muslim League that had
made the imposition of these laws a pretext for their agitation against
the Unionist Ministry in late 1946, early 1947. With ‘independence’,
however, the boot was firmly on the other foot. Mian Iftikharuddin
then spoke for many when he questioned the Minister of Interior:
‘in what manner has the State of Pakistan changed today for the
ordinary people from what it was when the British ruled over us?’79
This reality of Pakistan then was the exact opposite of the Pakistan
that progressives had hoped for. In an attempt to hedge its bets with
the expected winners of the colonial end game, the CPI affiliated
Left had worked with the League in an ultimately futile attempt to
influence its politics.80 Many joined the League and played an active
role in the 1945–1946 election campaign in the Punjab.81 Indeed,
77
Cited from Grath, The Destruction of Pakistan’s Democracy in Kazimi,
Liaqat Ali Khan, 317.
78
Jalal, State of Martial Rule, 280. Both State of Martial Rule and Jalal’s
Democracy and Authoritarianism in South Asia are necessary readings for
understanding how the foundation for authoritarianism was laid in Pakistan.
Also important is Allen McGrath’s work.
79
Malik, Mian Iftikhar-ud-din, 185–86.
80
This was an outcome of the CPI’s endorsement of the principle of ‘self-
determination’. See Ali’s piece in this volume. Also see Adhikari, Pakistan
and Indian National Unity.
81
Despite their efforts, the Left was hardly instrumental in affecting
the outcome of the elections. As both David Gilmartin and Ian Talbot
show, electoral success largely hinged on the political leanings of Punjab’s
entrenched power brokers such as landlords and/or pirs. See Ian Talbot, ‘The
the manifesto of the Punjab Muslim League, which was accused of

bearing the ‘stamp of Communist ideology’, had been co-authored
by none other than Daniel Latifi himself.82 Once in power though,
the Punjab League made it a crime for a tenant to read this manifesto
in either ‘public or private’.83 That in itself was a profound statement
of how far politics had shifted within the space of a few short years.
From being erstwhile allies in the ‘national struggle’, leftists quickly
became political pariahs. By 1948, it was already far too late for the
CPI to suggest that:
The leadership of the Muslim League ... representing the interests of

the Muslim capitalists and landlords, had always played a disruptive
and anti-national role. The Muslim League leadership capitalize(d) the
backwardness of the Muslim masses and the failure of the National
Reformist leadership (read: the Congress) to draw the Muslim masses
into the common struggle.84
To this day then, the support to the League is viewed as an egregious

mistake by a section of the Left in both India and Pakistan, while
in Indian nationalist historiography, this doctrine is viewed as yet
another instance when the Communist leadership betrayed and dam-
aged the ‘national cause’. In the Pakistani narrative, any mention
of the Left or the role played by progressive politics in the nation’s
creation has been deliberately eschewed. After all, mentioning this
would only dent the mythical linearity of Pakistan’s emergence and
Growth of The Muslim League in The Punjab, 1937–1946’ and Gilmartin,

Empire and Islam. Gilmartin also devotes some space in discussing the
negligible impact of the Left and the populist tone of the League’s manifesto,
196–99.
82
Lahore, 18 November, No. 47, PPSAI 1944, 637–41.
83
The punishment for doing was forced eviction from the land. Toor,
The State of Islam,13.
84
This was a section of the thesis presented to the CPI’s Second Party
Congress in 1948. Despatch from Office of HCUK, Karachi, CAIP
IOR/L/P&J/12/772, 127. The emphasis is mine. This tract was also a telling
reflection of how familiar tropes regarding the ‘backwardness’ of Muslims
were also accepted by a section of the Left. This, however, was by no means
the only occasion when the Left and its detractors (and in particular the
colonial state) shared similar views.
98 Ali Raza
would highlight the inconvenient truth of a nation striking down its

former allies immediately after its formation.
So where does that leave us then? It would of course be erroneous
to suggest that the Left was in any way instrumental in the creation
of Pakistan and the colonial end game. Yet, the Left’s political inef-
fectiveness is also indicative of the limits to radicalism in a political
arena that was from the very outset engineered against it. For the
most part, this space remained unchanged in the transition from colo-
nialism. This does not merely imply that the colonial state remained
unchanged in the transfer of power. Given these formative years and
the confusion surrounding the future direction of the nascent polity,
it was hardly unexpected that this would be the case. And yet, as far
as the Left was concerned, there was virtually no progress to suggest
that the post-colonial state was making an effort to rid itself of its
repressive legacy. If anything, it reinforced this legacy and introduced
further measures to persecute those deemed to be ‘subversive’. In
line with colonial thinking, ‘communism’, among others, was also
tantamount to ‘subversion’. This view was held by state functionaries,
who embodied many of the institutional outlooks that were a legacy
of the colonial state, as well as the Muslim League and other politi-
cal actors. The definition of who was considered ‘subversive’, then,
remained by and large consistent. As did the political space, which
determined what was considered legitimate in politics. Crucially
though, the added element in this space was the rhetorical deploy-
ment of Islam. This could perhaps be considered a qualitative, albeit
a regressive, change from the colonial era. Yet, the colonial state
and the political actors operating within it also regularly invoked
religion to delegitimise the Left.85 Viewed this way, the post-colonial
dispensation was different only in the frequent and exclusive use of
Islam. In this sense, it was only later that the Pakistani state, with its
gradual institutionalisation of Islam, became more removed from its
colonial predecessor, though the foundation for that had been firmly
laid in the Objectives Resolution of 1949. For their part, the Left
could be forgiven for hoping that their politics would have brighter
prospects in a post-colonial dispensation.
85
For an insightful analysis into how the colonial state invoked religion,
see the second chapter of Shalini Sharma, ‘Radical Response to Colonialism’.
This continuity then only questions what ‘decolonization’, ‘free-

dom’ and ‘independence’ really meant in the South Asian context.
For those on the political fringe, and particularly the Left, the formal
transfer of power did not necessarily signal a break with the subcon-
tinent’s colonial and repressive past. Rather, independence from the
British was part of an unfulfilled political project, which was aimed
at the establishment of a democratic republic that was led by and
worked for the downtrodden of the subcontinent. If anything, the
freedom that many had struggled and yearned for merely brought
about a change of ‘masters’ who willingly inherited the colonial state
instead of displacing it. The dream, as Faiz regretfully put it, remained
‘unfulfilled’.86 Thus, at the very least, this perspective encourages a
reassessment of what ‘independence’ meant for those who did not
identify themselves with the impulses of nationalist triumphalism.
Additionally, these narratives also provide a glimpse into the
formative years of the Pakistani state. At a time of widespread
political uncertainty and doubts about the future direction of the
polity, actors from all shades of the political spectrum attempted to
mould the state and its society in line with their own socio-political
visions. Yet, despite this seemingly open playing field, the odds were
still stacked against the ‘Pakistani’ Left. Already weakened by the
dislocation of Partition and internal divisions, the Left was dealt a
severe blow by a state which, true to its colonial legacy, assumed the
sole prerogative of determining what counted as legitimate politics.
Thus, as in the colonial period, the Left was compelled to engage
with the limitations imposed on it. Despite these serious obstacles
though, the Left was successful to some extent in influencing politi-
cal discourse that was far out of proportion with its actual strength.
Indeed, this disproportionate influence only grew in subsequent
years. But the key to the Left’s success or failure was determined by
how it chose to respond to the shifting arena of political legitimacy.
Maintaining the balance between the imperatives of pragmatic poli-
tics and sacrosanct principles, however, was easier said than done.
And it was this balancing act that came to define the future trajectory
of progressive politics in Pakistan.
86
Sheema Majeed, Coming Back Home, 25.
100 Ali Raza
References
Adhikari, Gangadhar, Pakistan and Indian National Unity, London: Labour
Monthly, 1983.
Ali, Anwer M., The Communist Party of West Pakistan in Action, Lahore:
Criminal Investigation Department, Government of Punjab, Pakistan,
1952.
Ali, Kamran Asdar, ‘Communists in a Muslim Land: Cultural Debates in
Pakistan’s Early Years’, Modern Asian Studies 45, no. 3 (2011): 501–34.
Ansari, K. H., ‘Pan Islam and the Making of the Early Muslim Socialists’,
Modern Asian Studies 20, no. 3 (1986): 509–37.
British Library, Communist Activities in India and Pakistan, Jan 1947–Oct
1949. IOR/L/P&J/12/772.
Gardezi, Hasan N., ed. Chains to Lose: Life and Struggles of a Revolutionary
— Memoirs of Dada Amir Haider Khan, 2 vols, Delhi: Patriot Publishers,
1988.
London: Tauris, 1988.
Grath, Allen, The Destruction of Pakistan’s Democracy, Karachi: Oxford
Guha, Ranajit, ‘The Prose of Counter-Insurgency’, in Selected Subaltern
Studies, Ranajit Guha, and Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak (eds), New
York: Oxford University Press, 1988.
Iqtidar, Humeira, ‘Jama’at-e-Islami Pakistan: Learning from the Left’, in
Beyond Crisis: Re-evaluating Pakistan, Naveeda Khan (ed.), London:
Routledge, 2010.
Jalal, Ayesha, The State of Martial Rule: The Origins of Pakistan’s Political
Economy of Defence, New Delhi: Cambridge University Press, 1992.
———, Democracy and Authoritarianism in South Asia: A Comparative and
Historical Perspective, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995.
Kazimi, M. Raza, Liaqat Ali Khan: His Life and Work, Karachi: Oxford
Majeed, Sheema, ed., Coming Back Home: Selected Articles, Editorials, and
Interviews of Faiz Ahmed Faiz, Karachi: Oxford University Press, 2008.
Malik, Abdullah, ed., Selected Speeches and Statements: Mian Iftikhar-ud-
Din. Lahore: Nigarishat, 1971.
National Documentation Centre, Islamabad, Punjab Police Secret Abstracts
of Intelligence (PPSAI) 1946–48.
Overstreet, Gene D. and Marshall Windmiller, Communism in India,
Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1959.
Raza, M. Ali, ‘Interrogating Provincial Politics: The Leftist Movement in
Punjab, c. 1914–1950’, PhD diss., University of Oxford, 2011.
Roy, M. N., ‘Historical Role of Islam: An Essay on Islamic Culture’, Marxists

Internet Archive, 1939. http://marxists.org/archive/roy/1939/historical-
role-islam/index.htm, accessed November 2011.
Sharma, Shalini, ‘The Radical Response to Colonialism: The Organized
Left in Punjab 1920–1947’, PhD dissertation, School of Oriental and
African Studies (SOAS), 2005.
Singh, Gurharpal, Communism in Punjab: A Study of the Movement up to
1967, Delhi: Ajanta Publications, 1994.
Talbot, Ian, ‘The Growth of the Muslim League in the Punjab, 1937–1946’,
PhD dissertation, Royal Holloway College, University of London, 1981.
Toor, Sadia, The State of Islam: Culture and Cold War Politics in Pakistan.
London: Pluto Press, 2011.
Zaheer, Hasan, The Times and Trial of the Rawalpindi Conspiracy 1951,
Karachi: Oxford University Press, 1998.
Zaheer, Sajjad, The Light: A History of the Movement for Progressive
Literature in the Indo-Pak Subcontinent, Karachi: Oxford University
Press, 2006.
 5
Alternative Politics and Dominant
Narratives: Communists and the
Pakistani State in the Early 1950s
Anushay Malik
With political geography cutting against the grain of the ideological

protestations of the Islamic state, it has required an improbable array
of conjuring tricks, and some somersaults on the tightrope of historical
memory as well, to try and nationalize a past contested by enemies
within and without. Ayesha Jalal, ‘Conjuring Pakistan’.1
The composition of nationalist history often involves a re-telling

of events that subsumes or just skims over ostensibly contradictory
moments, so that instead of revealing alternative political trajectories,
they become stepping stones: all leading towards the full realisation
of the nation state. As has been pointed out by Kamran Asdar Ali,2
the history of the Communist Party of Pakistan (CPP) is one of many
such histories that needs to be reclaimed out of the enforced inclusion
of disparate groups under one national narrative.3
Its history is part of the larger story of how the state dealt with
opposition and alternatives. In the 1950s, much of what was writ-
ten on the CPP mentioned the Party and the Left in Pakistan as a
footnote to the tale of Pakistan’s relationship with the United States
in the context of the war against communism.4 The brief rise of
1
Jalal, ‘Conjuring Pakistan’, 74.
2
Ali, ‘Communists in a Muslim Land’.
3
Ibid., 2–3.
4
Lerski, ‘The Pakistan-American Alliance’; McMahon, ‘United States
102 WarAmita
Cold Shahinand
Strategy Jharna
South Pathak
Asia’; and Levi, ‘Pakistan, the Soviet Union
and China’.
Alternative Politics and Dominant Narratives 103
radical politics in Pakistan in the 1960s and the early 1970s saw a
smattering of writings that considered the CPP and the Left not as
a central focus, but in relation to the rise in radical politics in the
country in this period, particularly emphasising politics in what is
now Bangladesh and, to a lesser extent, Karachi.5
Recent work has significantly deepened our understanding, show-
ing how the cultural politics of the CPP contested nationalist histo-
riography. Kamran Asdar Ali’s brilliant account provides an insight
into the various historical trajectories that could have developed in
Pakistan, by looking at how intellectual debates from within the
CPP, and the Progressive Writers Association (PWA) in particular,
engaged with the state’s ideological consensus.6 Saadia Toor has a
more macro-perspective that shows how the CPP and the Left in
Pakistan presented an alternative articulation of politics in compari-
son to that based on religion; hence, the suppression of these groups
then represented the marginalisation of ‘progressive models for the
Pakistani nation-state project’.7 Similarly, Talat Ahmed discusses
the interplay of history and memory in the nationalist project, by
recovering the narrative of the role played by the CPP and specifi-
cally the PWA in the Rawalpindi Conspiracy Case of 1951, where
members of the Party were accused of colluding with army officers
to mastermind a coup.8
This article attempts to contribute to these debates in two ways:
first by providing a local case study, centred on the city of Lahore,
and second by focusing on state repression. The fact that different
regions in Pakistan had variant manifestations of politics underscores
the need for a localized study to trace the mechanics, in particular
the construction of the CPP as ‘troublemakers’ and antinational
‘traitors’, by which state oppression operated. Lahore in the 1950s
5
For work on the political upheavals of this time that contain a discus-
sion of the Left in Pakistan see (amongst others), Ali, Pakistan: Military
Rule or People’s Power; Ali, ‘Revolutionary Perspectives for Pakistan’;
Rashiduzzaman, ‘The National Awami Party of Pakistan’; Franda,
‘Communism and Regional Politics’; and Khan, ‘A Front for the A.L.’; For
localised studies in Karachi see: Shaheed, The Labour Movement in Pakistan;
and Ali, ‘The Strength of the Street’.
6
Ali, ‘Communists in a Muslim Land’.
7
Toor, The State of Islam, 2; for the focus on the PWA see Ch. 3.
8
Ahmed, ‘Writers and Generals’.
104 Anushay Malik
is a particularly interesting case because of the changes wrought

by the city’s insertion into what was then the ‘new’ Pakistani state.
The analysis in this article begins with a brief overview of the
activities of the CPP and the Left in this ‘new’ space of an older
city. It then goes on to critically assess categories used to describe
and restrict the CPP, in three sections. The first of these traces the
description of communists as ‘godless’ versus ‘troublemakers’; it
studies the method by which the communists, as political trouble-
makers for the state, were equated with the problem of them being
antithetical to Pakistan’s Islamic orientations. The second category
is the CPP as political opposition; the focus of this section is on the
Punjab Legislative Assembly elections of 1951 to highlight how the
communists in opposition were actually part of a political alternative
in that their constituency was situated amongst groups of the work-
ing poor. By constructing them as troublemakers, the response of the
state to the presence of such an opposition was to use a combination
of pre-emptive arrests and election fraud to ensure that these groups
did not find representation in the assembly. The third section focuses
on the title of ‘traitors’ by looking at the Rawalpindi Conspiracy
Case, the discovery of which overlapped with the 1951 elections. It
argues that the Conspiracy was part of the same process in that it was
used by the state as an excuse to begin a more systematic crackdown
on the Left in Pakistan. As it was a conspiracy that was directed
against the state, the involvement of communist groups within it
meant they could now be deemed traitors against the state itself.
Two main sources have been used in this article. One is the
Pakistan Times, a newspaper that has been referred to as the ‘unof-
ficial organ of the Communist Party’9 and in the words of Tariq
Ali, ‘the newspaper was the Left in Pakistan’.10 Its coverage of the
activities of radical movements and Communist politics makes it
perhaps one of the only sources where an almost daily account
of their activities can be studied. The other source was acquired
from Ahmad Salim’s private archives, the South Asian Research
and Resource Centre. This is a two-volume report published by
the Criminal Investigation Department (CID), Punjab.11 It contains
9
Aziz, The Coffee House of Lahore, 125.
10
Ali, Pakistan: Military Rule or People’s Power, 104.
11
This source has been used previously by Ahmed, ‘Writers and Generals’.
correspondence between CPP members, details of their activities,

organisations and affiliations. Other sources used more intermit-
tently include judgements of the Lahore High Court and Cabinet
proceedings. Interviews of CPP members and of a student activist
at that time have been used (with permission) to supplement this.
These allow for the inclusion of anecdotes and personal experiences
that contain rich detail about actual political practice that cannot be
conveyed through official reports.12
Lahore and the Left
The Communist Party of Pakistan was faced with the daunting task of
having to establish itself within a ‘new’ country struggling to rebuild
itself in the aftermath of Partition. Specifically, the city of Lahore
found that its status had changed because of its proximity to the
border. Before Partition, it was in Lahore that there had flourished
the ‘coffee house culture’ that K.K. Aziz, a well-known Pakistani
historian, fondly wrote about,13 a time when groups such as writers,
poets and students would come together for political and literary
discussions that lasted for hours. The last remnants of this culture
were to fade away slowly as Lahore became a border city. Partially,
this was because of the widespread destruction of the urban fabric
that attended Partition. The historic walled city for instance, with its
small-scale industry and working class neighbourhoods, was almost
completely burnt to the ground.14 Against this background, it is not
surprising then, that when the CPP was formulating plans for the
now border city, they expressly stated in their correspondence that
in Lahore, they should ‘not attempt anything big’.15 Nonetheless, the
12
For example, the Inspector General of Police who compiled the CID
volumes reportedly approached Hameed Akhtar while he was in jail after
the conspiracy case and asked him to translate one of the documents into
English. Hameed Akhtar’s daughter told the author that a young CID offi-
cial was posted outside their house and sometimes when nobody else was
home, they would ask him to pick up yoghurt and other necessities from the
nearby market. Clearly then, individual actions are not entirely dominated
by institutional rules.
13
Aziz, The Coffee House of Lahore.
14
‘Ancient Walled City a Veritable Sea of Flames’ (Civil & Military
Gazette, 14 August 1947).
15
Criminal Investigation Department, Vol. I, 240.
106 Anushay Malik
Punjab saw various types of popular cultural movements that chal-

lenged the national culture and the ruling elite.16 Lahore’s position
as the town of traders in the prosperous and politically dominant
Punjab as well as its continued administrative importance aided in
its recovery in the post-Partition state to a greater extent than cities
like Karachi.17 However, the economic prominence of the province
did not mean that the benefits of this were divided equally amongst
all classes and regions within the Punjab.18 The demographic major-
ity of the agricultural areas and the power wielded by the landed
classes effectively meant that formal political contests were biased
in their favour.19 Similarly, even while Lahore was the dominant
city in the dominant state of Punjab, the city did hold specific spaces
that presented a potential for radical mobilisation. For instance, the
railways and the Mughalpura workshops in the north of the city
were the central base for the CPP labour leader Mirza Muhammad
Ibrahim and the North Western Railway (NWR) Union that he was
the president of. CPP members were also active amongst the workers
of the Bata Mazdoor League (BML) in Batapur on the outskirts of
what was then Lahore city.
It is important to note that within these spaces, the CPP was allied
to, but not coequal with, the Left more broadly. The narrative of the
CPP in the early 1950s is intrinsically connected to the more fluid
politics of the time.20 There were groups that were affiliated to the
CPP and those that, although not being formally associated with
16
For an analysis of the popular Punjab based ‘Punjabiyat’ movement
against the dominant role of Urdu in national culture see Ayres, Speaking
Like a State, see: 67–104; Rahman, Language and Politics in Pakistan,
191–206; for an overview of women’s movements and regional movements
within the Punjab see Samad, ‘Pakistan or Punjabisation’, 35–37.
17
The dominant position of the Punjab in Pakistan is well established
in the literature, see (amongst others): Alavi, ‘Pakistan and Islam’; Khan,
Politics of Identity; Sayeed, ‘The Breakdown of Pakistan’s Political System’;
and for the faster recovery of Lahore and administrative importance see:
Talbot, ‘A Tale of Two Cities’.
18
Talbot, ‘The Punjabization of Pakistan’, 57.
19
For a historic overview of the continued relationship between landed
and political power in the Punjab see: Javid, ‘Class, Power and Patronage’.
20
The existence of fluid identifications that became more rigidified with
time is a point that has been made before with regards to ethnic and regional
divisions, see: Samad, ‘Pakistan or Punjabisation’, 24.
it, were sympathetic of its aims. Examples of the former include

the Pakistan Trade Union Federation (PTUF), whose president was
Mirza Ibrahim, whereas the general secretary was the national poet
and PWA member, Faiz Ahmed Faiz; and the Democratic Students
Federation (DSF), which, at the time, was more active in Karachi.
Although these have been referred to as ‘fronts’ of the CPP,21 not
all their members were communist. The organisations themselves
were formed with the aid of the Party but the affiliated unions of
the PTUF and the students who mobilised under the DSF were not
all of the same ideology.22 The latter group of ‘progressives’ were
sympathetic to the CPP but not directly linked to it. One of the
prominent organisations that can be classified under this category
was the Azad Pakistan Party (APP) of Mian Iftikharuddin.23
All these groups were involved in the articulation of an alterna-
tive practice of politics. For example, in 1953 Mirza Ibrahim linked
the problems faced by NWR workers to Pakistan’s foreign policy.24
Much later, in 1957, while helping the striking workers of the Batala
Engineering Company Workers he included ‘nationalisation’ among
their minimum demands.25 As such, the existence of this alternative
within the society allowed for the broadening and politicisation of
issues.
Through these organisations, important links and resources could
be extended to agitations, which then impacted the chances of a
successful movement. This can be seen in the case of the Batapur
strikes that took place around the Bata factory in the early 1950s.
A deputation of the Bata Mazdoor League linked itself with the
Pakistan Trade Union Federation (PTUF) by approaching Faiz Ahmed
Faiz and asking for his help in addressing their grievances.26 As part
21
See: Leghari, ‘The Socialist Movement’, 47–48.
22
Naseem, Interview with the author.
23
‘Formation of Azad Pakistan Party Announced’ (Pakistan Times,
11 November 1950).
24
‘Recognition of NWR Trade Union Demanded, Foreign Exploitation
Cause of Present Economic Crisis—Mirza Ibrahim’ (Pakistan Times,
26 January 1953).
25
‘Government Urged to Take Over BECO’ (Pakistan Times, 25 April
1957).
26
‘Bata Shoe Workers Demonstrations Enter Tenth Day’ (Pakistan Times,
9 July 1950).
108 Anushay Malik
of the Progressive Writers Association, Faiz had been involved in

pre-Partition discussions that emphasised the need to have a better
understanding of the conditions workers had to face.27 It is then not
surprising that Faiz Ahmed Faiz, although never being a formal mem-
ber of the CPP, was one of the vice presidents of the PTUF in 1951
and an active member campaigning for worker rights. Presumably,
his position as an editor of the Pakistan Times, in its early years,
must have contributed to the intensive coverage the newspaper gave
to workers’ strikes in the country.
Shortly after this deputation approached Faiz, Mirza Ibrahim
began to support the Bata worker strikes openly.28 Similarly, members
of the CPP in their individual capacities were also involved in helping
the Bata workers. Tahira Mazhar Ali, one of the founder members
of the Democratic Women’s Association (connected to the CPP) and
an active CPP member herself, went to these strikes to encourage
and aid the women who were striking. Indeed the women took part
alongside the men in the strikes, often cooking food for them and
washing clothes in order to keep the strike going.29 In addition to
their role in the strikes themselves, over 50 women from the work-
ers’ colony, clad in burqas, staged a demonstration in front of the
offices of the Punjab Muslim League.30 Although the CPP cannot be
given sole credit for the sustained strike actions of the Bata Mazdoor
League, their involvement both directly and indirectly, as well as
their role in publicising the demands of the League in papers like the
Pakistan Times and Imroze, played an important role in pressurising
the state to take action and make negotiations possible. Indeed, in
January 1951, the appointment of an adjudicator was deemed to be
‘ ... the beginning of a new phase in the history of labour disputes in
the Punjab because it is for the first time ... that an adjudicator had
been appointed and recourse taken to the Industrial Disputes Act.’31
27
Malik, ‘The Marxist Literary Movement’, 653.
28
‘Bata Workers Strike Enters Second Day, PTUF President Assures
Support’ (Pakistan Times, 25 August 1950).
29
Ali, Interview with the author.
30
‘Bata Workers Strike Enters Second Day’ (Pakistan Times, 25 August
1950); and ‘Harassment of Bata Strikers by Police’ (Pakistan Times,
30 August 1950).
31
‘32 Day Old Bata Workers Strike Ends, Sequel to Appointment of
Adjudicator’ (Pakistan Times, 8 January 1951).
The CPP should then be viewed not as an organisationally

strong party but one that helped provide links between individuals
and rather diverse groups that broadly referred to themselves as
progressive. As the political space in this period allowed for fluid-
ity, many of these groups could (and did) establish linkages to one
another that were both political and personal. In some cases, these
even included familial inter-organisational links. For example, Mian
Iftikharuddin’s son, Arif Iftikharuddin, was a prominent member
of the DSF.32 Also in the DSF was Naeem Ashraf Malik who was
the younger brother of Shamim Ashraf Malik who was in the CPP
District Organising Committee in Lahore and worked with Mirza
Ibrahim as the General Secretary of the NWR Workers Union.33 It
was these links that came to the fore when the DSF was involved in
the mobilisation of students to launch a movement in 1953 against
rising university fees and deplorable conditions in the universities.34
Although this student movement began in Karachi, the repression it
received from the state sparked off wider shows of support amongst
students in Lahore.35
The CPP may have aided the formation of some alliances, but
many of the groups in these organisations did not consider them-
selves as communist at all and were not even directly connected to
the CPP’s structure. Nonetheless, they were all repressed in the name
of curtailing communism. A student leader arrested after the CPP
was banned in 1954 spent seven months in jail and said that while
his cellmates included activists, students and journalists who had
worked with the CPP, a minority considered themselves as com-
munist.36 What this serves to illustrate is that there was a porous
dividing line between ‘communist’ and ‘the rest’ in the everyday
politics of Lahore. Thus, the publicly (and loudly) voiced divide
based on atheistic communism and Pakistan’s religious polity did
not necessarily come to the forefront in actual practice; however,
32
Criminal Investigation Department, Vol. II, 390.
33
Ibid., 387, 391.
34
Ahmad, ‘Flashback: Students Activated’; and Naseem, Interview with
the author.
35
‘Lahore Students Condemn Karachi Firing’ (Pakistan Times, 9 January
1953); and ‘Lahore Students Mourn Slain Comrades’ (Pakistan Times,
11 January 1953).
36
Naseem, Interview with the author.
110 Anushay Malik
at particular junctures this difference was emphasised by the state

to serve its own agenda.
Defining Enemies: ‘Godless’ Communists

or ‘Defiant Troublemakers’?
In 1954, Mohammad Ali Bogra announced at a public forum that

international powers did not have to be worried about communism
spreading in Pakistan because being Muslim automatically protected
them from the evils of communism.37 One also has to keep in mind
the audience Bogra was talking to. He was assuring the international
arena that while they chased this spectre down in the rest of the
world, here, in Pakistan, all was well because communism simply
could not compete with the Islamic ideology that was prevalent. In
later years, similar assertions stating that ‘secularism represents a
complete antithesis to Islam’38 would be made in different contexts.
What these statements had in common was a lack of discernment
about what precisely this Islam was.
At the time, the state itself could not have provided a coherent
answer to this.39 Indeed, certain views expressed within the upper
echelons of the Pakistani state in the early 1950s suggest wariness
about the use of an Islamic idiom in politics. The state’s secret inter-
nal documents from the early 1950s show an aversion to the ‘parrot
like repetition’40 that equates Pakistan with an Islamic state without
giving any idea of what that entails. This same Ministry of Interior
document then goes on to express the fear of intellectuals perceiving
the government as ‘pandering to orthodoxy’41 where Islam is con-
cerned, while stressing that the Pakistani state should advocate some
strain of ‘Islamic democracy and socialism of a modern variety’.42
37
Dawn, 5 May 1954, cited in Levi, ‘Pakistan, the Soviet Union and
China’, 211.
38
Gauhar, The Challenge of Islam, 300, cited in Hasan, The Battle of
Ideas in Pakistan, 15.
39
Discussing the report on the 1953 Anti-Ahmedi agitation, Farzana
Shaikh also makes this point about how the ‘[c]onsensus on the meaning of
the “Muslim” remained elusive’ see: Shaikh, Making Sense of Pakistan, 61.
40
Ministry of the Interior, ‘Internal Situation’, 6.
41
Ibid., 7.
42
Ibid., 6.
On its own, this statement is interesting because it shows that the

combination of Islam and some ‘modern variety’ of socialism was not
viewed as fundamentally incompatible. Although the amalgamation
of socialist ideas and Islam is potentially acceptable, a communist
polity (also never clearly defined) and orthodox Islam are seen as
threatening because one leads to the other:
... if the accent on unrestrained religiosity continues to be maintained

as at present, there is bound to be a violent reaction and Pakistan
would then be, heading straight for communism.43
In actual practice as well, the absolute truth of this polarity between

religion and the Left was allowed to slide when it suited the ruling
elite to do so. The Muslim League was not above the inclusion of
particular Leftists within its ranks nor was it against the socialist
bent given to its manifesto by Daniyal Latifi in the run up to the
1946 elections.44
The issue of defiance and sedition was more important in defining
the position of communism in Pakistan’s national imagery than its
irreligious basis was. In the wake of political unrest in Dacca, the
Pakistani Interior Ministry in 1951 discussed the disturbing possibil-
ity of the riots spreading to West Pakistan. To prove the imminent
possibility of this threat, the report for the cabinet pointed as evidence
towards ‘incidents involving clear defiance of authority’45 in Lahore
and Peshawar. According to the report, the two evils responsible for
this volatile state of affairs were provincialism and communism. Even
though the threat of the latter was perceived as being the greatest
in East Pakistan, in the rest of the country the threat was real, but
invisible:
The [Communist] Party is biding its time and waiting for an oppor-
tunity to reassemble its forces.46
This overreaction by the state denotes the level of insecurity that

pervaded the Pakistani establishment. Whereas the politics of
43
Ibid., 10.
44
Leghari, ‘The Socialist Movement in Pakistan’, 27–28.
45
Ministry of the Interior, ‘Internal Situation’, 1.
46
Ibid., 5.
112 Anushay Malik
provincialism and communism represent different demands, made

by groups and individuals who were not entirely overlapping, they
were seen by the state as being part of the same sort of threat to its
authority. The common link between the two was the fact that both
were problems seen as provoking political instability, not religious
amorality.
That politicians and state officials articulated different opinions
on this issue is quite clear. However, this variation also extended to
the judiciary. In 1953, Mazhar Ali Khan, who was a CPP member,
editor for both Pakistan Times and Imroze and Tahira Mazhar
Ali’s husband, was accused of trying to cause disaffection against
the government through an article he had written. Although fully
aware of Mazhar Ali’s political background, the dissenting judge-
ment states that:
... knowing the ‘iconoclast’ and his political associations, the govern-
ment could ... have relied on the good taste of its people.47
In this case, a common elite background sufficed to elide punishment.

In contrast, the judicial reaction to an article published in Lyallpur
in 1950, which accused the government of creating ‘an atmosphere
of irreligiousness’ thus allowing for the ‘flood of communism’ and
the ‘fostering of Qadyaniat’, was seen as clearly ‘seditious’.48 What
these two examples, persecuted under the same law, highlight is that
in some cases, communist affiliations could be regarded as harmless
to the national government whereas accusations regarding the lack
of religion in the state could be seen as seditious. The point being
forwarded here is not that Communism and the Islam of the state had
a natural affinity but that their clash, as epitomised by the banning
of the CPP in 1954, cannot be seen as being based on a primordial
ideological dichotomy, but rather on political contingency.
This observation is borne out even on the level of the individual
beliefs and strategies of those who associated with the Communist
Party in Lahore. For instance, Abdullah Malik, one of the CPP mem-
bers who joined the Muslim League in the late 1940s, had previously
47
Pakistan Law Reports. ‘Mazhar Ali Khan v. The Governor of the
Punjab’, 268.
48
Ibid., 416.
flirted with the politics of the Ahrar Party.49 He later became an

active and committed member of the CPP and in the later years of
his life, prayed and studied the Quran closely.50
Similarly, Hameed Akhtar, before joining active politics and
becoming a member of both the CPP and the PWA, had learnt the
Quran by heart as a boy.51 Even in discussions within the CPP,
some members were keen to link communist regimes with Islam.
A fascinating example is that of a CPP member who travelled to
Communist China in the early 1950s. On his return, while extolling
the virtues of Mao, in addition to commenting on his simple lifestyle,
he stated that Mao was, in fact, a Muslim.52 Even on a more formal,
organisational level the fluidity of political practice is borne out by
the alliances (albeit sporadic) that the CPP formed with religious
groups and vice versa.53 Clearly then, the divide between Islam and
communism was in no way as clearly defined in actual practice as it
was in the public statements made by state officials and politicians.
The eventual ban of the CPP was precipitated by international
pressure. Discussing the issue of whether the United States could have
trusted Pakistan to maintain a distance from communist countries
on the international plane, Werner Levi54 focuses on the apparent
conflict between the avowedly secular politics of the Left and of
the Islam of the state. He analyses the foreign policy of Pakistan
to come to this same conclusion—that the decisions taken by the
Pakistani state show not so much an adherence to a particular type
of ideology as they do to what was favourable to them at the time.55
Thus, the conflict between the Left and the state in the early years
was not only about ideological nuances or about the incompat-
ibility of communism and Islam, it was also about the need of the
state to survive and for the status quo to remain untrammelled. It
is no surprise then that the crackdown and arrests on communists
and labour in Pakistan tended to increase when the state perceived
49
See Tahir Kamran, Epitome in this special issue.
50
Aziz, The Coffee House of Lahore.
51
Ibid., 244.
52
Criminal Investigation Department, Vol. II, 404.
53
Iqtidar, Secularizing Islamists?, 66.
54
Levi, ‘Pakistan, the Soviet Union and China’.
55
Ibid.
114 Anushay Malik
itself to be under threat, even though this perception was not always
reflected in ground realities.
Indeed, the reaction of the state was usually out of proportion to
the magnitude of the threat. Although in places like East Pakistan
the CPP was very strong, in the city of Lahore it was not a very
organised party. Its strength lay more in its support of the working
poor in the absence of other political groups who did so, as well as
its presence as an oppositional political current in the city of Lahore.
The construction of the CPP as political ‘troublemakers’ adversely
affected the advantages that could accrue to labour through involve-
ment with these groups.
In the case of the Bata workers, their association with the PTUF
meant that they were labelled as communists by the Management
and one of the first issues raised in the court case in their defence
was how ‘ ... it was wrong and quite improper on the part of the
Management to dub all respondents as Communists, whereas, in
fact, they were plain and honest workers.’56 The opinion that is
being expressed here is quite different from the views given earlier
stating that communism is problematic because of its un-Islamic
character. It is clearly because of the political activities of the party,
and not just its ideological implications, that the term is being used
to describe workers who are the antithesis of ‘plain and honest’.
The term communist perhaps belies what the implications of the
term were in this context. It was the overlap in meaning between
‘communist’ and ‘troublemaker’ that was of import. Even though
the striking workers were not all communist, the Management could
emphasise the link between them and the PTUF to term them as such
and thus associate their strikes, which were for wages and against
victimisation, with the wider aims and perceptions associated with
the CPP in order to detract the possibility of a sympathetic response
from the wider public or from the government.
The Left as Political Opposition: The Punjab

Elections of 1951
One key technique deployed by the Pakistani state to subsume the

political alternatives presented by the Left involved highlighting
56
‘Case Against Bata Mazdoor League Workers Open, Preliminary
Objections Raised’ (Pakistan Times, 22 July 1950).
conclusions as opposed to the process by which an endpoint was

reached. For instance, the Punjab legislative assembly elections of
1951 in nationalist historiography concluded with a resounding
electoral win for the Muslim League.57 Viewing this from a macro-
level the undiscriminating observer could conclude that the Muslim
League in post-Partition Pakistan remained a popular party with
a mass base—a conclusion that misses both the process by which
the opposition was marginalised and the advantages offered to the
League by its class basis. A breakdown of this electoral victory reveals
that 80 per cent of those elected in the Punjab were landlords com-
manding tenant votes58 and that no CPP member was ever elected to
the West Pakistan legislature, which was taken as an indication of
the lack of appeal of the ‘cult of communism’.59 Whereas in Lahore,
individual CPP members were elected but were either arrested or
made to give up their seat, in direct contradiction to the nationalist
narratives of the time.60
In the lead up to the elections, it was announced, by the Punjab
Provincial Committee of the CPP, that Mirza Ibrahim would be con-
testing the election for constituency number five of the Lahore City
Corporation.61 Although worker demands and strategies were not
enforced or formulated by the CPP alone, its support for people like
Mirza Ibrahim was an important part of helping certain individuals
emerge as important leaders. Abdul Rauf Malik, who knew Mirza
Ibrahim and had spent time with him in prison, said that the CPP
saw a lot of potential in Mirza Ibrahim because he was already an
important worker leader.62 Although he was not formally educated,
he apparently had an impressive grasp of the economic problems
57
Aziz, Party Politics in Pakistan, 5.
58
Maniruzzaman, ‘Group Interests in Pakistan Politics’, 85.
59
Aziz, Party Politics in Pakistan, 126.
60
Kaniz Fatima was elected to the women’s seat in the outer Lahore con-
stituency and Ali Bux of the APP was elected in Lahore. However, neither
of them were part of the Punjab Assembly formed in 1951. Unfortunately,
besides Mian Iftikharuddin’s statements stating that there were election
malpractices in a general sense, the circumstances under which they were
excluded is not clear.
61
‘Mirza Ibrahim to Contest Election’ (Pakistan Times, 13 January 1951).
62
Interview with author.
116 Anushay Malik
of workers and could list off, by rote, the number of workers in

each department and their income.63 Thus, the CPP did indeed aid
particular individuals in terms of providing them with resources and
assistance, but it did not solely create movements or leaders.
While the greater politicisation of workers in this period paints a
picture of Lahore being a cradle for heightened political awareness
amongst the working poor and a centre for the activities of the Left,
this heightened activity was actually concentrated in certain pockets
of the city. The elections of 1951, for instance, registered a very low
voter turnout in most places, averaging at about 30 per cent.64 In
stark contrast, constituency number five, from where Mirza Ibrahim
was standing, registered a voter turnout of about 50 per cent, which
was the highest registered in any constituency in Lahore.65 He won
the seat at 7030 votes with the Muslim League candidate, Ahmed
Saeed Kirmani, following with 4847 votes. This announcement was
followed by a procession taken out by the workers of the locality
to celebrate his victory.66 Perhaps the most interesting thing about
this election result was that throughout the run-up to the elections,
Mirza Ibrahim was in jail.
It was found in court that he had been arrested because his speeches
were deemed objectionable. However, nothing could be revealed in
court about the exact nature of the objection to the speeches because
the orders for the arrest were declared official documents. Revealing
their contents was seen as potentially having ‘a detrimental effect on
law and order.’67 The basis for the appeal against this decision was
that Mirza Ibrahim had been detained to restrict his union-related
activities and to prevent him from contesting the elections for the
Punjab Assembly.68 The court had, by this time, already stated that it
63
Abdul Rauf Malik was a CPP member in the early 1950s and head of
the People’s Publishing House at Lahore: Malik, Interview with the author.
64
Kamran, ‘Early Phase of Electoral Politics’, 266.
65
‘Polling Ends in Punjab, Opposition Gain 43 Seats so Far, Mirza Ibrahim
Wins Local Seat in Lahore No. 5’ (Pakistan Times, 21 March 1951).
66
Ibid.
67
‘Mirza Ibrahim’s “Habeas Corpus” Petition: Arguments Conclude:
Chief Justice Reserves Judgement’ (Pakistan Times, 24 April 1951).
68
‘Mirza Ibrahim’s Petition Dismissed; Lahore High Court Judgement’
(Pakistan Times, 26 April 1951).
was ‘helpless’ to defend Mirza Ibrahim, given that his detention had
been ordered under the Punjab Public Safety Act, which prevented
the court from investigating the reasons for an arrest made by the
executive.69 Therefore, it was entirely unsurprising that the petition
was finally dismissed.
A clearer picture of the context within which arrests were made
at this time emerges when it is noted that Mirza Ibrahim was not
the only one who had been arrested under this charge. Chaudhry
Ataullah Jehanian and Dada Amir Haider were also prominent
Leftists who had been detained at the time and all of them had their
petitions rejected.70 It would be stretching coincidence to a breaking
point to suggest that these arrests had no connection at all with the
fact that both Mirza Ibrahim and Ataullah Jehanian had just previ-
ously been announced as Left-wing candidates contesting the elec-
tions.71 In Mirza’s case however, his election and subsequent arrest
were not enough to quell the matter. Workers, Leftists and CPP
members campaigned for the election on behalf of Mirza Ibrahim.
Hameed Akhtar, who was a member of both the PWA and the CPP
at the time, did not actively take part in worker politics but was
involved in this particular election campaign. He and his comrades
printed out posters of Mirza Ibrahim in handcuffs, and held meetings
and processions to campaign for his election.72 However, in the case
of Mirza Ibrahim’s electoral victory, the eventual end point was not
a victorious one for the Left in Lahore. It was decided that there was
an error in the way the votes had been counted, a ‘certain’ number
of votes were declared bogus and Mr Ahmed Saeed Kirmani was
69
‘M. Ibrahim and Jahanian’s Habeas Corpus Petitions, Court Practically
Helpless, Says Chief Justice’ (Pakistan Times, 17 April 1951).
70
‘Mirza Ibrahim’s ‘Habeas corpus’ Petition: Arguments Conclude: Chief
Justice Reserves Judgement’ (Pakistan Times, 26 April 1951).
71
‘Left-Wing Candidates for Punjab Elections, 11 Names Announced’
(Pakistan Times, 16 February 1951).
72
Akhtar, Interview with the author. The reason that Hameed Akhtar did
not usually take an active part in worker politics was that his duties were
different; he was assigned to work in the cultural front and, as such, was
not involved in the everyday politics of labour. Nonetheless, it does seem
that when it came to crucial moments like the elections of 1951, people
assigned other work could be called upon to help in the achievement of a
common objective.
118 Anushay Malik
elected to the Assembly whereas Mirza Ibrahim continued his time

in the torture chambers beneath the Lahore Fort.73
Commenting on this retrospectively, Craig Baxter writing to the
US government from Lahore stated that Kirmani’s electoral victory
probably involved some ‘juggling’ of the result.74 This is highly pos-
sible given that within the Punjab complaints of election malpractices
abounded.75 Although the actual electoral success of candidates from
the Left was limited, the fact that they could stand at all was made
possible through links that existed between these different associa-
tions. Although Mirza Ibrahim was a railway worker, he contested
and won the seat from constituency number five on behalf of the
Communist Party seat. Similarly, Kaniz Fatima, a member of the
DWA, contested and won the seat in Outer Lahore constituency
number two, for women from the Azad Pakistan Party (APP).76
The climate was sufficiently open that candidates from the Kisan
Committee in the Punjab could also announce their decision to stand
for elections as members of the APP.77
Thus, the fluidity of politics and connections between these
groups could be utilised during elections. The very existence of these
groups in the electoral process represents a political opposition that
was not overtly Islamist, regionalist or nationalist. The presence of
such an opposition is an important part in politicising the working
poor and, at the very least, connecting them to some extent to the
politics practiced at the level of the state. However, as the rest of this
article will argue, the Pakistani state’s policies subsequently defined,
in increasingly narrow terms, what type of politics was acceptable
and steadily attempted to obliterate both the diversity of political
practices and the older networks that existed.
73
Ibid.
74
‘Memorandum of Conversation’ 31 July 1967 in Khan (ed.) The
American Papers, 232.
75
For accusations regarding election malpractices made within the Punjab
Assembly see: ‘Mamdot Astonished at “Abrupt” Adjournment’ (Pakistan
Times, 8 May 1951).
76
‘Opposition Captures 38 Seats So Far’ (Pakistan Times, 28 March 1951).
77
‘Azad Party Selected No Ex-MLA, Unionist or Rejected Leaguer’
(Pakistan Times, 16 February 1951).
From ‘Troublemakers’ to ‘Traitors’: The Rawalpindi

Conspiracy Case
The events around the Rawalpindi conspiracy case, to this day, are
not known in their entirety. What is known is that through informal
links, a number of army officers made contact with members of the
CPP and then met to discuss the possibility of a coup. However, an
attempt at moving the coup out of the meetings and into the realm
of actual implementation was never made. This may be because the
authorities found out about it beforehand. It is equally possible, as
some have stated, that talk of the coup had already been shelved at
the time the arrests were made and that these detentions were actu-
ally part of the same imperative to quell opposition in the elections.78
What is relevant for this article, however, are the repercussions of
the case for the Left and the CPP. In connection with the case itself,
important individuals like Faiz Ahmed Faiz, Sajjad Zaheer and
Muhammad Hussain Ata were arrested. After these arrests, which
were more directly connected to the Conspiracy, the state began a
systematic campaign of apprehending members of the Left from all
over the country. Although the implications of the case itself had
echoes on the national level, there was also a specific crackdown on
Leftists in the city of Lahore.
A widespread state of panic was induced by Liaquat Ali Khan’s
announcement of the unearthing of a plot that was aimed at creating
a ‘violent commotion’, announced in the paper on the same day that
polling in the Punjab began.79 The news of the conspiracy elicited
an immediate response from the public. Condolences and messages
of support to the government poured in.80 Even the Pakistan Times
editorials at this point, although critical of the government employ-
ing ‘guesswork’ about the extent of the plot, nonetheless state that it
would be wrong for anyone ‘ ... to doubt the bona fides of government
78
Akhtar, Interview; Faiz, Alys Over My Shoulder cited in Genoways,
‘Let Them Snuff Out’, 94.
79
‘Brig Latif & Faiz Also Detained, Alleged Plotto Create “Violent
Commotion”, Minister’s Announcement’ (Pakistan Times, 10 March 1951);
and ‘9 Million Voters Go To Polls in Punjab Today’ (Pakistan Times,
10 March 1951).
80
Dryland, ‘Faiz Ahmed Faiz’, 178.
120 Anushay Malik
action’.81 Discussing public opinion regarding the Conspiracy, Hasan

Zaheer82 asserts that in the minds of most of those who heard of it
at the time, the case was seen as ‘treason’.83
Although involvement in the Rawalpindi conspiracy has been
described as a grievous error made by the upper echelons of the
CPP, not all CPP members were in favour of this involvement.84 In
addition, it seems that discussions of the case tend to forget that its
discovery coincided almost exactly with the 1951 elections in the
Punjab. At the time of his arrest, Faiz himself thought that he was
being arrested so that he could be kept quiet until after the elec-
tion.85 Seen from this angle, the announcement of the coup and the
association of all Leftists with treason were also part of the process
by which the political elite maintained its control over politics in the
Punjab. In addition, the repression of all Leftists in the aftermath of
the conspiracy, especially given that individuals like Mirza Ibrahim
and Jehanian had been arrested earlier, suggests that the conspiracy
became a reason to crack down on a group that had been, increas-
ingly, making the state uneasy.
The initial impetus for the supposed attempted coup that formed
the basis of the case came from the government’s decision to cease
hostilities in Kashmir, a decision that was not welcomed by certain
groups within the army who disagreed with the civilian administra-
tion’s judgement.86 To carry out such a plan the officers approached
Faiz Ahmed Faiz in search of political support. Faiz agreed to arrange
a meeting for them with Sajjad Zaheer and an informal meeting was
accordingly arranged.87 While Talat Ahmed points out that the coup
itself was ‘not a fabrication’ and that several CPP members, includ-
ing Sajjad Zaheer, did agree to the coup,88 whether it would have
actually been carried out is by no means clear. Evidence of meetings
81
Khan, Pakistan: The First Twelve Years, 268, 267.
82
Zaheer, The Times and Trial.
83
Ibid., x.
84
See: Leghari, ‘The Socialist Movement’; and Ahmed ‘Writers and
Generals’.
85
Faiz, Alys Over My Shoulder cited in Genoways, ‘Let Them Snuff
Out’, 94.
86
Zaheer, The Times and Trial, 29.
87
Akhtar, Interview with the author.
88
Ahmed, ‘Writers and Generals’, 139, 145.
where agreements were reached is offset by testimonies stating that

the plot did not evolve beyond the initial phase of discussion and
it was later shelved.89 This is supported by the investigation of the
tribunal that could not definitively prove the charges against them
even though the ‘conspirators’ were not allowed a defence counsel
or witnesses.90
Another confusing fact about the timing at which the case emerges
is the depth of intelligence available to the Punjab police about ‘sub-
versive’ activities, particularly with regard to the Communist Party.
This is both indicated by Ahmed91 and visible in the two-volume work
on the activities of the Communist Party in West Pakistan published
by the Central Investigation Department in 1952. As part of his plea
to the CPP to not take part in the coup, Ishaqe Mohammad92 also
pointed out that given the level of monitoring they were subject to,
the plans for this coup were definitely not a secret from the authori-
ties.93 Given this sort of surveillance, it does seem improbable that the
state only found out about this attempted plot during the elections in
March when it was initially supposed to be carried out in February
1951.94 While the fact that there was some substance to the con-
spiracy cannot be denied, these ‘grey’ areas suggest that the decision
of the state to conduct these arrests and widen the purview of whom
they arrested was based on more than just security concerns. This
approach becomes more convincing when given the background of
the elections and the large number of arrests of Leftists that followed.
Even before the official trial into the conspiracy case began, a
number of arrests were carried out, with the assurance being given
in newspaper headlines that the ‘arrests are not connected with the
Pindi conspiracy’.95 There was a total of about 20 arrests made in
89
Dryland, ‘Faiz Ahmed Faiz’, 182; Interview with Hameed Akhtar;
Leghari, ‘The Socialist Movement’, 65.
90
Ahmed, ‘The Rise and Fall’, 254.
91
Ahmed, ‘Writers and Generals’, 137.
92
Besides founding the Mazdoor Kissan Party in Pakistan Ishaq
Muhammad was actively involved in the Punjabiyat language movement
in Pakistan (see Kalra and Butt this issue).
93
94
Ibid., 137.
95
‘Leftist Elements Rounded Up: Arrests Not Connected with Pindi
Conspiracy’, (Pakistan Times, 11 May 1951).
122 Anushay Malik
this first round-up in the Punjab. Those arrested in Lahore included

Firozuddin Mansur, the secretary of the Punjab Kisan Committee
and a veteran CPP member, Mohammad Afzal, the general secretary
of the PTUF, Shamim Ashraf Malik and Hameed Akhtar.96 Hameed
Akhtar’s book Kal Kothrihr97 on his prison experiences begins from
this exact point. He describes how he heard a loud and persistent
banging on his door in the early hours of the morning and saw
police standing outside. In an account that is both harrowing and
yet tongue-in-cheek, he describes how the police came in a tonga—
a horse-drawn carriage—because the large number of arrests that
had been made meant that all police cars were busy. Although these
arrests were new in their intensity as they took place in such a short
period of time, the book also reveals how arrests of communist lead-
ers were by no means an infrequent occurrence. While some of his
friends in prison were nervous about their plight as they had been
roused before dawn and some had just been brought to prison as
they were, the veteran communist leader Firozuddin Mansur walked
in with all necessities carefully packed, fully prepared and composed
because he had been to prison so many times that he knew exactly
what to expect.98
Even within prison, the ‘viral’ or polluting threat presented by
radicalism was still a consideration. This was reflected in the fact
that those arrested were kept in separate compartments from the
rest of the prisoners. This is part of the reason why Hameed Akhtar
spent several months in solitary confinement whilst in prison in the
early 1950s as the police were afraid that he and his comrades would
rouse the sentiments of the prisoners around them. Similar to the case
with Mirza Ibrahim and the rest of the group arrested immediately
preceding the election, even the basis of the arrest was precautionary:
I still remember the beginning of my warrant, my name, my father’s

name, ‘whereas the governor of Punjab is satisfied that you are going
to act upon in a manner which is prejudicial to the public law and
order, the governor is pleased to detain you for six months’.99
96
Ibid.
97
This can be directly translated as ‘Black Cell’ but that does not capture
the implications of the term. It refers to a place that is like a dungeon, dark
and calamitous.
98
Akhtar, Kal Kothri, 30–31.
99
Akhtar, Interview with the author.
In a scathing criticism of the arrests of Leftists outside of those

accused in the case, an article in the Pakistan Times stated that ‘ ...
it is difficult to avoid the conclusion that the Muslim League govern-
ments have misused their special powers in order to weaken their
political opponents.’100 This repression weakened not only opponents
but also those whom they worked with. Even though members of
the PTUF at the time were active and protesting these arrests under
the ‘hated’ safety act,101 in the aftermath of this atmosphere worker
and peasant unions that had been affiliated with the CPP became
fragmented.102
On one level, official narratives hide the reality of diverse and often
opposing realities. On another level, they can also put a different spin
on these same realities. The Rawalpindi Conspiracy Case gave sub-
stance to a narrative in which the CPP specifically and the Left more
broadly were seen as having betrayed Pakistan. In the conclusion of
this case, the CPP’s role was viewed as one where it had conspired
‘to undermine the existence of Pakistan and to establish an atheist
state in Pakistan’.103 The army officials, by contrast, were absolved
of responsibility and considered as passive recipients. This sentiment
is quite clearly articulated in the discussion of the conspiracy case in
the Constituent Assembly:
The authors of the present conspiracy had selfish ends to serve; they
wanted to grab the reins of Government ... I can never believe that
the Pakistan Forces, of whom we are so proud, could have played
into their hands.104
The new narrative now played with historic memory, selectively eras-
ing things like the fact that, once upon a time, the CPP and Muslim
League had been allied and of course denying the realities that would
100
‘Punjab Kisan Leader Arrested Under Safety Act’ (Pakistan Times,
12 May 1951).
101
‘Demand for Release of Trade Union Workers’ (Pakistan Times,
4 July 1951).
102
103
Ibid., 66.
104
Sheikh Sadiq Hasan, Constituent Assembly of Pakistan (Debates),
16 April 1951, 88.
124 Anushay Malik
later pave the way for Pakistan’s multiple military coups. What the
Rawalpindi conspiracy case thus actually represents is, to use Jalal’s
terminology, the manufacturing of ‘enemies within’.105
Concluding Remarks
In 1920, after Turkey was defeated in the First World War, a group
of refugees left India as a protest against the British bringing to an end
the Khilafat. These religious and anti- imperialist protestors would go
on to become some of the most prominent communists in the early
days of Pakistan and particularly the Punjab. Amongst their ranks
were names like Fazal Elahi Qurban and Ferozuddin Mansoor.106
Given this background, the nationalist, religious and communist
aspects of their identity overlapped in a way that allowed them to
be all these things and yet come to Pakistan. For the Pakistani state
however, when Ferozuddin Mansur was arrested in Lahore in 1951
under the Rawalpindi Conspiracy Case, it was because he was a com-
munist. His initial motivations revolving around the Khilafat were
not of any import—he was arrested as a troublemaker, an atheistic
communist and, therefore, a paradox in Pakistan’s Islam-oriented
nationhood. The multiple realities of individuals who were com-
munist at one point were thus subsumed under the reality of what
the Pakistani state said communism was. As this article has shown
and this example illustrates, this reality did not, however, necessarily
conform to varying local strands of communist politics.
The political curtailment of the activities of the Left described
above were part of a wider process by which the state restricted
political alternatives and defined, increasingly narrowly, what type
of political identities were acceptable in the Pakistani state. The ban
on the CPP was not lifted till as late as in 1986 and the creation of a
category of ‘enemy of the state’, in this sense, was a political act aimed
at not only eliminating political opposition but also narrowly defining
the type of politics that could be practiced within the ambit of the
Pakistani state. In the case of the CPP, their role within the elections
of 1951 is an all but forgotten aspect of Pakistani history, partially
because of its distance from what is possible in the contemporary
105
Ibid., 82.
106
Ibid., 23–24.
context, as Hameed Akhtar observed: ‘At that time the CPP was the
only voice challenging the status quo ... today, could any communist
be elected in Lahore?’ The combined result of state repression and
the conspiracy case was that groups that had connected themselves
to other political associations and linked themselves to the articula-
tion of class politics broke off these ties. An example of this was the
PWA, which officially separated itself from association with politics
and political parties.107 This signalled the beginning of the process
of de-politicisation of such organisations in the Pakistani context.
While the cultural politics of the CPP can be viewed as problem-
atic in the emphasis given to Urdu as a national language,108 their
persistence in pursuing an agenda of linking literary activities to the
politics of progress and development meant that individuals like Faiz
Ahmed Faiz and Hameed Akhtar played an important role in linking
these intellectual circles to the politics of labour in Lahore. These
specific political linkages were now to become a thing of the past.
Indeed, this phase in Pakistani history also represents the change of
an era. While Partition had drawn a geographical boundary line,
these events indicate the changes that took place at the interface
between an older social and political order and the new imperatives
of the nascent state. The culture that allowed the Left to flourish is
best represented by the ‘coffee house culture’ of Lahore. The India
Coffee house was one of a number of small establishments that were
regularly frequented by individuals like Habib Jalib, (the revolution-
ary poet who himself was a worker in Lyallpur at one point)109 and
Ferozuddin Mansur. Khursheed Aziz’s memoirs, ‘The Coffee House
of Lahore’, provide a loving and witty portrait of the individuals
who visited the Coffee House (as it became known after Partition)
between the late 1940s and the early 1950s. This memoir is replete
with nostalgia for an age in which Lahore was a cosmopolitan centre
of ideas and debates. However, Aziz’s memoirs, describing individu-
als between the late 1940s and the early 1950s, completely skip the
break represented by Partition and the effect it had on the public
arena within which politics was practiced in Lahore. Indeed, all of
the public spaces for meetings, debate and mushairas were negatively
107
Ahmed, ‘Writers and Generals’, 144.
108
Ali, ‘Communists in a Muslim Land’, 153–54.
109
Aziz, The Coffee House, 63–65.
126 Anushay Malik
impacted by Partition. Bemoaning this same change, an article in

the Pakistan Times from 1956 discussed the shift in the nature of
Lahore from a centre of stormy political and cultural activities to
one that was simply attempting to grapple with the consequences of
Partition. Now, the article continued, the halls that were so essen-
tial to making Lahore so vibrant were either being used to provide
shelters or being used as ‘godowns’ for storing grain.110 The limited
space for the old type of politics in Lahore would go on shrinking
in later years as symbolised by the disappearance of the few halls of
this sort that were left in the post-Partition city. Abdul Rauf Malik,
the head of the People’s Publishing House in the 1950s, observed
that there were no halls left in the city—the Lajpat Rai hall, the
Barkat Ali Muhammadean Hall and the YMCA were all out of use.
He bemoaned the fact that now, there are huge five- and three-star
hotels where meetings are held with tea, which is expensive and
restrictive.111 Indeed, the decline of the political culture of the city
of Lahore paralleled the demise of the Left.
The relationship between the politics of the Left and the mechanics
of state repression existed in a very specific context and in a very dif-
ferent kind of public space that existed in Lahore in the early 1950s.
Nonetheless, the way that the narrative unfolds provides important
insights into the way politics was practiced below the level of the
nation state and the manner in which the enemies of the state were
identified and marginalised—a process that has been applied time
and again to different groups in various periods of Pakistani history.
When talking about the popularity of his book Kal Kothri, Hameed
Akhtar remarked that the book has been published in eight different
editions since its original publication in 1953 and is still in demand
today because what it describes are the specific arrests that took place
in the early 1950s and hence it touches on political circumstances
that have been repeatedly created whenever the state has attempted
to suppress political opposition. While this has happened all too
often in the Pakistani context, if Faiz could retain some tendrils of
hope when writing from jail while arrested under the conspiracy case,
perhaps it is possible to do the same in contemporary observations
of the political future of Pakistan:
110
‘Lahore’s Neglected Public Halls’ (Pakistan Times, 6 May 1956).
111
Malik, Interview with the author.
Today men of heart go to test their spirits and their faith;

let them bring an army of enemies, we will meet them tomorrow
let them come to the execution yard, we will join the spectacle tomorrow.
No matter how heavy this last hour may seem, my friend:
we will see the light hidden tonight shine brightly tomorrow;
we will see the morning-star sparkle as today edges into tomorrow.112
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 6
‘In One Hand a Pen in the
Other a Gun’: Punjabi Language
Radicalism in Punjab, Pakistan
Virinder S. Kalra and Waqas M. Butt
I am the poet of the day, my voice reaches the sky

In one hand a pen, in the other a gun
I am the heir of a martyr, don’t hold me back
My shoulders bear the burden of revenge
I salute to those martyred, who sacrificed their life in struggle
Who captured and destroyed the enemies, like a bolt from the blue
I am indebted to that sister who sent her brother to the war.
My head in the cradle of that mother who doesn’t have a son anymore.
I am the poet of the day my voice reaches the sky
In one hand a pen in the other a gun.
Mian Salim Jahangir, ‘Ballad of the Day’1
The relationship between language and politics has been long estab-
lished, most usually through the lens of nationalism. The model of
one nation, one language, one people to some extent was paradig-
matic of the ideology of anti-colonial struggles. To some extent, the
formation of Pakistan was also mobilised around the idea of Urdu
as the national language and Islam as the national faith. Indeed,
these two slogans ultimately became the rationale for a strongly
centralising state.2 Such equations between nation and language,
1
Jahangir, Ballad of the Day, 70–71. This poem is in honour of those
who died in Hashtnagar, arguably the most successful Left-wing uprising in
Pakistan. See Ahmed, ‘The Rise and Fall’, for more details. Poem translated
by the authors.
1302 Amita Shah and Jharna Pathak
See Jalal, Self and Sovereignty; and Talbot, Pakistan.
Language Radicalism in Punjab, Pakistan 131
however, have done much dis-service to the heterogeneity not only

of minority languages but also of hegemonic ones. Thus, there were
struggles around the issue of language most prominently in East
Pakistan from the very formation of Pakistan. Although there is
some debate about how crucial the Bangla language movement was
in terms of the final formation of Bangladesh, there is no doubt that
the repression of Bengali in favour of Urdu played a significant role
in the creation of an independence movement.3 Less prominent and
politically far less successful have been the ethno-national mobilisa-
tions around Sindhi, Pashto and Baluchi, which have all at some
time made demands on the state in terms of provision for language
rights.4 This article discusses the status of Punjabi in Pakistan and
its relationship with the Left.
In some senses, the status of Punjabi in Pakistan is an anomaly
because on the one hand it is not recognised as an official language
of the state and on the other over 80 per cent of residents in Punjab
speak the language as a mother tongue and over 60 per cent of the
population of Pakistan resides in Punjab.5 This demographic reality
nonetheless does not reflect its status in terms of state provision.
There is no provision to teach Punjabi at the school level and it is only
offered in a few colleges at the degree level, with only one institution
offering postgraduate education in the subject.6 Indeed, the basic
premise of much activism for Punjabi has been for the establishment
of primary education in the language. It was only with the formation
of the current state of Pakistan in 1971 that an MA in Punjabi was
introduced in Punjab University, Lahore. A somewhat bizarre policy,
given that there was no formal provision in the subject at any other
level of education. The reasons for this neglect by the state will be
3
Talbot, Pakistan.
4
Though Mir (2010) makes the salient point that the state has never
in the pre-colonial or colonial project provided support to Punjabi, it is
nonetheless the remit of the modern state to make provision for language
teaching and development. It could be argued that there is no unifying notion
of language without the state providing standardisation over competing
claims. The state therefore remains central in terms of Punjabi activism and
mobilisation in Pakistan.
5
Pakistan Census Organisation, Main Finding of Census on Housing
and Population.
6
MA’s and PhD’s in Punjabi are offered at Punjab University, Lahore.
132 Virinder S. Kalra and Waqas M. Butt
discussed in more detail, but it is important to note at this stage that

one of the reasons for Punjabi’s marginality is its association with low
social status and class. Indeed as the language of the uneducated — of
the peasants and the working class, it is shunned by the nationalist
elite. Yet it is precisely this status that provides the rationale for its
appeal to Left-wing groups and parties.
This article begins by placing Punjabi language movements in
the general context of South Asian language mobilisations. Then by
reviewing the research of Punjabi in West Punjab, two key areas that
are not completely addressed are established. First is the lack of an
account of the role of the Left in Pakistan in organising around the
language issue and second is the neglect of places, other than Lahore,
in the description of the various Punjabi movements. Redressing these
absences requires a re-reading of the existing material to highlight the
connection between activists and various parties, but more particu-
larly with a literary method rooted in Marxist methodologies that
language activists deployed. The key figures active in the Mazdoor
Kisan Party (Major Ishaque) provide a compelling example of the
in-depth relationship between literature and politics in the Punjab. In
particular, the work of figures such as Mian Jahangir (one of who’s
poems opens this article) in the 1970s and the influence of these fig-
ures on subsequent publications such as Sajjan and Panchim will be
used to illustrate the highly politicised perspective on language that
emerge in West Punjab of the late 1960s through to the end of the
1980s. Finally, the way in which Punjabi was part of the mobilisa-
tion of the National Students Federation will be demonstrated via
a case study of the market town of Sahiwal, addressing the overtly
Lahore-centred focus of previous studies.7
Language and Politics in South Asia
The politicised nature of language in South Asia has been studied

from a number of angles, most prominently in terms of the nexus
that emerges in the colonial period between language and religious
7
The research for this article is based on both authors’ involvement in
the Punjabi movement in Pakistan since the 1970s for Butt and since the
1990s for Kalra. Further information was gathered from interviews with
MKP activists.
identity, with one result being the consolidation of communal iden-

tities. The relationship between Hindi, Urdu and Punjabi becomes
synonymous with Hindu, Muslim and Sikh, respectively, and ulti-
mately to ethno-nationalist aspirations.8 This theme has continued in
post-colonial India where language movements came to frame much
of the first 20 years of politics in newly independent India.9 Most
prominently the agitation for a Punjabi Suba led by the Sikh party,
the Akali Dal follows through the logic of partition with a religious
group demanding ethno-linguistic rights, something achieved in 1967
with the formation of a truncated East Punjab.10 Once the linguis-
tic reorganisation of Indian states was achieved, to a large extent
political mobilisations under the rubric of language diminished.
Nonetheless, language has played an over-determined role in the
political mobilisations and settlements of post-colonial South Asia.
Writings on the Punjabi movement in Pakistan have, to a large
extent, remained locked into the political science perspectives on
language most well developed by Paul Brass.11 Language here is an
instrument of elites to gain political power or to gain access into
the state machinery. It may be motivated by primordial desires, but
is nevertheless mobilised for some aspect of political gain or status.
More recent work has attempted to move beyond this framework,
in particular to offer a view of Punjabi outside of determinative rela-
tionship with the state.12 This perspective focusses on those spaces
where Punjabi shows resilience despite neglect and often hostility by
the state towards it. The marginal groups and sites in which Punjabi
circulates become a site from which the Mazdoor Kisan Party can
mobilise.13 Language in the context of the Left in West Punjab is
8
Oberoi, The Construction of Religious Boundaries; King, Orientalism
and Religion; and Mandair, Religion and the Specter of the West.
9
See Sarangi, Language and Politics. It has to be noted that the move-
ments in South India for language were of a different order to those in East
Punjab. Nonetheless, these movements are all closely related to the desire of
the post-colonial Indian state to reorganise along linguistic lines.
10
Brass, Language, Religion.
11
Ibid.
12
Mir, Social Space; and Ayres, Speaking Like a State.
13
Rahman, Language, Power and Ideology; and Ayres, Speaking Like
a State.
therefore being used instrumentally, but not for the formation of

a linguistic state, but rather for the formation of a communist or
socialist state.14 What underpins this role for Punjabi for the Left
is paradoxically the absence of state patronage for the language, as
reflected in the pre-colonial and colonial language policy.15 This situ-
ation was rectified in 1967 with the formation of the Punjab state
in India but continued in Pakistan.
When Pakistan was formed in 1947 its founding father,
Mohammad Ali Jinnah, adopted a quite conservative ideology for the
new nation when it came to the issue of language, clearly illustrated
by this extract of a speech from 1948:
Let me restate my views on the question of a state language for

Pakistan. For official use in this province, the people of the province
can choose any language they wish ... There can, however, be one
lingua franca, that is, the language for inter-communication between
the various provinces of the state, and that language should be Urdu
and cannot be any other.. The state language, therefore, must obvi-
ously be Urdu, a language that has been nurtured by a hundred mil-
lion Muslims of this subcontinent, a language understood throughout
the length and breadth of Pakistan and, above all, a language which,
more than any other provincial language, embodies the best that is in
Islamic culture and Muslim tradition and is nearest to the languages
used in other Islamic countries ....16
To some extent, Jinnah was forging a state in difficult circum-

stances and hence the necessity of singularity of language intimately
linked to Islam is understandable. He did not live to see this vision
14
The perspective offered here is markedly different from Paul Brass, in
that his evaluation of the success of a language movement would be in purely
political terms, in the extent to which state power was achieved. Breaking the
distinction between culture and politics provides an alternative framework
for understanding the general conditions under which power relations are
changed by political action. Developing this framework is beyond the scope
of this article but provides an indication of a framework for understanding
Punjabi, which can take into account the power of the state without reduc-
ing all cultural action to a symptom or reaction.
15
Mir, Social Space.
16
Mahomed Ali Jinnah, Jinnah, Speech at the Dacca University
Convocation, on 21 March 1948, 82.
collapse with the formation of Bangladesh from the province of

East Pakistan.17 Yet for present purposes, it is the provision that any
‘province’ can choose whatever language it wishes to is of utmost
significance for this article. Once Bangladesh was created and the
modern state of Pakistan formed via the 1973 constitution, Pushto,
Sindhi and Baluchi came to be recognised and promoted as provin-
cial languages, whereas in Punjab, Urdu remained the language of
primary instruction and governance. After democracy was restored
in 2008 to Pakistan, the provincial assembly members in all states
other than Punjab took their oaths in the provincial languages. This
neglect of Punjabi by the Muslim elite is intimately tied up with
British colonialism and has been well covered by Tariq Rahman.18
The inheritance of this denigration of Punjabi led to the emergence,
quite early after the partition of 1947, of a group of literary figures
who felt the necessity to promote the language.19 It is the undertak-
ings of these language activists, based mainly in Lahore, that has
attracted academic attention.20
Punjabi Movement in West Punjab
The first study of the Punjabi movement in West Punjab in English

begins with Christopher Shackles’ article in 1970 and these themes
are amplified and illustrated in Tariq Rahman’s considerable output
and most recently — in 2008 — by Alyssa Ayres.21 The first issue
raised by Shackle is the middle class and urban nature of Punjabi
activism. Shackle notes this in sociological terms, in terms of his
fieldwork in Lahore, the capital city of West Punjab. A simple schema
of language use is established where the elite use English, the middle
class Urdu and the working class Punjabi.22 Punjabi language activists
17
See Kabir, ‘Religion, Language’.
18
Rahman, Language and Politics.
19
Ibid.
20
See Zaidi, ‘A Postcolonial Sociolinguistics’ for a comprehensive account
of the relationship between Pakistani state ideology and the Pakistani
language.
21
Shackle, ‘Punjabi in Lahore’; Rahman, Language, Ideology and Power;
and Ayres, Speaking Like a State.
22
Shackle, ‘Punjabi in Lahore’.
are therefore those from the middle class for whom the high Urdu
of the migrant literary elite is barred.23 Their struggle is therefore
one to attain a parity with Urdu of the Punjabi language in terms of
state resources and thereby to establish themselves securely within the
middle class. This point is made explicitly by Rahman, who argues
that the activists aspirations for the Punjabi language are matched by
their aspirations to achieve status, the logic being that as the language
gains in status, so will their own class position improve.24 Ayres is
critical of this position because she articulates the correct position
that Punjabis are already dominant in society; hence, the necessity
for the middle class to utilize language to mobilise is a conundrum
and indeed this is the thesis of her book, Speaking Like a State.25
However, each of these author’s perspectives are found to be limited
when the contextual and lived use of Punjabi is analysed.
Shackle’s simplistic schema of language use breaks down consider-
ably when looking at context-specific interaction. For example, the
feudal elite is still much more likely to use Punjabi when in male
company or with their village servants, even in the urban context of
Lahore. In the army, to maintain rank hierarchy English and Urdu
are used. However, for troops of the same rank Punjabi is the lingua
franca, across the regiments from various provinces. In public spaces
and with women, even the working class makes an attempt to use
some form of Urdu for communication. Perhaps, fundamentally
men of all classes find it necessary to be able to communicate in
the language as a sign of their masculinity.26 To be fair to Shackle’s
descriptions, he is the only author who notes that both the Sufi
shrines and Christian churches extensively use Punjabi. In both
these cases it is the working class and the lower middle class who
23
The dominance of the Pakistani bureaucracy by Urdu-speaking migrants
from UP and Bihar meant that the state machinery was deeply committed to
the ‘one language’ policy. These migrants or mohajairs were also relatively
more urbanised and educated than their local counterparts (in any of the
provinces). It was mohajairs who dominated the literary and cultural scene
of the new Pakistan.
24
Rahman, Language and Politics.
25
Ayres, Speaking Like a State.
26
These perspectives are based on fieldwork in Lahore carried out by
Lahore University of Management Sciences students 2009–2010.
frequent shrines, and the Christian population of Lahore is mostly

engaged in specific menial work areas, reflecting their caste and class
composition. It is a lack of an analysis that takes into account class,
which misdirects much of the research on the Punjabi movement in
West Punjab. Indeed, it is precisely this class composition that makes
Punjabi so amenable to the activists of the Mazdoor Kisan Party.
It is the affective attachment to Punjabi that is being mobilised and
this mobilization is taking place during the time period over which
Shackle is concerned.27
Focusing on a later time period in terms of fieldwork (the late
1990s), but nonetheless concerned with the Punjabi movement
from the time of partition onward, Alyssa Ayres offers the most
comprehensive study to date of the Punjabi language movement and
some of its key activists based in Lahore. By including documenta-
tion produced by the movement, various manifestos and ephemera
such as cartoons, a significant empirical contribution is made to the
relatively scarce literature on the Punjabi language movement in
Pakistan. The book also includes a brief but nonetheless invaluable
documentation of the role of Punjabi films in promoting the image of
a masculine, usually rural, heroic figure. Indeed, it is the analysis of
films that highlights the strength of Ayres work, in forefronting the
popular aspect of Punjabi in West Punjab and its weakness, in that
this dimension of the language does not impact the book’s theoretical
argument. Ayres seeks to understand why Punjabi is the neglected
language of the Pakistani state, when the country is dominated
by Punjabis in terms of its political economy, specifically in terms
of the army and demographically. This conundrum is resolved by
resorting to a purely symbolic understanding of the movement: ‘the
case of Punjab offers compelling real-world data that underscores
the importance of symbolic capital as a motivating force in contexts
where this force simply cannot be dismissed as epiphenomenal’.28
This is a reasonable conclusion when focusing on elite discourse,
but is significantly flawed for this very reason.29 The stratification
27
Mir, Social Space.
28
Ayres, Speaking Like a State, 101.
29
It should also be noted that the analysis of most language movements
has been to look at the way language has mobilised the elite.
of Punjabi/Pakistani society along the lines of class is not consid-

ered in any detail even though recourse to the popular domain and
therefore an allusion to the working and peasant classes is made
throughout the text. Perhaps more problematic is the way in which
this theoretical lens narrows and distorts the vision of key figures
in the Punjabi movement itself. For example, Najm Hussain Sayyid
is acknowledged as a central pillar of the Punjabi movement and
is someone who is clear in his use of a Marxist-inspired dialectical
method incorporating historical materialism in his literary criticism.30
However, this method is re-interpreted by Ayres through the lens
of nationalistic revivalism. Indeed, two of the leading characters of
Sayyids’ historical fiction, Ahmed Khan Kharral and Dullah Bhatti,
are rendered as figures symbolically standing for resistance against
the undermining of the Punjabi language representing heroic figures
of the Punjabi (male) standing in contrast to the image of submissive
people.31 Kharral and Bhatti are, respectively, central characters in
Najm’s plays Takht Lahore and Ik Raat Raavi Dee and emerge from
a bardic oral tradition of resistance, in these cases British colonialism
and Moghal rule, upholding the rights of the peasant of Punjab. Even
though Ayres is able to gauge the sense of Najm’s works in terms of
the formation of a new subject, this is not one that emerges out of
a process of dialectical materialism (Najm’s own method) but what
she calls historical ‘revisionism’ as if just by stating the act of the
formation of the new subject the work is already done, rather than
the need for active struggle and resistance.
What is perhaps most startling about Alyssa Ayres’ study is the
absence of any mention of socialism or communism in her analysis
of the Punjabi movement of the 1980s. Indeed, these words are not
included in any of the 217 pages of the volume. This is clearly a pur-
poseful exclusion and necessary for the theoretical argument about
the symbolic nature of language to be made. However, previous
literature alludes to the relationship between Left-wing mobilisation
and Punjabi. Rahman makes passing reference to the relationship
between the Left and the Punjabi movement in terms of some of
30
This perspective towards literary criticism is made clear for those who
attend the weekly Punjabi literary meeting organised in Najm Sayyid’s house
in Lahore. This meeting (Sangat) has taken place for the last 40 years.
31
Ayres, Speaking Like a State, 102.
the key figures involved, for example, Shafqat Tanvir Mirza and
Najm Hussain Sayyid. Najm Hussain in particular is said to have a
‘secular and Leftist’ reputation.32 Yet this in no way pervades our
understanding of this role in the movement. Indeed, it is through the
words of a right-wing press statement that we find any notion that
Punjabi language activists are adopting a critical perspective towards
the language: ‘This not serving one’s mother tongue. This is only
finding ways for the progress of socialist politics under the banner of
progressivism’.33 One can be sympathetic to some extent with Tariq
Rahman’s perspective as he has always argued that the teaching of
mother tongue is a valid and correct demand to be made upon the
state.34 This distancing from the socialist aspect of the movement
might be arguably a strategic one to allow for a claim to be made
upon the liberal arm of the state, without alienating the religious
right, who would be opposed to any socialist politics. What becomes
clear from a close reading of the book Speaking Like a State is that it
overly relies on the perspective of one respondent — Fakhar Zaman
— and on one publication — The Punjabi Language Will Never Die:
The Case of Punjabi in Punjab by Saeed Ahmad Farani. As a lecturer
of Punjabi in Jhelum Academy, Farani was not someone actively
involved in socialist politics. To some extent, the material that is
presented and the version of the movement, particularly the emphasis
on the world Punjabi conferences, which were Zaman’s initiatives,
would also fit into a narrative of elite mobilisation. However, in the
case of Zaman, it is only a particular reading of his involvement that
is offered, as he was an elected member of the Pakistan People’s Party
who, in the 1980s, still had a tangible relationship with democratic
socialism and whose allegiance to Punjabi would also have come
from that political period.35
32
Rahman, Language and Politics, 80.
33
Ibid., 83.
34
It is of course important to note that demands made upon the post-
colonial state for language recognition are precisely centred on the idea that,
in contrast to the colonial state, the demands of the people were to be met
by these new formations.
35
The most generous reading would be that Ayres’ book reflects the way
that the Punjabi movement in the 2000s was increasingly shorn of its radical
political implications in the wake of attempts to bring East and West Punjab
closer, in the context of the overall Indo-Pak peace process. In that sense the
Once there is a recognition that talking about Punjabi necessitates

talking about the peasant and the working class, then it is possible to
understand its neglect by the state, which for particular reasons had
adopted Urdu as the national language.36 The leading activists of the
Punjabi movement at various points in time occupied positions in
the Left-wing of political life in Pakistan. To fit these into a national-
ist rhetoric and then to reduce that to the symbolic domain at best
ignores and at worst misrepresents the history of the Punjabi language
movement. All language movements, by their nature, involve the
urban educated middle classes, because of their access to the written
word. Only when explicit links are made with social and political
organisations do they take on the shape of movements, most often
nationalist in shape. This utilisation is most prominently seen in the
deeds of the Mazdoor Kisan Party (Major Ishaque) and the cadre
that subsequently engaged with Punjabi at the cultural level through
the newspaper Sajjan and the magazine Panchim. These figures on
the left engage with Punjabi, as the language of the peasant and the
working class, rather than in abstract terms divorced from the politi-
cal economy of Punjab. One could argue that this instrumental use
of Punjabi neglects the everyday pervasiveness of the language, yet
it is precisely the social conditions of those who show an affective
relationship to the language that provide it with its resilience. In that
sense the analysis of Punjabi, outside of a state-centred discourse, that
is offered here is one that is imbricated with those social conditions
and those are ones that the Left has a historic interest in.
Mazdoor Kisan Party (Major Ishaque)

and the Language Question
Despite the almost McCarthy-like purging of the Left in Pakistan in

the 1950s, by the mid-1960s the communists had regrouped. In the
late 1960s, the Sino–Soviet split divided the Pakistani communist
movement into two groups. A further subdivision took place and
notion of symbolic recovery, central to Ayres’ thesis, reflects the attempts

to de-politicise the space that opened up at the cultural level between the
two Punjabs during the Musharraf era. See Purewal, ‘Borderland’, for an
overview of this political process.
36
See Mir, Social Space, for a detailed analysis of the way in which Urdu
is adopted by the British Punjab state.
two more groups emerged who were pro-Peking, one in favour of

the General in charge of Pakistan at the time (1968), Ayub Khan,
and the other opposed to him.37 It was this opposition group that
went on to form the Mazdoor Kisan Party (MKP) in 1970, or the
Communist Workers-Peasants Party, under the leadership of (ex)
Major Ishaque Mohammad. A central figure in communist poli-
tics in Pakistan, Ishaque Mohammad, was part of the Rawalpindi
Conspiracy case in 1951, which led to his arrest and to the mass
clampdown on communist organising in Pakistan.38 Upon his release
from prison, Mohammad continued to play a role in Left politics
in Pakistan, the major zenith being the formation of the MKP. The
party was based on a theoretical premise that drew from Maoist
politics more generally, in Mohammad’s own words:
I abandoned my legal practice and left Lahore for two years. I went
and stayed in my village and we picked up two or three districts in the
Punjab in order to use the available resources. Similarly, in the Frontier
province we confined ourselves to one or two districts; .... The main
guideline of the party is the working class ideology of revolution. We
use that in analysing situations and in training our cadres. The study
of their own people, of the history of Pakistan, of the class structure
of Pakistan, of the state of class struggle here is done from that point
of view of the proletarian revolutionary theory. That is the guiding
thing. But our main stress is on working in the countryside.39
It is this relationship to the countryside that explains the parties atti-

tude towards the language question, as it was clear that mobilising in
the countryside required a translation of concepts into the language
of the people. It was not in the Punjab though that the MKP achieved
its most spectacular political success. The guerrilla war waged against
feudalism in the valley of Hashtnagar, North West Frontier Province,
liberated an area of approximately 200 square miles and inspired
similar movements all over Pakistan.40
37
For an overview of Maoist politics in Pakistan see Ahmed, ‘The Rise
and Fall’.
38
See Talbot, Pakistan, for an account of the Rawalpindi conspiracy case.
39
Mohammad and Ahmed, ‘Interview’, 7.
40
See Ahmed, ‘The Rise and Fall’, for more details of Hashtnagar, though
this event has not been sufficiently researched or written about in English.
Major Ishaque Mohammad’s rural engagements led him to

develop an understanding of the Pakistani society at a level that
required engagement with a number of issues that no other politi-
cal party at the time or subsequently has addressed seriously. The
first of these was the caste question; whereas in East Punjab and
India more generally the emergence of Dalit politics and a radical
relationship between this and other political forms was quite estab-
lished by the 1970s, in Pakistan no such process had occurred.41 It
was therefore much to Mohammad’s credit that while in prison he
penned the Punjabi play Musalli. This name, which literary means
‘man of the prayer mat’, is the equivalent of Harijan when discuss-
ing dalits.42 The play Musalli focuses on rural West Punjab. In the
introduction to the play, Mohammad describes the process by which
his own awareness of language arose:
As part of living in a village and interacting with musallis ... . Firstly,

I thought they were always speaking in a free poetic form, but when
needed they could play with words to maintain the flow. Waves of
words flowed whatever the topic, ranging from the plough to love
affairs. Secondly, the range of this language surprised me, these people
who had been kept away from patshaalas, madrassas and schools and
for whom words were kept out of reach. They had a full command of
their own language. Sitting in their school I became convinced about
the importance of Punjabi.43
This play was radical at many levels but it punctured the national
narrative of Pakistan in two very significant ways. First, by giving
credibility to the Punjabi language, in terms of literature, the one-
nation Urdu nationalism was challenged — something that became
especially fraught in the wake of the war of Bangladeshi indepen-
dence. Second, and perhaps even more of a taboo subject by talking
about caste explicitly, the second plank of Pakistani nationalism,
Islam was called into question. Armed with an Islamic egalitarian
41
See Ram, ‘Untouchability’.
42
Harijan or children of God was the name penned by Gandhi for dalits
and was also criticised, as with the term musalli for being apolitical and
patronising.
43
Ishaque Mohammad, Musalli in Ishaque Mohammad de Dramme,
17–18, translated by the authors.
ideology, one of the distinctions between the new Pakistan and

the new India was to be the removal of caste. The treatment of the
Musalli in Mohammad’s play bears witness to the failure of the
new state to eradicate caste prejudice or even to acknowledge its
continuing salience.
For Ishaque Mohammad, there was little distinction between his
literary and political work. Indeed, the role of Punjabi in articulating
the desires and needs of the masses was clearly a point of inspira-
tion. Musalli was written whilst Mohammad was in prison in 1971.
In the book Punjabi Identity, Fateh Mohammad Malik notes how
Ishaque’s ‘literary career is organically related to the political struggle
of bringing the peasantry into the mainstream of socio-political life
in Pakistan.’44 Indeed, Ishaque Mohammad spent much of his life in
prison where he died in 1982. The Punjabi literature of the MKP was
usually poetic in form and performed as part of a mobilising strategy
throughout rural Punjab. Musalli was performed at MKP rallies with
party members playing the part of the main protagonists of the play.
It was not only at this level that Punjabi was used. There was a party
edict that Punjabi would be the language of the MKP in the Punjab.
In turn, each of the provincial wings of the MKP in NFWP and Sindh
were encouraged to develop party material in their own languages.
For the MKP Punjab this meant developing a language of politics
that was new for the Pakistani Left in that the dominance of Urdu
had to be overcome. Party resolutions and policy documents such
as Lok Raj began to be published in Punjabi in an attempt to open
up the party to peasants and workers. According to Hamza Virk,
a central committee member of the MKP, it was the crucial period
after the Bangladesh war of independence and the formation of the
new state of Pakistan, 1972–1973, that the decision to vernacularise
the party took place.45
The poem that opens this article was performed by Ishaque
Mohammed at the First National Congress of the MKP, held on
the 12 and 13 May 1973 in Sher Garh, District Mardan (NWFP).
Ishaque started his speech by paying tributes to the martyred of the
Party during the struggle over the previous five years, particularly
in Hashtnagar and recited the poem that opens this article. The
44
Malik, Punjabi, 33.
45
In personal correspondence with the authors.
poem’s author, Mian Saleem Jahangir, is one of the key figures in the
development of MKP’s language policy. Whilst the MKP has become
associated with the personality of Mohammed Ishaque, Mian Saleem,
as he was known, was a senior member in the party hierarchy who
gave substance to the vision of engaging with the masses formulated
by Ishaque Mohammed. Mian Saleem was central to developing the
Punjabi language movement outside of Lahore. His absence from any
of the literature looking at the development of the language move-
ment in Pakistan is stark and a clear example of the amnesia about
the role of the Left in Punjabi language mobilisation.
A son of a peasant family, Mian Saleem passed his Matriculation
examination from Nankana Sahib and went on to study Law in
Lahore where he became an advocate. Under the influence of Major
Ishaque, he became one of the leading members of the MKP. Integral
to the mobilising and educational strategy of the MKP was the use
of poetry. In keeping with the oral tradition, which indeed was the
main way in which Punjabi as a language had survived in Pakistan,
Mian Saleem’s poems were recited and remembered by those who
attended MKP rallies and meetings. His poems were published in
MKP pamphlets and publications, reflecting the close relationship
between politics and poetry. It was posthumously in the year of his
death that Sibt-ul-Hassan Zegum collated them with additions from
his own memory and that of other party workers. The volume, Aaj
Dee Vaar (Ballad of the Day), was published in 1989 and forms an
exemplary cultural work in the service of a party, following a well-
worn Marxist tradition. In the introduction to the volume, Zegum
offers a narrative of the close ties between Mian Saleem’s poetic and
political work. It was the Punjab Congress of the MKP in 1972 that,
according to Zegum, Mian Saleem displayed his poetic skills for the
first time in public, reciting the poem: ‘Let’s get rid of new dacoits
and old thieves from our fields’. In the tradition of resistance poetry,
his lyrics were simple and direct, appealing to the masses:
The flute is silent.

Even the songs are scared
People look alive
But their insides are dead46
46
Jahangir, Untitled Ghazal, in Ballad, 128.
Alongside poems that were concerned with the state of the masses,
he also wrote in the heroic tradition about figures in the party
such as labour leader Abdul Rahman as well as Major Ishaque.
Mian Saleem’s style of recitation was integral to the message of his
poetry, as Zegum comments: ‘He achieved that level of oratory,
that those who listened to him were enthralled. Fire spouted out of
his mouth when he spoke out against the military dictatorship.’47 In
the introduction to the volume Aaj Dee Vaar a number of activists
offer commentary on Mian Saleem’s life. The President of the MKP,
following Ishaque Mohammed’s death, Gulam Nabi Kaloo praised
Main Saleem extensively, but also reiterated the parties’ perspec-
tive on the language question. First, the MKP recognised and gave
due importance to all the mother tongues of the people of different
nationalities of Pakistan. The role of the Pakistani state in suppress-
ing mother tongues was a source of concern for Mian Saleem and
is thus one of the reasons for his use of Punjabi in rallies and in his
poetry. Second, Mian Saleem himself demonstrated this commitment
by showing pride in his own language and this was an essential part
of his political work.
Although the MKP had its own student wing during this period,
Main Saleem was also very close with the larger student organisa-
tion, the National Students Federation Pakistan (NSF).48 The MKP
changed the sectarian traditions of Left organisations by developing
close ties with other Leftist groups and this was largely due to the
efforts of Mian Saleem. The NSF was the best organised and numeri-
cally the largest Left-wing student organization in Pakistan at that
time. In the Punjab province, the NSF had active units in all of the
major cities and towns where there were college populations. Other
than being engaged in college-level politics, the NSF played a wider
role in mobilising students towards socialist politics with rallies and
47
Ibid., 17.
48
The NSF was formed in 1956, ironically with state support as a counter
to the banned communist student organisation — the Democratic Students
Forum. However, the NSF swiftly also took up the role of the DSF, especially
in the counter-Ayub Khan protests in the early 1960s. Even though the
DSF made a small comeback in the 1970s, the NSF remained the strongest
Left-wing student organisation in Pakistan until the early 1990s. See Butt,
Revisiting.
speeches on justice and equality.49 Much of the language of popular

protest and interaction, especially at the village level, was in Punjabi,
but the NSF also saw ‘Urdu as the language of communication’
amongst different nationalities within Pakistan. This was a distinct
development on the slogan that framed the unity out of the diversity
nationalism of Jinnah, which was ‘Urdu is our language, Islam is
our faith’. By the mid-1970s, the aftershocks of the independence of
Bangladesh had a great impact on the way the Left was organising.
The NSF itself grew tremendously during the years of Zulfikar Ali
Bhutto’s regime (1973–1977). In the Punjab, the centres of strength
were Multan, Sahiwal, Khanewal, Vihaari, Depalpur, Okara and of
course Lahore. The leadership of the NSF was engaged in the ques-
tion of Punjabi as a suppressed language as well as with the national
question itself. Just as Miah Saleem Jehangeer fuzzied the borders
between his political and language work, so the central President of
NSF Pakistan, Latif Choudry and other important officer holders
of Punjab Province such as Arshad Butt, Masdiq Hussain Asad,
Habibulah Shakir, and Saif Allah Saif engaged in revolutionary
debate that tied language together with politics.
Government College Sahiwal

The mutual ideologies of the NSF and MKP when it comes to the lan-
guage question demonstrate the key role the Left played in the Punjabi
language movement and the central necessity of taking into account
language when mobilising amongst the peasants and working class.
The second issue of the overtly Lahore focus of previous accounts
will be addressed in this section by a case study of Sahiwal.50 Urdu’s
urban character has long been noted by scholars of the language. In
49
Paracha, ‘Student Politics’.
50
Sahiwal was a small village that, in 1865, was transformed into a market
town by the British to accommodate the need for the produce of the expand-
ing canal colonies of the Punjab. The town grew dramatically to take on all
the hallmarks of colonial architecture and planning, with markets, a railway
junction and central church to mark the British presence on the agricultural
landscape. It took until 1966 for the town to shift back from the name
Montgomery (named after Lord Montgomery, the Lieutenant-Governor of
Punjab at the time) to Sahiwal, though this name was always in circulation
amongst the original inhabitants. In contemporary West Punjab, Sahiwal
is one of the biggest districts located South of Lahore.
a sense, it is therefore understandable that the Punjabi movements’

leading literary figures would have a relationship to Lahore, which
was always the de facto capital of the region. By focusing on Sahiwal,
the role of Punjabi as the language of articulation of those marginal to
the centres of power emerges. Indeed, it is the association of Punjabi
with the powerless and in places relatively marginal to the centres of
power that makes Sahiwal such an interesting case study. It is nec-
essary, however, to first have an understanding of the relationship
between student politics and the MKP, as it was Sahiwal’s College51
that was the main centre of activities. The struggle for language rec-
ognition and its impact on student politics could arguably only have
taken place in a small town college, as it was relatively marginal to
the centres of power in Lahore and Islamabad.52
The small village Sahiwal was subsumed during the canal colonies
expansion in the 1880s under the name of Montgomery.53 In inde-
pendent Pakistan, the now major market town and railway junction
reverted to Sahiwal. In the 1970s, the college in the town was a centre
of socialist and Punjabi engagement. This was best articulated in the
deeds of the National Students Federation, members of who stood
for elections and mobilised not just students but local populations.
Indeed, the Government College Sahiwal by the mid-1970s had
students coming from the rural heartland of West Punjab: although
Okara, Depalpur and Pak Pattan were tehsils of the district and
reasonable sized towns in their own right, students also came from
Khaniwal, Vehari, Haroonabad, Chistian, Haveli Lakha, Arif Wala,
Hujra Shah Mukeem, Renala Kurd, Cheecha Watni, Noor Shah, and
even as far as Faislabad. The total student population was about
3000, with over 700 staying in hostels on the campus. Government
College Sahiwal’s students politics was essentially a competition
51
Government College Montgomery was set up in 1942 to provide edu-
cational facilities to the district at the time. In an attempt to emulate the
Government College Lahore, the objective was to set up an elite institution
for the landed gentry of the surrounding towns of Okara, Pak Pattan and
Gugera.
52
Indeed, much of the previous research on student politics has focused
on Pakistan’s main urban centres.
53
One of the lasting impacts of British colonial rule in the Punjab was
the development of an irrigation system and colonisation of common land
to agricultural production. See Ali, The Punjab, for a comprehensive eco-
nomic history.
between the NSF and the Jamiaat, the student wing of the Jamaat-i-
Islami, what would now be called an Islamist outfit, but in that era
would be better categorised as right wing.54
The rural College was an important site for the struggle over
language, as it was here that state ideology was most coherently
represented, in that the official language of instruction was Urdu
or English. College lecturers would inevitably be drawn from urban
backgrounds, or from the recently migrated Urdu elite of Lucknow
and Delhi. The ideology of ‘one nation, one language, one faith’
was supported not only by the institution of the college but also by
the Jamiaat. In that sense the struggle for finding political space in
the college system was one that had to work through the politics
of culture as well as the principles of equality and justice. The NSF
therefore attempted to influence the cultural life of the college as well
as support staff, who were attempting to create institutional space.
It was during the Bhutto era, in 1972, that the Punjab University in
Lahore appointed its first Chair in Punjabi, a job taken up by Najm
Hussain Sayyid. Following this, the Punjab government allocated
posts in Punjabi to colleges to teach the language at the FA and BA
level. The criteria for these posts were the qualification of MA in
Punjabi, which could only be obtained from Punjab University. It
was Mian Saleem who encouraged one of his relatives — Ghulam
Rasool Azad — and another party member — Ali Arshad Mir — to
take up MA, with an eye to securing the newly created lecturer jobs in
Punjabi. In many ways, this was a mutually beneficial arrangement as
the example of Ghulam Rasool Azad illustrates. When the allocation
of a Punjabi post came to Government College Sahiwal the progres-
sive college lecturers and the principal at the time were supportive
of the idea of having the language taught in Sahiwal. However, it
was opposed by the right wing staff members but the principal of
54
There have been a few articles on student politics in Pakistan most
comprehensively in terms of scope by Nelson, ‘Embracing the Ummah’,
building on earlier work by Nasr, ‘Students, Islam, and Politics’. There is
also a chapter on student politics in Iqtidar, Secularizing Islamists, Chapter 2.
However, the focus of these studies as with much work on Pakistan is an
increasing unpacking of the working of the Islamist or right-wing groups
rather than the opposition to them. Indeed no comprehensive account of
the activities of the NSF and their long-lasting impact on not only student
politics but subsequently radical politics in Pakistan and its diaspora.
that time — Agah Amjad Ali — supported the appointment and was
aware of the support amongst local students. Therefore, in 1975
Ghulam Rasool Azad was appointed as the first Punjabi Lecturer
in Government College Sahiwal. This created a progressive lecturer
with good links to the MKP (through Mian Saleem) and a natural
ally for the NSF. Indeed, this was a necessary connection for the post
to be created in the first place.
The appointment of a college lecturer was the beginning of a
series of victories that the NSF managed to wrangle in the name of
cultural politics. The existing status quo in the college meant the
promotion and support of a college magazine and an annual mushaira
(poetry recital), which were all in Urdu. The NSF students wanted
to establish a section within the college magazine for Punjabi and
to open up the mushaira for Punjabi poets. This generated a heated
debate in the college as the lecturers, who historically helped stu-
dents organise these literary events, were opposed to the inclusion
of Punjabi. Their arguments against Punjabi are worth rehearsing,
as they are still prominent when the case is made for the language
in contemporary West Punjab. Overall, the inclusion of Punjabi was
seen as being against the Pakistani nation: first because Punjabi was
cast as ‘the language of the Sikhs’ and this was therefore a religious
language, second and sequentially this meant it was the ‘language
of the kaffirs’ (non-believers). Whereas this ideological argument
was often quite easily won, by taking recourse in the history of the
Sufi poets of Punjab, thereby dismissing the religious and language
arguments, further protests arose from the opposition in terms of the
lack of standardisation and the huge linguistic diversity of Punjabi.
Despite this opposition, after campaigning amongst the rural students
in the college, the NSF established the Punjabi Adabi Sangat (Punjabi
Literary Forum), which penetrated into the college magazine as well
as into the poetry readings in the college and Sahiwal town. In the
1976 College elections, the NSF won the key posts of president and
secretary, demonstrating the political outcome of the cultural work
they had carried out. The impact of the language activism was felt
not only in the College but also in the literary and cultural life of
Sahiwal town, and it continues to this day.
The decline of the MKP began in the late 1970s, initially with the
party factionalising into three camps. Indeed, the general factionalis-
ing of Left parties began as the Zulfikar Bhutto period was coming
to an end.55 The splintering of Left groups such as the NSF and MKP
meant that their strength in campuses was diminished in the face of
the onslaught that was to follow under General Zia. Even though
various progressive alliances, against military rule, fought (and
often won) against the IJT on campuses across Pakistan, the states’
increasing use of violence was reflected in student politics. Weapons,
including firearms, became part of the mobilisation of groups and
student politics entered a phase of heightened intensity.56 In this
context, the close linkage between language and political mobilisa-
tion began to take secondary place to basic demands for restoration
of democracy. The death, in 1982, of Major Ishaque effectively saw
an end to the direct political support of the language movement by
the Left. However, many of the cadres and in particular the ideas of
the MKP lived on in a number of publications and the activities of
key groups and individuals.
Arguably, the Left as a political force never regained the popular
support it had in the 1970s. The legacy in terms of cultural work is
therefore all the more significant as this is where the lasting influence
of the MKP can still be traced and is why the absence of this role
in previous literature is so stark. Perhaps of most note was the brief
but effervescent publication of a daily newspaper in Lahore in the
period 1989–1990. General Zia died in a plane crash in 1988 and
Pakistan breathed a sigh of relief after the harsh years of military
rule. In that spirit, a number of socialists and communists came
together to produce Sajjan (friend/comrade), the first daily Punjabi
newspaper of Pakistan. Its first issue appeared on 3 February 1989
55
Nelson’s, ‘Embracing the Ummah’, following the work of Brass,
Language, makes much play of the factionalising tendency of all student
politics in Pakistan. In this way the activities of the right-wing religious
parties are equated with those of the Left, a common move amongst con-
temporary commentators but one that side-lines the extent to which the state
was actively involved in breaking up Left-wing groups and aiding (some)
right-wing religious parties.
56
It is only due to the work of journalists such as Nadeem F. Paracha
that any narrative of this period exists (in English) and that also on the
blogsphere. This information from http://nadeemfparacha.wordpress.
com/student-politics-in-pakistan-a-celebration-lament-history/, (accessed
14 September 2011).
and it continued till 30 September 1990. As it was never established

as a commercial venture, it is admirable that it lasted for this length
of time as it relied almost exclusively on voluntary labour. The most
direct link to literary magazines in Punjabi and the MKP is found in
the charismatic figure of Saqib Maqsood who was an activist of the
MKP in Sheikapura and whose commitment to the language move-
ment is derived directly from the thesis highlighted in this article.
He was involved in Ruth Lekha — a magazine established in 1976
— and then the influential publication Maboli. He is indeed still
active in the world of Punjabi literature and publishes the magazine
Panchim in Lahore to this day. At the more general level, Sahiwal
still remains the centre of Punjabi language activism, with several
Punjabi organisations regularly organising mushairas and occasional
publications; of particular note in this regard is Punjab Lok Lehar
under the stewardship of Qaswar Butt. Indeed, the legacy that
comes out of the organising of the Left for the continuing salience
of Punjabi has a more secure platform in a place like Sahiwal, as a
political question in Pakistan, rather than the organising of urban
upper middle class activists.
Conclusion
If the political history of the current geographical territory that is

Pakistan is narrowly confined to actual links between constitutional
construction and governmental framing, then 1973 would be the
birth of that state, not 1947. It would also then be the beginning of
a period (which lasts until 1977) of the most active and progressive
period of grassroots politics that, that country has seen in its 40-year
history. Indeed, this nation state would look much more like many
other post-colonial states that emerged with leaders expressing
socialism at the ideological level, but carrying out reactionary and
authoritarian policies at the level of governance. It is in this environ-
ment that the MKP and the NSF were most able to mobilise and exert
influence over a number of spheres and where the issue of language
linked to socialist politics became most prominent. Punjabi as the
language of the marginalised, in a dominant region of the country,
becomes entwined through the poetics of mobilisation with groups
such as the MKP. This influence is most notable outside of urban
centres of power, such as Lahore and in rural towns such as Sahiwal.
The practices of the MKP and NSF provide an example of role of

the Punjabi language in relationship to mobilisation for state power.
Mir has recently argued that the role of the state is overplayed when
it comes to looking at Punjabi, as the pre-colonial and post-colonial
state had no role to play in its sustainability and resilience. Not with-
standing the general salience of these arguments in terms of noting
the resilience of Punjabi, the state (colonial and post-colonial) has,
since the 20th century, been subject to petitioning about Punjabi by
various groups.57 Indeed, it is the demand on the state, to provide
provision in the mother tongue, that is at the basis of much contempo-
rary West Punjabi language activism. This demand whilst ostensibly
about language is also a social demand, given that it is the peasant,
working class and poor who speak Punjabi. It is this relationship
of language to social status that the mobilisation by the Left most
usefully illustrates. Supporting Punjabi is in effect an act of general
uplift for those who are socially marginal. Language is therefore an
indispensable aspect of the more general aim of social uplift. This
may be viewed as an instrumentalist use of language, but that would
imply a separation of the symbolic and political.58 Rather, the Left
mobilisations of the MKP demonstrate the irreducibility of language
to either the symbolic or political domains when it comes to those
who are socially marginal.
Despite the ongoing attempts by Punjabi activists, the language still
maintains its neglected status in contemporary Pakistan. Although
it remains the spoken language of the majority of the inhabitants, it
is still not an official language of the state. Urban Punjab has devel-
oped a language that is a mixture of Urdu and Punjabi aided by a
relatively new and invigorated satellite media. Much of rural Punjab
remains wedded to Punjabi, despite the increasing penetration of
Urdu and religiously inspired education. The legacy of the Left in this
regard perhaps is most evident in the way that the stigma attached
to the language has considerably diminished especially amongst the
57
Singh Sabha activists in the early part of the 20th century petitioned
the colonial state for greater recognition of Punjabi and the introduction of
the Gyani exam was a direct result of this.
58
This is the fundamental error made by Ayres.
bilingual working class of Lahore, for whom the question of speaking

in Urdu in formal situations and Punjabi in the informal seems to
have become normalised.59 Given the perpetual crises that Pakistan
has found itself in over the first decade of the 21st century, most of
the existing Left-wing groups have also placed the language issue
to one side in the face of military rule and ongoing violence.60 To
some extent, this is a repetition of the period under General Zia.
Nonetheless, the issue of language in the wider political context
remains salient and given the increasing marginalisation of rural
Punjab, the potential for political mobilisation remains.
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in Pakistan’, India Quarterly 66 (2010): 251–65.
Ali, Imran, ‘The Punjab Under Imperialism, 1885–1947’, Karachi: Oxford
Ayres, Alyssa, Speaking Like a State: Language and Nationalism in Pakistan,
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012.
Brass, Paul, Language, Religion, and Politics in North India, Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1974.
Butt, Iqbal Haider, Revisiting Student Politics in Pakistan, Gujranwala:
Bargad, 2009.
Iqtidar, Humeira, Secularizing Islamists? Jama’at-e-Islami and Jama’at-ud-
Da’wa in Urban Pakistan, Chicago, IL: Chicago University Press, 2011.
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Zaigam, Lahore: Memorial Committee, 1989.
———,Aaj dee Vaar, Compiled by, Sibte-ul-Hassan Zaigam, Lahore: Mian
Saleem Jahangir Memorial Committee, 1989.
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Asian Islam Since 1850, London: Routledge, 2000.
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of Contemporary Asia 17, no. 4 (1987): 473–87.
59
Based on fieldwork carried out in 2007–2009 in Lahore.
60
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MKP are more concerned with suicide bombings and US imperialist drone
attacks than with the questions of language.
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‘The Mystic East’, London: Routledge, 1999.
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ment, and Security Issues, New Delhi: Sage, 2005.
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Publications, 1989.
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http://www.jpcs.in.
 7
The Indian Workers’
Association Coventry 1938–1990:
Political and Social Action
Talvinder Gill
The Indian Workers’ Association’s (IWA) political and social action

in Britain demonstrated the existence of conventional elements of
class agency in the past 60 years, yet they have been sidelined in a
general reluctance to write class/social histories. To date, black and
Asian citizens and communities have appeared only in the context of
their interactions with the state or other official bodies. The recently
made available archive of the IWA is significant because it is a rare
example of a self-defined South Asian presence in the archives. Upon
discovering these archives, I attended a poetry workshop with my
father, organised by the Indian Writers Association. Several middle-
aged and old Indian men enthusiastically recited literature and poetry
and sang Punjabi folk songs, most of whom were all former leaders
and members of the IWA in Coventry. Within their chosen artistic
medium, each member spoke on a range of diverse topics such as
familial relationships, the pastoral beauty of Punjab, working life,
Marxism and party politics. Having grown up listening to my father’s
stories about the transition from the village in Punjab to working life
in the Midlands, I learned of the several challenges Indian migrant
workers faced, such as racism and poor working conditions. As a
rank and file member, he praised the role of these men in helping
migrants fight discrimination and assist in matters of civic life. As I
was soon to discover, few of these stories were recorded in history
books or official mediums, especially from the perspective of the
workers and migrants themselves. I became particularly interested in
their political
156 Amitaideology
Shah andand how
Jharna it affected the culture and identity of
Pathak
Indian migrants and the wider British society in light of contemporary
Indian Workers’ Association Coventry 1938–1990 157
debates surrounding ‘multiculturalism’. The Coventry IWA, which

was significantly the first to be formed, alongside its sister branches,
was at the forefront of anti-racist campaigns in the late 20th cen-
tury and were active creators of their social environments through
political action. Not only did they challenge the existing power
structures by demanding toleration of ethnic diversity but they also
called for public acknowledgement and fair access to resources and
representation.1 Their fight for acceptance as workers and citizens
was sustained through a belief in civil rights, Marxism and class
struggle. Consequently, the IWA’s ideas and use of class interacted
with other social registers such as race and ethnicity.
The existing history of the IWA activity in Britain has focused on
its role as a class, ethnic or cultural organisation. Instead, I argue
that all three of these components are crucial in any understanding
of how the IWA operated in British society and made an indelible
print on the political landscape of post-war Britain.
Background
The first IWA was established in Coventry in 1938 to coordinate

the efforts of all Indians in Britain in the campaign for Indian inde-
pendence, which preserves Coventry as a special and unique place
in the history of the IWA. During the war years, Indian revolution-
aries and political exiles of various backgrounds were attracted
to the city. Hence, the early IWA was characterised by a blend of
ethnic and political concerns. As soon as British rule in India ended
in 1947, the focus of Indian migrants switched to protecting their
rights as workers and citizens. Increasing levels of migration from
the Punjab saw the number of Indian migrants in Britain’s urban
and industrial heartlands swell progressively throughout the 1950s
and reach its zenith in the early 1960s. This altered the political and
ethnic balance of the IWA in favour of a largely communist and Sikh
membership. Subsequently, branches of the IWA sprang up in places
such as Southall, Wolverhampton, Birmingham, Huddersfield, and
Leicester. Following encouragement by Jawaharlal Nehru on a visit
to Britain, local associations were brought together to form the Indian
Workers’ Association Great Britain (IWA GB) in 1958. Increasing
1
Werbner and Modood, Debating Cultural Hybridity, 290.
158 Talvinder Gill
social exclusion and hostility from the state refocused the attention
of the IWAs on issues such as immigration laws, housing, racism,
education, and policing. Having been frozen out of the Trade Unions,
Indian migrants also relied on the IWAs as proxy trade unions in
the fight for better working conditions. Naturally, they occupied a
crucial community and welfare role for incoming Punjabi migrants in
the early years of settlement. However, the radical left-wing ideology
of many of its leaders throughout the country firmly committed the
IWA, as a local and national umbrella organisation, to the struggles of
all black and minority ethnic groups and working people. However,
this was not simply a story of harmony as the group split a number of
times for reasons ranging from factional party disputes ‘back home’
or competing financial interests.
To understand where Coventry’s IWA stands in the national
picture, it is imperative to look at how the original organisation
developed in the city following the Second World War. The IWA in
Coventry’s main political message concentrated on calls for Indian
independence and operated mainly as a social and welfare centre
for the small group of resident Indians. They raised money for the
Amritsar-based Desh Bhagat Parwarik Sahaik Committee, which
assisted families and dependants of Punjabis jailed for life because of
anti-colonial agitation. After independence, the new leaders Joginder
Singh, Gurdev Singh Dosanjh and Gurdev Singh Dhami, all commu-
nists, signalled the switch to a much more radical political agenda.
Following the election in 1953, only Babu Karam Singh Cheema,
Anant Ram, Gurbaksh Singh, and Ujagar Singh Randhawa remained
from the first Executive Committee.2 The majority communist wing
avoided wearing their communist colours on their sleeves, seeing their
primary duty as leading a mass Indian organization. As the original
group, Coventry was central in starting new IWA branches through
finance and organisational support.3 Coventry remained influential
due to this early system of patronage even though it was overtaken
in size and power by the Southall and Birmingham IWAs. The arrival
2
Coventry, Coventry History Centre, Indian Workers’ Association
archive, PA2600/9/15/6. Photograph: Executive Committee, Indian
Workers’ Association, Coventry, includes names of Executive Committee
members (1953).
3
Ibid., 5–6.
of sophisticated political theorists such as Vishnu Dutt Sharma in

Southall and Avtar Johal and Jagmohan Joshi in Birmingham pro-
vided the leadership required for a large membership. Consequently,
the national organisation seems to have been firmly based in London
and Birmingham from the late 1950s.
Because of their sizeable membership from which to draw finances,
Birmingham and Southall were able to secure independent offices in
the form of the Shaheed Udham Singh Welfare Centre and Dominion
cinema, respectively. Contrarily, Coventry’s IWA had to rely on the
homes of individual leaders and limited spaces in community cen-
tres to conduct their political and social activities. Coventry could
not generate the finances or maintain the unity to own independent
offices that would serve as a base for the community and safeguard
its future as an important local organisation. Thus, the Coventry IWA
was in the second tier of influence within the IWA GB. Nevertheless,
Coventry was the third largest city for IWA activity; not least because
of its large contingent of political activists. Joginder Singh surmised
that there ‘were thirty of us who were very active. The numbers
of people who have been active since then has steadily decreased.
We had a general membership of approximately five hundred to
six hundred’.4 Membership and finance did not necessarily dictate
the strength of individual branches; this was measured more in the
strength of the branches’ politically active leadership. Since most
Indian migrants were uneducated, the public relied on the IWAs
for direction and leadership. The more educated and sophisticated
leadership would largely formulate the agenda and write reports and
articles instructing on certain issues that directed their constituency
along a particular line. Consequently, the IWA in Coventry was more
of a top-down organisation than a bottom-up movement.
Nevertheless, the battle for control of Coventry’s IWA was as
intense as any other in the country. The common problems of
ideology and competition for financial resources affected unity in
Coventry. Mirroring the national trend, there were three local IWA
factions in Coventry from 1967, the Rajmal Group, the Joginder
Group and the Ajmer Group. The first split in Coventry was a
result of Southall’s withdrawal from the IWA GB due to the group’s
4
Coventry, Coventry History Centre, Gill, IWA Transcripts, Interview
Two — Joginder Singh, 2008–2009, 9.
160 Talvinder Gill
growing communist contingent. Rajmal Singh was a founding mem-

ber of the IWA in Coventry and wanted to continue the organisation
along the ethnic lines of the original group and follow Southall’s
example. Reflecting on the hybrid character of the early IWA, he
was a follower of the Congress Party and did not adopt a militant
stand against government actions in India. Nor did he concur with
the IWAs’ belligerent attitude towards trade union and anti-racist
campaigns. He accused the Central Committee of the national and
Coventry IWA of being explicitly communist and decided to leave
the Association in 1964 to form a non-political IWA. His IWA
faction adopted a new constitution that prohibited any communist
from holding office. However, this branch was especially reliant on
Rajmal’s leadership and a limited batch of followers, which meant the
group did not survive his death in the late 1960s. The biggest branch
in Coventry was the group led by Joginder Singh and Gurdev Singh
Dhami. Throughout its history, this faction was committed to the
radical agenda followed by the IWA GB (Joshi and Johal) and abided
by the constitution of 1958. The Coventry IWA GB worked closely
with the Birmingham group on a range of local and national issues.
However, Joginder Singh and Gurdev Dhami did not always agree
with the Birmingham branch’s power within the national movement
and were critical of their interference in local branches in Leamington
and Bedford. They continued to look for guidance from Indian radi-
cals, in particular, Harkishan Singh Surjeet, and criticised Joshi and
Johal for siding with the Naxalites in 1967. Although this group was
close to Jagmohan Joshi during this period, it later fell out over his
support of the Naxalites. This group, which was the biggest faction
in Coventry, later formed a triumvirate with Derby and Leicester to
act as a counterweight to the influence of the Birmingham branch in
the Midlands. Yet they were undermined when a third IWA faction
was set up in Coventry by Ajmer Bains, who broke away to support
the stance taken by Joshi and Johal. With an educated background,
he was a teacher at a local secondary school. Ajmer was also a
sophisticated writer and intellectual who believed in the Marxism-
Leninism preached by Chinese communists. Too often it is argued
that these difficulties and splits determined the whole story of the IWA
in Coventry and elsewhere. Despite factional differences, branches
managed to set aside any acrimony and collaborate with each other
on the major issues of mutual interest; there was agreement on major
issues including class and anti-racist struggles. For example, there was
often communication between Ajmer’s group and Joginder’s group

in Coventry regarding strikes and public protests. Letters and phone
calls would be made to all branches from the IWA GB asking them
to attend marches and rallies. Nevertheless, it is clear there was no
monolithic IWA organisation, whether at a local or national level.
Within ‘the IWAs there were groups and quasi groups’; thus, we will
always be dealing with a heterogeneous political and social entity.5
The Coventry IWA’s political activism and constructive social
engagement emerged out of the real and imagined politics of the
homeland. Most of the members, reflecting migration patterns,
were Jat Sikhs. Since their inception, the IWAs constituted an
amalgam of class and ethnic concerns and reflected the relationship
among the various political groups in India, which was a surpris-
ing mosaic. Akalis (Sikh nationalists) and communists could be,
and many were, at the same time members of the Indian National
Congress.6 In addition, the IWAs were part of a long tradition of
renegotiating and amalgamating religious discourse in their political
programmes. Evidence of the IWAs’ hybrid character can be seen in
their working relationship with Gurdwaras (Sikh temples), where
they co-operated on issues such as social work, strikes and cases of
racial discrimination.
The IWA’s political programme was informed by the collective
memory of migrants who had lived through the tumultuous period
of the independence struggle and the trauma wrought by partition.
Some of those who became radicalised in the industrial landscape
of Britain drew on the inspiration of socialists, freedom fighters and
communists such as Bhagat Singh to Sohan Singh Josh. IWA mem-
bers were inspired by an imagined history of pre-partition Punjab.
Ties to leftist radicals in India were discussed because of the sense
of identity and purpose they provided to migrants who felt disen-
franchised, displaced and threatened. The IWAs played a key role
in disseminating this imagery through their cultural events. Here
members would celebrate the long revolutionary struggle that tied
their organisations to the Ghadr Party and the global communist
movement. The Coventry IWA, like most branches, was particularly
skilled at invoking claims of a revolutionary inheritance. Pamphlets
5
Ramdin, Black Working Class in Britain, 398.
6
See Engineer, ‘Role of Sikhs in India’s Freedom Struggle’, 158–79.
162 Talvinder Gill
and posters would often refer to Bhagat Singh, the inspirational

leader of the Naujawan Bharat Sabha (NBS). They also memorialised
Udham Singh’s assassination of Sir Michael O’Dwyer on 13 March
1940 for his role of Punjab governor during the Amritsar massacre
of 1919. Some had even, mistakenly, credited him as having started
the IWA in Coventry in 1938.7
Martyrdom pervaded the cultural and social lives of the earliest
migrants, something that was also infused by the general martyr
tradition prevalent within Sikh heritage. Hence, Bhagat Singh and
Udham Singh became venerated heroes, whose lives were an example
for those facing problems of state and public racism, unemployment
and loss of identity. One IWA leader in Coventry, Ajmer Bains,
described how IWA editorials were more than sites for news but had
an important function in preserving a distinct culture because they
reminded Punjabis of their shared history and traditions:
To play a good role in the transformation of the world for the life
and the world the way you want to where common people can have
the same in the wellbeing of the future generation to have that sort
of world, one must have the knowledge of the ... Just traditions, take
for example, Punjabi, if you don’t know who Udham Singh was, who
Baghat Singh was, who his fellows were, why they were hanged, then
you miss a very important aspect of life.8
By combining foreign influences with local histories, customs and

traditions from Punjab, socialism was made relevant and accessible
to the growing number of Indian migrant workers. Remembrance
of revolutionaries like Bhagat Singh had the practical objective of
attracting membership.
Having acknowledged this cultural imaginary, one should not
discount the various IWA activists, in particular, the pioneers of the
organisation in Coventry, Birmingham and Southall, who emerged
as political radicals through the ranks of the Communist Party and,
to a lesser extent, the Congress party. Joginder Singh, a leader of the
7
See Clark, ‘Recollections of Resistance’, 75–77, for a brief discussion
of Udham Singh’s involvement with Indian political activists in Coventry
from 1938 onwards.
8
Coventry History Centre, Gill, IWA Transcripts, Interview Two — Ajmer
Bains, 2008–2009, 29–30.
IWA in Coventry, had been a communist party worker alongside

Vishnu Dutt Sharma in Punjab before he migrated.9 Indeed, the
communist and socialist groups in India were important political
markers for the IWAs because the patronage, ideological instruction
and finances available allowed the organisation to survive as a social
and political force. The IWAs also shared some genealogical ties with
the Ghadr Party. Not only did the IWAs follow the Ghadr tradition
of radical alliances and propaganda strategies, there were direct
familial links between Ghadr rebels and the founding fathers of the
IWA in Coventry. It is claimed that Charan Singh Chima, a founding
member of the IWA, was previously an affiliate of the Ghadr Party.
In addition, a fellow founding member of the IWA, Karam Singh
Cheema’s father, Kanega Singh, had been one of the original Ghadr
militants based in North America.10 Thus, patrimonial politics was
one important factor in the formation of the IWAs.
Trade Union Struggle
For the IWAs, the first battleground was the workplace where they
actively encouraged the integration of Punjabi migrants into working-
class life as part of the general mission of building a class-based
movement.11 Ajmer Bains and Joginder Singh, two leaders of the
Coventry IWA, argued that they were strictly focused on integrating
migrants through class formation. The defining aspect of the IWA’s
class politics was the struggle for unionisation. Indian workers led
by IWA members were determined to secure better pay and work
arrangements. IWA activists had a tangible impact in three areas of
industrial relations: the increasing levels of Indian membership of
unions, the break-up of the broker system and the campaign against
the corrupt practices of local sweat shops. The IWAs in Coventry
and elsewhere fought for membership of the Amalgamated Union of
Foundry Workers (AUFW) and the Transport and General Workers
Union (TGWU). In fact, the general growth in union membership
9
Coventry History Centre, Gill, IWA Transcripts, Interview Two —
Joginder Singh, 2008–2009, 17.
10
Coventry History Centre, Gill, IWA Transcripts, Interview One — Sohan
Singh Cheema, 2008–2009, 3.
11
Singh and Tatla, Sikhs in Britain, 213.
164 Talvinder Gill
in the Midlands during this time can be explained by the increasing

commitment of Indians to the labour movement. Disputes at Sterling
Metals, Dunlop, Dunn’s, and Courthaulds in Coventry during the
1960s were all focused on removing barriers that oppressed black
workers, such as segregated washrooms, a block on promotion to
better jobs and low wages.12 A testament to the class politics of the
IWAs was their opposition to the creation of black sections in unions,
believing that working-class oppression could not be defeated if
workers were divided along ‘racial’ lines.
IWA activists in Coventry, who worked inside and outside of the
factory floor, lectured Indian workers on the need for unionisation
and self-help. A leading figure in Coventry, Ajmer Bains, argued
that ‘we published leaflets. There used to be a public house in the
Coventry area, Vauxhall Pub it was called or something like that.
We went there; people came from the national branches, all over the
country, even some white people’ to encourage greater participation
in the labour movement.13 Leadership took shape on and beyond the
factory floor. Open meetings of the IWA would take place to discuss
the potential for strikes and name factories notorious for exploitation
of their workers. The IWA offered support to any local strikes, espe-
cially where there was a significant group of Indian workers. A prime
target of protest was the colour bar practised in certain factories.
Joginder commented that ‘there were many factories [in Coventry]
that would not employ black workers. We would struggle against
this discrimination, like on Harnall Street, there was GEC, and they
would not employ Indian workers. We struggled hard against them
and at first they started to employ the educated workers and later
12
See Coventry History Centre, Indian Workers’ Association arhive,
PA/2600, for a wide range of documents and materials detailing the organ-
isation’s activities from 1938 to 2005. The collection is made up entirely of
Manjinder Singh Virk’s personal records. He was a senior member of the
Coventry IWA. This accompanied a slightly more modest collection housed
at the Modern Records Centre, University of Warwick. The archive consists
of correspondence, flyers, membership records, pamphlets, photos, reports,
statements, and copies of the IWA GB’s publications, Mazdoor, Lok Sabha
and Lalkar.
13
Coventry History Centre, Gill, IWA Transcripts, Interview Three —
Ajmer Bains, 2008–2009, 3.
the uneducated workers’.14 The Coventry IWA was successful in

publicising the colour bar in employment through the media and by
lobbying the local government. IWA activists provided Indians the
chance to go beyond kin and village ties and restrictions and instead
organize based on working allegiances. They provided a platform for
airing grievances and mediating on particular employment disputes
but also, crucially, ran lessons on how to be conscious workers.
Trade Union efforts to maintain control during the period of
labour and technical change ensured there were many incidents of
unions undermining strike attempts by Indian workers. They also
actively encouraged white workers to undermine and disrupt strikes
centring on the improvement of working conditions for foreign
labour. Ajmer spoke of an attempted strike at Mother’s Pride bakery
in Coventry in 1972 where 85 South Asians, mainly Indians, were
ignored by their white counterparts and had to rely on the help of
students from Warwick University to create a picket line.15 The IWA
stepped in to lead the strike. As a result of this ‘betrayal’ of class
interests, the IWA provided the basis for struggle and assumed the
position of a proxy Trade Union wherever existing unions refused
to help. Although not a union itself, for many Indians the IWA per-
formed the role of one. Some of the disputes the IWA supported in
the West Midlands included the Coneygre Strike in Tipton in 1967, a
strike at the Midland Motor Cylinder factory in Smethwick in 1968
and an industrial action at Dunn’s in Nuneaton that carried through
from 1972 to 1973. All of the disputes centred on the common issues
of segregated toilet and washing facilities, redundancies and low
wages. There were also many incidents where the IWA was required
to organise legal help and assist workers with other social and welfare
services in the event of injury. By intervening in strikes, sometimes at
the behest of Indian workers, the IWA encouraged people to become
more militant and determined in industrial disputes and valorised
the importance of collective bargaining and unionisation. When one
wanted to start a union or organise a strike, the Coventry IWA was
14
Joginder Singh, 2008–2009, 5.
15
Ajmer Bains, 2008–2009, 24.
166 Talvinder Gill
the first port of call. Essentially, they demonstrated the power of

Indian workers to resist exploitation and, crucially, be self-reliant.
A major factor in finally winning over Indian workers to the need
for union membership and collective bargaining was the successful
battle waged against the broker system employed by factory fore-
men. Because of the unskilled jobs and group nature of the work, an
English-speaking intermediary was required within the organisation
to manage and control the workers. Commonly, these middlemen
were former army officers or pedlars who had arrived before the
war, together with some ex-seamen.16 Most middlemen were able
to improve their position through better wages and conditions that
ensured they remained loyal to their foremen. Brokers retained their
own positions through a distribution of patronage in the form of
jobs, higher piecework rates and overtime work.17 The broker system
separated Indian workers from the rest of the working class, and
this was considered divisive by the IWA. The system had always
allowed the existence of racketeering due to the intermediaries’
task of finding further recruits. It ‘was estimated that of the 17,300
Indians entering Britain between 1955 and 1957 over 70 per cent
had invalid documents’.18 The IWA tackled this problem by lobby-
ing for the issue of passports by the Indian government. When this
was granted in 1959, the ability to blackmail workers was massively
reduced. However, immigration controls provided new impetus to
intermediaries as increasing numbers of immigrants turned to illegal
avenues. There were also other areas of corruption and bribery.
Identifying the areas where bribes took place was difficult because
contacts between ‘middlemen’ and workers also spread to private
spaces such as the public house or during family functions.
There were waves of strikes, assisted by the IWA, attacking the
broker system from 1965 onwards. In fact, the first case of indus-
trial action by Indian workers in the Midlands arose from a case
of bribery at Dartmouth Auto Castings Ltd in Smethwick in 1959.
A newly elected Indian shop steward for the Amalgamated Union
16
Aurora, The New Frontiersmen, 81.
17
Brooks and Singh, ‘Pivots and Presents’, 97. See Brooks and Singh’s
essay for an in-depth analysis of how the ‘pivotal’ system of intermediaries
worked to the advantage of employers and the brokers themselves.
18
Duffield, Black Radicalism and the Politics of De-Industrialisation, 42.
of Engineering Workers was dismissed after protesting that some

Indians were offering the foreman money for overtime and other
favours.19 Although levels of unionisation lessened the need for
intermediaries, it was the increasing numbers of Indian shop stewards
that dealt a lasting blow to the broker system.
The emergence of Indian shop stewards had a very big impact on
the mechanics of labour relations in the West Midlands. These shop
stewards challenged the foreman on a range of significant issues such
as recruitment, promotion, work allocation and the fixing of piece
rates. Indian shop stewards of any union had been uncommon in
the West Midlands before the mid-1960s. Avtar Johal became the
most prominent Indian shop steward in the region and perhaps in the
country. He was, of course, a national leader of the IWA and head
of the Birmingham branch. However, many other IWA leaders and
members also became shop stewards in their respective factories.20
In Coventry, Dilbag Gill was fired from various jobs for trying to
organise Indian workers into a union. He served as a shop steward
at Dunn’s and GEC during his long tenure of foundry work. The
Indian shop steward played a pivotal role in the troubled relation-
ship between the unions and migrant workers.21 His was a dual role
of workmate and leader. The increasing influence of Indian shop
stewards supplanted the previous reliance on middlemen for guidance
and instruction. This growing autonomy spread fear amongst the
various unions as Indian militancy ignited within factories. Several
issues mobilised Indian shop stewards; two of them were the idea of
work sharing in the event of redundancies and the implementation of
seniority in relation to promotions. In Coventry, there was a strike at
Coventry Art Castings centred on the issue of work sharing to save
redundancies.22 Although it is an overstatement to suggest that the
IWA was behind every industrial action involving Indians in Coventry
during the period, they played a fundamental part in distributing
19
See Singh and Tatla, Sikhs in Britain, 145–64.
20
Ramdin, Black Working Class in Britain, 403.
21
Coventry History Centre, Indian Workers’ Association archive,
PA2600/1/47/1, Lok Shakti article that gives advice on who to vote for
in Union elections calling for people to support the broad left candidates,
13 August 1980.
22
See Wilson, ‘Asian Women and Industrial Restructuring’.
168 Talvinder Gill
leaflets and displaying posters, spreading awareness, donating to

strike funds, offering guidance and joining picket lines. In addition,
they were key players in paving the way for Indian employment in
the transport sector. In Coventry, Rajmal Singh lobbied for the local
council and the local Labour Party secretary regarding the discrimi-
natory practices of the city’s transport services throughout 1962.23
By applying pressure and mobilising through official channels, along
with recourse to strikes and marches, they forced local authorities
and unions to change the policy and accept Indians into the industry.
A major issue where the IWA in Coventry took a leading role on
the national stage was the issue of sweat shops. The Coventry IWA
aggressively protested against the exploitation, usually suffered by
Indian women, in the plethora of local sweat shops that emerged
during the late 1970s and the 1980s. Sasha Josephides estimated that
in Coventry alone, ‘between 1974 and 1987 the number of clothing
firms rose from 22 to 66 ... [and that] these firms ... [were] nearly all
owned by Asians with a predominantly Asian workforce’.24 Ajmer
Bains and Joginder Singh claimed that in Coventry in 1977 ‘there
were between forty-five to fifty sweat shops’.25 Usually, owing to the
minimal profit margins of running a small clothing firm, employers
would adopt a range of exploitative policies to maximise their profits.
This entailed poor working conditions, sub-standard facilities and
derisory wages. In 1977, the IWA in Coventry targeted Forward
Trading Company and Leofric Shirt Company for strikes and indus-
trial action. Ajmer Bains, who was one of the leaders in the strike
against the Forward Trading Company, managed to convince the
female workers to join a union. The owner of the factory, Surinder
Singh, had to acquiesce to the demands for the TGWU to act as the
negotiating body for striking workers. In fact, the Coventry IWA
confronted a member of their own branch for exploiting women
23
See Coventry, University of Warwick, Modern Records Centre, Papers
relating to Indian Workers’ Association, MSS.11/3/37/44, MSS.11/3/37/45,
MSS.11/3/15/378, MSS.11/3/18/20, Letters: Rajmal Singh to R. J. Hughes,
regarding the policies of the local transport services, 1962.
24
Josephides, History of the Indian Workers’ Association, 46.
25
Ajmer Bains, 2008–2009, 19.
workers in a factory he owned.26 Eventually the IWA stepped aside

in the dispute to allow the union to represent the workers. What this
illustrates was the IWAs willingness to confront exploitation wher-
ever it came, even when it surfaced among its own ranks. Like their
role in the large factories, the Coventry IWA helped open up these
small businesses to unionisation. Overall, the IWA brought about
empowerment to individuals through collective action. Concessions
won on the factory floor and the symbolic victory of unionization
encouraged the IWAs to extend their activities to wider issues of
social justice. Leaders in Coventry did not countenance the idea
that mixing class and cultural claims was contradictory. Rather,
they regarded their culture and ethnicity as intertwined with their
class position. Simply, their political ideology allowed for a wider
conception of class, one that encompassed cultural difference and
rights as an ethnic minority. Essentially, they claimed recognition
as equal workers and citizens. This was a clear difference from the
views in Southall where they chose to focus on Indian politics and
narrow ethnic issues.
Anti-Racism Movement
The IWA in Coventry alongside its sister branches fought a wide

battle for civil rights in the society. From the beginning, the state
perceived coloured migration as problematic in terms of integration
due to the racial differences between blacks and Asians and west-
ern people.27 Asians were doubly victimised because of their alien
culture, language and religious customs. In line with their espousal
of working-class solidarity, partnerships with other likeminded
organisations, both black and white, were vital to the IWA, thereby
making an impact on government policy and changing public atti-
tudes. Ambalavaner Sivanandan surmised that by 1968, blacks and
Asians united to fight as a class and as a people, ‘the experience of a
common racism and a common fight ... united them at the barricades.
The mosaic of unities ... resolved itself, before the onslaught of the
26
Joginder Singh, 2008–2009, 10–11.
27
See Lawrence, ‘Just Plain Common Sense’, 45–92.
170 Talvinder Gill
state, into a black unity and a black struggle’.28 Strength in numbers

was an obvious practical objective for lobbying purposes; however,
it also carried an important symbolic message: the struggle against
racism was a struggle for the class.29 Coventry’s IWA, alongside its
sister branches, aligned with various left-wing organisations such
as the Communist Party of Great Britain (CPGB), Co-ordinating
Campaign against Racial Discrimination (CCARD), Anti-Nazi
League, Anti-Apartheid Alliance, Black People’s Alliance, CND and,
at a local level, Coventry Against Racism (CAR).
The question of immigration and the claim to lawful citizenship
was an issue that helped unite these various groups and build further
alliances. Despite fissures and factions within the IWA GB, most
branches coordinated through a sustained and committed campaign
against immigration laws. They lobbied the Indian government
(through their sister parties in India) to apply pressure on the British
government to rethink and ultimately revoke their planned policies
for restrictions.30 The IWA also forwarded policy statements and
research carried out by their activists to specific MPs so they could
form representation in the parliament.31 A noteworthy example
was the publication of the pamphlet The Victims Speak in 1965,
a joint venture among the IWAs in Birmingham, Coventry and
Wolverhampton, which outlined the potential dangers of control
legislation in the wider public sphere. Throughout this period, the
IWAs organised several rallies and marches to register their protest
to changes in immigration and nationality laws. One particular
example was the large-scale march to Downing Street in July 1973,
28
Sivanandan, ‘From Resistance to Rebellion’, 128.
29
Ibid., 138.
30
See Coventry History Centre, Indian Workers’ Association archive,
PA2600/3/10/2, Letter from Harkishan Singh Surjeet to Shri Misra (Minister
for External Affairs, India), 18 November 1979, concerning the announce-
ment of the British government’s new immigration rules and discrimination
in the United Kingdom. He urges the Indian government to lodge a protest
with the British government.
31
See Birmingham, Birmingham Central Library, Birmingham Archives
and Heritage, Indian Workers’ Association archive, MS2141/A/3, Policy
and administrative papers, 1959–1986 and MS2141/A/4/5, Letters from
members of parliament relating to the White Paper on immigration, 1965.
which demonstrated against the 1971 Immigration Act.32 The

Coventry IWA provided over 10 coaches to transport hundreds of
people from the city’s Pool Meadow bus station to London. These
demonstrations illustrated the immense mobilising potential of the
IWAs. Crucially, the involvement of the IWAs provided a voice to
public anger, which challenged the moral legitimacy and the legality
of immigration controls.
A class analysis was provided to change the debate on immigration
and question the real motives for changing laws of entry. Moreover,
the IWAs’ communication practices were vital to the strength of their
resistance. Various publications from Mazdoor to Lalkar notified
people of political campaigns and cultural activities and were in
wide circulation amongst South Asian groups during the 1960s and
the 1970s. All were written from a Marxist-Leninist perspective and
were vital in instilling socialist sentiments in the Indian community.
Social communication through books, correspondence, handbills,
newspapers and other media not only challenged prevailing stereo-
types but also sustained the cross-ethnic and political alliance.33 The
Coventry IWA, alongside its sister branches, contributed to an emerg-
ing ‘counter-public’ that was increasingly in operation to challenge
the advance of racialist legislation and confront racist politicians.
Although the IWAs’ campaigns throughout the 1960s and the 1970s
against the series of immigration laws failed in the aim of having them
overturned or repealed, they were crucial contributors in pressurising
for applying for a policy of anti-discrimination.34
32
Coventry, University of Warwick, Modern Records Centre, Papers
relating to Indian Workers’ Association, MSS.21/972, Programme: ‘Protest
at the 1971 Immigration Act — March to Downing Street’, 22 July 1973.
33
See Durrani, Never Be Silent, for a study of how publishing and com-
munication networks shaped the anti-imperial and anticolonial struggle in
Kenya. This also explores the links between the Mau Mau rebellion and left
groups around the world such as the Movement for Colonial Freedom in the
United Kingdom and Liberation Support Movement in Canada.
34
The government responded by starting a process of improving ‘race
relations’ at the time of the 1962 Commonwealth Immigrants Act. They set
up multi-racial bodies such as the campaign against racial discrimination in
1964 (CARD) and the Commission for Racial Equality (CRE) in 1976 as
part of the Race Relations Act provisions. See ‘Race Relations Policies and
the Political Process’, in Solomos, Race and Racism in Britain, 76–94. The
172 Talvinder Gill
In terms of direct action, the campaign against the ‘colour bar’

was a marked success in terms of opening up access to previously
restricted social areas and public places. IWA members in Coventry
came together with local people, often students from Coventry and
Warwick Universities, to challenge the ‘colour bar’ in public houses
and other social centres.35 Bold steps to confront and overcome
explicit forms of discrimination were vitally important in creating
a multicultural space but also because long-term alliances were
formed with liberal and radical white people.36 Coventry against
Racism (CAR) was formed by the local IWA branch alongside the
local Communist Party, some Trade Union associations and other
progressive groups. Through the mobilisation of these alliances,
bans were overturned in places like the General Wolfe pub and the
Royal Court Hotel. By opening up social spaces to Indians and other
immigrant groups, the IWA helped redefine the spatial and legal
boundaries of the public sphere.
The Coventry IWA was also part of a ‘black power’ movement
that increasingly became more militant and proactive in terms of
self-defence in the face of racist attacks. For the IWA, ‘black workers,
because of their particular history and class position, are the group
destined to lead the fight against racism’ and by consequence, lead the
class struggle.37 As Sivanandan argued, IWAs in the West Midlands
were at the very centre of the ‘black power’ movement, which gained
a great deal of prominence and influence during the 1960s and the
1970s. Indeed, the ‘black power’ alliance had a major impact in
politicising and radicalising ethnic minorities behind an anti-racist
and socialist message. Most leaders of the IWA in Coventry viewed
racism and class oppression as a universal phenomenon rooted in
Western imperialism; hence, anti-imperialist and minority struggles
around the world also attracted their attention and support. The
CRE was created by joining the Race Relations Board (which had been set
up in 1965) and the Community Relations Commission and its three main
duties were to eliminate discrimination, promote equality and keep under
review the workings of the Race Relations Act.
35
Ajmer Bains, 2008–2009, 9.
36
John, Indian Workers’ Associations in Britain, 175.
37
Josephides, History of the Indian Workers’ Association, 29–30.
Coventry IWA campaigned against the Vietnam War, apartheid rule

in South Africa and forged links with left-wing organisations around
the world. The main lesson drawn from the American experience
of ‘black power’ and nationalist struggles from around the world
was that it was acceptable and in fact necessary to fight racist forces
aggressively and uncompromisingly. Certainly, this was a powerful
view espoused by the charismatic and influential IWA Birmingham
leader, Jagmohan Joshi. Between 1976 and 1981, it was estimated
that 31 black people had been murdered by racists throughout the
country, such as Gurdip Singh Chaggar, Akhtar Ali Baig, Sewa Singh
and in Coventry, Satnam Singh Gill.38 As with the ‘colour bar’, the
IWAs organised numerous protests and marches against these racist
attacks and the National Front.39 Indian migrants stood up and gave a
clear message, that they would not be intimidated in the face of racial
violence; the community opted for a path of self-reliance in meeting
the threat of fascist groups. In this way, the Coventry IWA became
a major part of the local system of self-defence that was developed
by black and South Asian communities against racial violence.
Collective action during the 1960s and the 1970s also encom-
passed a fight against the discrimination in welfare provision and the
racism of politicians. IWA activists fought against Powell sympathis-
ers in the local and general elections by utilizing the increasing power
of black voters.40 The government had no choice but to recognise
38
See Chandan, Indians in Britain, 54–58.
39
In ‘The House That Made Me’, a television programme for Channel
Four, Sanjeev Bhaskar recounts his experiences dealing with racism and the
National Front while growing up in Southall during the 1970s. He discussed
the polarisation of communities and the pervading fear of violence that
gripped local minority groups. See Jackson, ‘Sanjeev Bhaskar’.
40
Contemporary interest in the work of the IWA was further boosted
by the depositing of Birmingham’s two most influential IWA leaders, Avtar
Johal and Jagmohan Joshi’s personal collections at the Birmingham Central
Library. This formed part of the ‘Connecting Histories’ initiative, of which
the University of Warwick was a leading sponsor, and aimed to stimulate
research into the history of ethnic minorities in the post-war period. These
records form part of a massive collection and are a valuable resource to
study the organization, administration and functions of IWA. See MS2141/A
for Joshi’s papers and MS2142/A for Johal’s records. These collections
contain correspondence, flyers, membership records, pamphlets, photos,
174 Talvinder Gill
Indians and other coloured migrants as part of a new public arena.

Their commitment to a civil rights and anti-racist agenda contrib-
uted to the socio-political space of ‘multiculturalism’. The IWA’s
ability to lobby successfully on particular issues also contributed
to changes in the national curriculum and local housing policy.
For example, the IWA lobbied banks and building societies to start
lending fairly to Indian migrants. They also conducted housing
surveys and used questionnaires to understand the housing needs
of migrant workers better.41 By lobbying local MPs and the housing
minister, the government was made aware not only of the housing
requirements of Indian workers but also of their unwillingness to
accept discriminatory housing policy. Most IWA branches including
Coventry agreed on a policy of multicultural education as a way out
of the exclusion and low achievement suffered by Indian children. A
joint project between the Coventry and Wolverhampton branches,
represented by Naranjhan Singh Noor and Ajmer Bains, argued that
the assim- ilation model would perpetuate the disadvantaged position
of ethnic minority children.42 Local Education Authorities (LEAs)
reports, statements and magazines relating to the IWA in Birmingham but

also branch records of IWAs around the country such as Wolverhampton,
Bedford, Derby, Leicester, Southall, and Bradford. Both collections also
contain records of the Shaheed Udham Singh centre (IWA community centre
and office on Soho Road), which includes case work papers from 1981 to
2000 relating to immigration and deportation cases and other communal
activities. Both collections also hold documents from sister organisations
and partners from the anti-racist alliance such as Trade Union groups,
the Anti-Nazi league, Anti-Apartheid Alliance, Black People’s Alliance,
Co-ordinating Campaign against Racial Discrimination and Campaign
against Racial Laws and CND.
41
PA2600/3/2/10, Housing Research and Surveys Report: IWA — Community
Development and Welfare Project, undated.
42
PA2600/3/1/2, Pamphlet: ‘Education Needs of Asian Children in the context
of Multi-Ethnic racial Education in Wolverhampton’, N. S. Noor, IWA GB,
1977–1978. Noor conducted a survey of parents’ views and attitudes on
education policy in Wolverhampton in 1977 and the results were published
and circulated to all the local branches under the banner of the IWA GB.
The survey was conducted through door-to-door contact with Asian people
and IWA members through branch meetings. Noor stated that 80 per cent
were pressurised to set up mixed advisory boards to develop multi-

cultural educational policies, especially ones related to lesson content,
organisation and counselling needs. From the 1970s onwards, the
government became increasingly aware of the need to modify the
education system and a raft of proposals was introduced to address
the needs of Asian and Afro-Caribbean parents, but also to change
attitudes and raise awareness.43 For example, syllabuses for Punjabi
and Urdu were issued by various education boards. This represented
a degree of success for the IWAs since their political lobbying and
analyses of the problems in education played a part in forcing LEAs
and the government to account for Indian children.
One must also recognise the important role the local and national
IWA played in winning the right for Sikhs to wear turbans and carry
kirpans in public places and areas of work. However, the issue devel-
oped into a bigger question about the recognition of separate religions
and ethnic minority customs by the state through which issues of
citizenship and national identity were brought into play. The turban
dispute, which had sprung up in Wolverhampton and Birmingham,
was a major precursor to changes in public policy and the advent of
political multiculturalism.44 At this point, Sikh organisations such
as the Shiromoni Akali Dal UK and local temples joined forces with
the IWAs to oppose government policies towards ethnic minorities.
The IWA GB claimed they had spent around 60,000 pounds on the
turban campaign following donations from all the branches.45 The
categorically expressed their views that the local schools were not doing
justice in the education of their children. Only 50 parents (5 per cent) were
found to be satisfied with their children’s achievement. An overall majority
of 95 per cent wanted the language barrier between their children and the
other children and teachers to be alleviated.
43
Sivanandan, ‘RAT and Degradation of Black Struggle’, 21–22.
44
The first major incident regarding the right to wear a turban at work
was the case of Tarsem Singh Sandhu in August 1967. He had been sacked
as a bus driver for wearing a turban; this led to a national, local and, indeed,
transnational political campaign opposing the local transport authority. See
Singh and Tatla, Sikhs in Britain, 128.
45
Birmingham Archives and Heritage, Indian Workers’ Association
archive, MS2142/A/1/4/17, Celebration papers: Indian Workers’ Asso-
ciation 50th Anniversary, 1988, 13.
176 Talvinder Gill
most significant individual case was Mandla v. Dowell Lee because

it led to a change in the law regarding the recognition of Sikhs as a
separate ethnic group.46
Naranjan Singh Noor, a leader of Wolverhampton’s IWA, was
again at the forefront of the movement for ethnic rights through his
‘Turban Action Committee’.47 However, by 1983, he was criticised
by the majority of the IWA GB’s leadership for taking the move-
ment too far. It was felt that IWA as a secular organisation should
not promote the turban case too overtly because it infringed on its
dominant class agenda. Leaders such as Avtar Johal and Prem Singh
argued that the campaign should be led by religious-based organisa-
tions; Noor disagreed and believed the IWAs should take a central
role. As a result, Noor was expelled from the IWA GB in November
1983 and he set up his own organisation.48 A tension between acting
as a class or ethnic organisation was at the heart of the IWAs from
their inception and ruptured at moments of crisis, namely the split
with Southall’s IWA and later the emergence of Sikh nationalism in
Punjab. Nevertheless, the Coventry IWA, like the majority of their
sister branches, adopted a nuanced and contextual approach to ethnic
politics. At the core of their class and ethnic agenda was the concept
of equality; fair access to employment and public spaces was tied to
the recognition of cultural and religious rights: not having to deny
one’s origins, family or community, but expecting others to respect
46
A Birmingham schoolboy, Gurdev Singh Mandla, was refused entry into
Park Grove School by his headmaster Dowell-Lee because he was wearing a
turban. The matter ended up in the High Court following a legal challenge
by the boy’s father. Demonstrations were held in London and the Midlands
over the decision of the Court of Appeal to support the position of Dowell
Lee. On a further appeal to the House of Lords in March 1983, the decision
of the courts was overturned to grant Sikhs the same position as Jews, that
of a separate ethnic group under the Race Relations Act of 1976.
47
PA2600/4/1/52, Leaflets and letters: Wolverhampton Turban Action
Committee, N. S. Noor, 1979–1999.
48
PA2600/3/2/1–24, Correspondence between N. S. Noor and Sarwan Bhart
(undated) who discuss the dispute between his faction and the rest of the
IWA GB, in particular, Prem Singh and Gurdev Dhami who opposed his
stance. Noor accused Prem Singh and Dhami of taking an anti-Sikh position.
them, and to adapt public attitudes and arrangements. Essentially,

they called for integration through class solidarity but with some
considered clauses of ethnic rights that were vital for community
cohesion. This position helped negotiate and renegotiate the spatial,
cultural and political boundaries of multi-racial Britain.
Community and Welfare
In terms of day-to-day activity, the IWA functioned as a social and

welfare centre for the Indian community in Coventry. They per-
formed tasks such as filling forms for those who could not speak
English, informed migrants of their civil rights including welfare
provision and assisted people with their passport applications. Even
tasks we take for granted, like going to the hairdressers or to the
doctors, often required the assistance of an IWA member. The early
Indian community in Coventry grew around the service of men such
as Babu Karam Singh Cheema, Charan Singh Cheema, Anant Ram,
and others. The Coventry IWA worked across the Midlands dur-
ing the late 1940s and the early 1950s, until branches were set up
in Birmingham, Leicester and Wolverhampton. In this regard, the
Coventry IWA had all the hallmarks of an ethnic association that
acted on behalf of Indians as a separate and specific community
within the local population.49 Without community organisations
such as the IWA, the process of acclimatisation, especially for those
who did not have access to a large kin network, would have proven
a lot more difficult. Alan James described the IWA as part of the
self-sufficient social organisation of the Indian community.50 Indeed,
their role as translators provided the organisation a great deal of
power to influence the political direction of the emerging local
Indian population. Even today, the few IWA activists who remain in
Coventry still offer help on various tasks for the Indian community
and particularly for newly arrived immigrants. Birmingham’s IWA
have maintained a much bigger social welfare role. The Shaheed
Udham Singh centre remains in operation and is an enduring symbol
of IWA’s legacy of social work.
49
Josephides, History of the Indian Workers’ Association, 52.
50
James, Sikh Children in Britain, 94.
178 Talvinder Gill
Alongside their social work, the IWA was also vital to the social
lives of Indian migrants. The social and cultural events organised
by the IWA consolidated a sense of community and they were an
important way of bringing people together and celebrating aspects
of their identity and culture. In fact, sociability was central to the
function of the IWAs, especially the way meetings were conducted,
which commonly took place in town halls, pubs and even at the
homes of individual leaders. The public house was perhaps the most
significant hub of social life for Indian migrants, particularly in the
early years when they lived as single men. Not only did the liaisons
in the pub forge a sense of belonging at a time of great uncertainty,
but drinking alcohol amongst friends was also an important safety
valve against the intense pressures of foundry work and providing
for the whole family. The IWAs were part of the drinking culture
that emerged amongst Indian migrants in Coventry: they would
often hold their meetings in local public houses and organise pub
runs. The Railway Club, Barras Club and General Wolfe were all
favoured haunts for IWA members in Coventry. Visiting luminaries
from India such as Harkishan Singh Surjeet or dignitaries from these
shores regularly adorned IWA gatherings and entertainment came
in the form of films, dance and music.
In fact, cinema played a crucial part in sustaining local Indian
culture and was the definitive social experience for many Indian
migrants during the 1960s and the 1970s. The Coventry IWA was
central to the Indian scene due to its relationship with the Ritz cinema.
Bollywood films were usually imported from India or rented from
the Indian High Commission. The space around the Ritz cinema on
Longford Road ‘would have been teeming. It was a visual spectacle;
the women sported beehive haircuts, polka-dot saris, and platform
shoes and the men bell-bottom trousers, wide collars and bomber
jackets’.51 Films were also shown at the Savoy on Radford Road, the
Coventry Theatre, later renamed the Hippodrome, The Palladium
51
Two projects in the last decade have done much to bring the Indian
cinema scene to public consciousness and to the historical record. First,
Puwar and Powar, ‘Khabi Ritz, Khabie Palladium’, documented the Asian
cinema culture in Coventry between 1940 and 1980. This was followed by
an oral history study by Virdee, Coming to Coventry, which focused on the
social life of local migrants.
in Hillfields and the Tree Tops cinema on Foleshill Road. Since

Coventry was the first to offer these film showings, it briefly became
the home of Asian cinema in Britain with migrants from other towns
and cities such as Leamington, Wolverhampton and Leicester travel-
ling to the city for a night of entertainment. The popularity of cinema
lay in the fusion of art, food, fashion, entertainment, politics and
social networking. It really was a celebration of everything Indian.
The IWA wanted to maintain interest in Indian matters, which
meant a commitment to their indigenous languages, social and
cultural customs. Hence, many activists wrote poems and novels,
and performed songs and plays that reflected their views, feelings
and desires. Within the Coventry IWA, Ajmer Bains was one of the
more esteemed poets and regularly wrote collections of poems on a
typewriter. These collections were often distributed to colleagues and
members personally, or added to the list of IWA publications. He also
regularly contributed to Des Pardes and established a partnership
with a small publisher in Jullundhar, Punjab, to publish his works.52
Like many within the IWA and the Punjabi poetry tradition, Ajmer
commonly wrote in the Ghazal style and within the qisse tradition.
Ghazal was a poetic form that consisted of rhyming couplets, with
each line sharing the same metre. Usually, this medium would express
feelings of love, loss, pain and separation.53 Crucially, IWA activists
believed that art was an important weapon in the ideological struggle
between the classes but also as a way of bringing people together.
Art could reveal the reality behind racism and therefore promote
more harmonious relations between different racial groups. What
the artistic and social activities of the Coventry IWA highlighted
52
See Coventry History Centre, Gill, IWA Transcripts, Interview Three
— Ajmer Bains, 2008–2009, 16–17.
53
Ghazals originated in Persia and became popular in Punjab through
Sufi mystics and spread to people from all backgrounds, including Sikhs and
Hindus. This poetic medium has also been used in the West, especially by
German poets in the 19th century. Ghazals were part of the larger tradition of
Punjabi qisse, which became a popular form of oral story telling as it focused
on the themes of love, valour, morality, gender relationships and connection
with the to be performed musically. Although these traditions of story telling
derived from a Persian origin, they were situated in the local landscape and
rooted in Punjabi social relations when used by poets and writers.
180 Talvinder Gill
was that the folk tradition was not alien to South Asian immigrants
but was actually something rooted in Punjabi culture. Storytelling
through speeches, dance and plays along with music forms a large
part of Punjabi cultural life. Hence, articulating their politics through
these media is entirely natural and effective.
Importantly, most IWAs used cultural performance and artistic
expression as an organising and mobilising tool. The values of
everyday life and experience located and understood in vernacular
traditions and speech but most notably through folk song were
venerated by post-war Marxist historians as central to developing a
socialist movement.54 Consequently, the engagement of IWA activists
in artistic expression placed their organisation within the wider ‘New
Left’ cultural movement of the post-war period. This legacy of artistic
endeavour was highly influential on second- and third-generation
political and cultural activity most potently carried by Asian Youth
Movements (AYMs). In the 1980s and the 1990s, Asian musicians
drew inspiration from the organisational traditions of the IWA,
where politics and art were mixed in a calculated political-cultural
programme.55 Virinder Kalra, John Hutnyk and Sanjay Sharma
argued that this period of combining art and politics influenced Asian
musicians long after both AYMs and IWAs had declined, citing the
example of Asian Dub Foundation and FunˆDaˆMental. They also
point out that the early British Bhangra scene was running parallel to
the IWA’s mobilisation against state and popular racism.56 Bhangra
54
See Long, Only in the Common People. He provides a series of case
studies including CEMA — the forerunner of the Arts Council, the broad-
casting and the radio work of Charles Parker and Arnold Wesker’s Centre
42 project to investigate how these projects and practices were formulated
to describe, confirm, rejuvenate or generate ‘authentic’ working-class culture
as part of the re-imagining of ‘Britishness’ in the post-war context. The
likes of Raymond Williams and Richard Hoggart (amongst other cultural
historians) had also done much to demystify art and reclaim the aesthetic for
the working class but had neglected the role of immigrants in the develop-
ment of a distinct proletarian culture. As keen proponents of the folk song,
novels and theatre, the IWAs were part of the wider post-war working-class
culture in Britain.
55
See Kalra, Hutnyk, and Sharma, ‘Re-Sounding (Anti) Racism, or
Concordant Politics?’, 127–55.
56
Ibid., 145.
represented a dual function of identity for Asian youth. First, AYMs

used bhangra to display pride at their distinct ethnic identity, but
it also carried connotations of a secular struggle due to the songs
regularly invoking nationalist heroes like Udham Singh and Bhagat
Singh. Bhangra, like sport, showcased Indian youth as capable of
embracing multiple identities. However, the AYMs also signalled a
socio-political agency that marked some sense of generational change
because they favoured a more independent militant stand, whereas
the IWAs stressed the need for cross-party alliances with groups like
the ANL.57 Groups like the ‘Bradford Twelve’ took an active and
belligerent stand against the National Front and disrupted many
of their activities in the area. Nevertheless, IWA messages of active
resistance remained a powerful message to disaffected Indian youth
during the late 1970s and the 1980s.
Despite the continuous battles against racism and discrimination,
the IWAs recognised the value of fostering positive community rela-
tions with the host society. When Indian immigrants first arrived,
friendship and social networks typically followed regional and
ethnic lines. It can be argued that the strong presence of the IWA in
Coventry was one factor that helped bring communities together.
The local populations were invited to partake in cultural events and
festivals alongside the Indian community to cultivate greater under-
standing between ethnic groups. Through their vibrant social and
cultural activities, IWA activists helped ordinary people and local
officials understand the values and customs of the Indian commu-
nity in Coventry. Leaders of the IWA also encouraged participation
in proletarian British cultural pursuits such as football and hockey
despite the experience of racism. This was a powerful mechanism in
bringing white Coventrians and Indian migrants together. By stress-
ing mutual social exchange and encouraging multifarious modes of
cultural production and expression, the IWA promoted community
cohesion and contributed to the possibility of cultural navigation.
Moreover, multiculturalism became a daily fact of life in the city.
This reworking of the public arena had profound effects on the
socio-cultural landscape of British cities and impacted the internal
dynamic of Indian communities.
57
Ibid., 136–37.
182 Talvinder Gill
Two important areas of potential identity change were the

positions of gender and caste. Ostensibly, the IWAs were a male-
dominated association but they were concerned with gender issues,
particularly in the workplace. The IWA in Coventry assisted strikes
led by Indian women against mainstream employers and Indian-
owned textile factories that exploited women as cheap labour.
Although I do not make the claim that the Coventry IWA completely
empowered local women to overcome patriarchal attitudes, they
certainly helped women fight for equal rights and fostered the pos-
sibility of renegotiating gendered roles outside of the factory floor.
However, the IWAs’ record on dealing with issues of gender outside
the area of work was largely a failure and it was left to independent
women’s organisations like the Southall Black Sisters and the Sahil
Project to represent South Asian women on political and, mainly, pri-
vate matters such as domestic violence.58 Likewise, the IWAs’ efforts
on tackling caste discrimination were a mixed bag. The Coventry
IWA was eager to include all members of the Indian community and
took explicit steps to champion a secular character; many members
did indeed come from other castes. From a series of oral history
interviews I conducted as part of doctorial research into the local
organisation, I was introduced to leaders from the Ramgharia and
Ravidasi castes. In addition, the foremost national figure of the IWA,
Jagmohan Joshi, was a Hindu Brahman from Birmingham. This goes
against the established Jat-centric explanations of IWA activity. They
58
Independent women’s organisations like the Southall Black Sisters (SBS)
and the Sahil Project represented South Asian women in Britain on sensitive
matters such as domestic violence. Both demonstrated alternate ways of
dealing with the issue, the former taking a much more militant stand than
the latter. These organisations believed it was up to women themselves to
defeat patriarchy and that the reliance of male organizations would be a con-
tradiction and ultimately self-defeating. South Asian women’s projects have
become more visible in challenging racist and sexist stereotypes, structures
and expectations, found both inside and out of South Asian communities.
The Southall Black Sisters was founded in Southall in November 1979 during
the high point in racial tension in Britain and they followed the anti-racist
stand adopted by the IWAs and similarly championed a discourse of ‘black
unity’. However, they attacked the patriarchal attitudes of the IWA, whom
they accused of suppressing their militancy within the South Asian com-
munity. Refer to Southall Black Sisters, Against the Grain.
created an environment for friendship and collaboration amongst

various castes that was not always possible in India. However, ethnic
concerns and communalist tension transferred from the sub-continent
derailed the efforts for meaningful and long-lasting transformation.
Caste prejudices remained and were, in fact, rearticulated in the
diaspora setting, especially amongst second- and third-generation
South Asians. A major split in the association occurred during the
late 1970s and the 1980s at the height of Sikh nationalism. There was
also a growing trend for caste-specific Gurudwaras and community
centres in Coventry; the perception and the reality is that caste still
exists as a ‘class within a class’ in the Indian diaspora.
Decline of the IWAs
The decreasing role and influence of the IWA in Coventry and

elsewhere coincided with the gradual decimation of the motor and
other manufacturing industries in Britain. Consequently, first- and
second-generation Indians moved away from manufacturing jobs
in favour of self-employment and more professional occupations as
early as in the 1970s. Second- and third-generation Indians continued
to diversify their occupations and aspirations, which naturally led
to a diversification of identities; class formation no longer seemed
relevant or desirable to a group that developed new consumption
patterns and relations to the British society. Many have blamed the
demise of organisations like the IWA on the co-option of the state.
First, numerous leaders and members of the IWA turned to affili-
ation and representation from the mainstream political parties. In
Coventry, several members of the IWA including Raj K. Malhotra
stood for Labour in council elections. Second, the Commission for
Racial Equality (CRE) and other state bodies handed massive sums
of money from its ‘Urban Aid’ programme to key black self-help
groups, which had the impact of dulling radicalism. In the process,
the fight against racism was transformed into a fight for culture
and a fight for the individual.59 The Sikh community, for example,
switched from class to identity politics, a change that was hastened
by the rise of the Khalistan movement in Britain from 1984. The
new post-colonial realities, along with the regular current of political
59
Sivanandan, ‘Reclaiming the Struggle’, 72.
184 Talvinder Gill
splits emanating from India, stripped organisations like the IWA

of the collective agency that had powered their political and social
programmes.
Conclusion
A history of the Coventry IWA engages with a broader social history

of post-war Britain because it involves the key issues of class, race and
community relations. It also addresses the complicated relationship
between the political and the social in modern historical scholarship,
given that class is reconsidered to be a discourse that can involve
all other categories of culture and identity. For the Coventry IWA,
class politics was a collaborative category that reacted with other
social ‘registers’ such as race and religion. Thus, the IWA’s politics
and sociology formed a dialectical relationship that first manifested
on the factory floor but then spread to other social spaces and the
wider public sphere. Consequently, their political and social action
formed part of multiple struggles, which were at times coalescent
and at others appeared contradictory. Nevertheless, they were crucial
to the formation of community and individual identities during the
early years of Indian settlement. Moreover, they were determined
‘actors’ in protecting the rights of Indian workers and their mar-
rying of class and ethnic politics contributed to the ‘multicultural’
society of Britain, especially where it can be deemed a success in the
integration of Indian migrants.
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Racism, or Concordant Politics? Revolutionary Antecedents’, in Dis-
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Sharma, John Hutnyk, and Ashwani Sharma (eds), 127–55, London:
Zed Books, 1996.
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The Empire Strikes Back Race and Racism in 70s Britain, Centre for
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Routledge, 1994.
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War Britain, Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Press, 2008.
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Asian Cinema in Coventry: 1940–1980’, Wasafiri 43 (2004): 41–44.
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Gower, 1987.
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Sedition, Abingdon: Routledge, 2010.
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of a Community, London: Zed Books, 2006.
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Caribbean Struggles in Britain’, Race & Class 23 (1981): 111–52.
———, ‘RAT and the Degradation of Black Struggle’, Race & Class 26,
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———, ‘Reclaiming the Struggle’, Race & Class 42 (2000): 67–73.
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millan, 2003.
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Struggle, London: Southall Black Sisters, 1999.
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UCL Press, 1999.
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 8
A Long, Strange Trip:
The Lives in Exile of Har Dayal
Benjamin Zachariah
F or a historian of ideas, the lives of the Indian political exiles who

travelled the world between the wars is of particular interest. They
attest to Pierre Bourdieu’s warnings about ‘the biographical illusion’
most eloquently: the structural teleologies of writing the life stories
of persons as if there was a consistent line from start to finish, the
child is the father of the man, the man the father of the hero, and
the hero develops to his full (and somewhat gigantic) stature in the
course of the story. Bourdieu suggests that the continuities of lives
are illusions created by the biographer.1 Har Dayal (1884–1939)
might well have been Bourdieu’s prototype for not writing such a
history of continuity.
Despite complaints from admirers that Har Dayal has been un-
fairly neglected in the history of the ‘national movement’, legends of
Har Dayal have been written about several times: the most academic
of biographies of Har Dayal, from 1975, repeats some of these
legends, defuses some others and contributes to a few more.2 ‘It
goes without saying that Har Dayal was a genius’, declares another
biography, by a man who knew him.3
Its Foreword, by the eminent historian and Hindu right-winger,
Dr R.C. Majumdar, draws attention to the possibility that Har Dayal
did not die a natural death but was ‘assassinated’ and criticises the
1
Bourdieu, ‘L’illusion biographique’, 69–72.
2
Brown, Har Dayal.
3
Dharmavira, Lala Har Dayal, (iii).
Lives in Exile of Har Dayal 189
book’s author for not exploring this possibility in depth.4 Another

biography, by members of his family, concludes that the best biogra-
phy remains the academic one of 1975, but decides to add a few tales
of its own.5 Har Dayal appears, of course, as a major player in other
plots: in writings on the Ghadr movement, in biographies of other
central figures associated with revolutionaries in exile and of course
in narratives of the ‘German-Indian Plot’ during the Great War.6
The several Har Dayals that emerge from this body of writing are
eminently fascinating figures, from many perspectives. The point of
the present essay, however, is not so much to reconcile these Har
Dayals with one another as to use them to track the multiple engage-
ments and encounters of an Indian student and political exile abroad
and to attempt to contextualise them against the backdrop of wider
contemporaneous histories of which such persons found themselves
a part. For too long, the paradigm of the heroic revolutionary exile
has dominated writings on such figures; this framework is extremely
reductionist and can erase all but the ‘national’ engagements of these
eminently international figures. At the same time, the apparent ease
and ‘cosmopolitanism’ of these international encounters must not
necessarily be taken for an internationalism that abandons the nar-
rowly national, parochial or sectarian.
Har Dayal’s association with the Punjab is an indication of how
important networks formed in exile were to the conduct of agita-
tional activity against British imperial rule in India. Although Har
Dayal completed his MA at Lahore University, he grew up not in the
Punjab but in Delhi and after leaving for Oxford in 1905 was only
briefly in the Punjab again in 1908 (he was in India from January
to September 1908);7 this Punjab association is largely based on his
4
Majumdar, ‘Foreword’, in Dharmavira, Lala Har Dayal, (ii).
5
Paul and Paul, Har Dayal.
6
Bose, Indian Revolutionaries Abroad, 1905–1922; Sareen, Indian
Revolutionary Movement Abroad (1905–1920); Barooah, India and Official
Germany 1886–1914, 157–228; Barooah, Chatto; Ramnath, The Haj to
Utopia; Oesterheld, ‘Der Feind meines Feindes ist mein Freund’; Krüger,
‘Har Dayal in Deutschland’, 141–69; Liebau, ‘German Foreign Office’,
96–129.
7
Brown, Har Dayal, 46–61.
190 Benjamin Zachariah
years in the United States, where he became something of a spokes-

man for an Indian community of mainly Punjabi migrants, and one
of the central figures in the Ghadr movement, and thereafter on
his activities in Germany among Indian prisoners of war, many of
whom were from the Punjab.8 It was therefore as a Punjabi that he
was classified and tracked by the colonial authorities for the rest of
his life; he was the concern of the Punjab Police, and his periodic
pleas after the First World War to be allowed to return to India
were assessed and rejected by the Punjab Government.9 We might
defer further reflections on the nature of such political exile and
the retrospective or contemporaneous (re)claiming of the exile by
various ‘homes’ while we consider the trajectories of Har Dayal’s
lives. What follows does not consist in unearthing new biographical
details;10 it is more concerned with unearthing the complexities and
contradictions of an anti-British movement that is usually condensed
into the word ‘nationalism’ and to track these ‘inconsistencies’ in a
life that can serve as a stalking horse for an analysis of wider trends.
8
The only properly critical account of the Ghadr movement so far is
Ramnath, The Haj to Utopia. Ramnath points out that Ghadr has retro-
spectively been claimed as a ‘nationalist’ and a ‘Sikh’ movement, whereas
it was in fact significantly wider than that.
9
Sedition Committee, Report, 143–46; National Archives of India
(hereafter NAI): Foreign & Political, War B (Secret), Progs. Feb. 1916, Nos.
32–34; NAI: Home (Political), Progs., Nov. 1919, Nos. 23–24; NAI: Home
(Political) 192 Part B, 1924; NAI: Home (Political): KW to 9/V-32, 1932;
NAI: External Affairs (External), 1939, 234-X (Secret).
10
This essay uses published biographical material, Har Dayal’s own
writings, and archival material to be found in Calcutta (West Bengal State
Archives, Intelligence Bureau files) (WBSA); Bombay (Maharashtra State
Archives) (MSA); Delhi (NAI); London (the India Office Records) (IOR)
and Berlin (the Foreign Office files, Politisches Archiv des Auswärtigen
Amtes, PA-AA; and the Horst Krüger papers at the Zentrum Moderner
Orient, much of the latter being archival material meticulously gathered
and photocopied—in an age where this meant taking photographs—from
archives across the world, most usefully containing much material from
the USA including proceedings and newspaper reports of the San Fransisco
Conspiracy Case, and from Sweden). For reasons of space, this rich material
remains under-utilised in the essay.
The Lives of Har Dayal
A brilliant student, from a Kayastha family in Delhi, Har Dayal

studied at St Stephen’s College, Delhi.11 Despite his middle-class
and upper-caste Hindu background, he had a strong background in
Persian and Urdu, as had his father, Gauri Dayal Mathur (if we were
to step briefly into a framework of ‘the father-is-the-father-of-the-
man’)12 — unsurprisingly, for a man born in 1884, when these were
the languages of elite educational aspiration. Thence, he proceeded
to Lahore University and thereafter to Oxford, studying history and
Sanskrit on a government scholarship. This scholarship he resigned
in strange circumstances in his third year at Oxford, in 1907, and
after a brief return to India in 1908, he journeyed once again to
England. As a student in England, he had already become a part of
the India House circle around Shyamji Krishnavarma, the former
Arya Samaj preacher, Sanskritist and later propagandist for Indian
independence, a circle that included Vinayak Damodar Savarkar, the
future ideologue of Hindu völkisch nationalism, Madanlal Dhingra,
the celebrated and successful assassin of the imperial official Sir
William Curzon Wylie, and Virendranath Chattopadhyay, the future
communist and once-again-to-be colleague of Har Dayal’s in the
‘Hindu-German plot’ during the First World War.13
Har Dayal had also become a convinced indigenist during his
sojourn at Oxford, and even before he returned to India, he was
seen wearing dhoti and kurta and denouncing all things foreign
and all things Muslim.14 He also proclaimed the need for celibacy
in the service of the nation, an idea he expounded in a letter to the
Indian Sociologist, Shyamji Krishnavarma’s journal: although not
‘indispensable’, celibacy should be the highest ideal.15 (This was a
11
The account in this section is mainly based on Brown, Har Dayal, and
supplemented by Dharmavira, Lala Har Dayal, unless otherwise stated; the
latter has been used sparingly, as its contents appear in many instances to
be less than reliable.
12
Dharmavira, Lala Har Dayal, 10.
13
Brown, Har Dayal, 167–206; Barooah, Chatto, 7–33; Fischer-Tine,
‘Indian nationalism and the “World Forces”’, 325–44.
14
Brown, Har Dayal, 41; Dharmavira, Lala Har Dayal, 51.
15
Brown, Har Dayal, 31.
strange change of mind; only a few years before, he had kidnapped

his own wife and taken her back to Oxford with him rather than
have her await his return at home in India, as was the usual custom
for Indian students abroad.)16 He wrote from Oxford, to which city
he returned, of the need to set up cow protection societies in every
city, because ‘the cow is the flag of the Hindu nation’.17 It is probable
that this is why he was an advocate of physical self-strengthening,
because it takes some strength to hoist such a flag.
An article he published in the Modern Review of Calcutta in 1909
spoke of the ‘social conquest of the Hindu race’. His causal chain
was simple: ‘The decay of the moral calibre of a nation paves the
way for foreign domination which, in turn accelerates the process of
decline by its very existence’. How did one resurrect a ‘fallen race’?
(The question of whether ‘Hindus’ were a ‘race’ is not raised). It was
‘the leaders and thinkers of a fallen race’ that had to achieve this;
Sooner or later, the unsubdued heart and mind of the sturdy race will
seek its outward sign and symbol, its embodiment in the world of fact,
viz, a national state. The great duty of a subject people consists in
guarding the Promethean spark of national pride and self-respect, lest
it should be extinguished by the demoralising influences that emanate
from foreign rule.18
This cannot be achieved by foreigners like Annie Besant, Theosophist

and founder of the Central Hindu College of Benares; even if they
are genuine and sincere, they become a part of the social conquest
in denying the Hindus their self-strengthening.19 Without this
16
Ibid., 20–1. When he left India for the second time after his brief return
in 1908–1909, he left his wife behind. He never saw her again, nor did
he see his daughter, who was born after his departure. Dharmavira, Lala
Har Dayal, 55, claims that he ‘decided, with the permission of his wife, to
become a friar’, and the index to the same book politely indigenises this as
‘Takes to Sannyasa’ (352). The attribution of celibacy is of course completely
inaccurate, and probably deliberately so, for no Indian who dabbles in or is
claimed for nationalist heroism is ever permitted a sex life of any description
by his worshippers.
17
18
Har Dyal [sic], ‘Social Conquest of the Hindu Race and Meaning of
Equality’ (quotes from p. 239).
19
Har Dyal, ‘Social Conquest’, 241.
self-strengthening, the Hindu race accepts its subordinate position

without the need for force of arms or law, as the Pariah in South India
accepts Brahmanical authority without question, despite that author-
ity being forced upon them neither by arms nor by legislation.20 It
follows that ‘the Hindus of today’ must learn the meaning of equality,
internally as well as externally, or they will remain prisoners of ‘the
hateful antitheses of Aryan and dasyu, dvija and sudra, landlord and
tenant, raja and praja’ and therefore cannot achieve ‘social progress
and efficiency’.21 A present-day reader might suggest that the author
anticipates Frantz Fanon, Steve Biko or post-colonial theory in its
argument about national self-respect as the route to equality; s/he
might equally suggest that he mixes up class and caste categories.
From England Har Dayal went to Paris, where he edited a short-
lived journal called Bande Mataram (named after the one started
by Bipin Chandra Pal in 1905 and later edited by Aurobindo
Ghosh), and relied on the networks of Madame Bhikhaji Cama,
fellow Indian exile and political agitator. Thence he went to Algiers
and thereafter to Martinique, where his old acquaintance from his
Lahore University days, the Arya Samaji Bhai Parmanand, found
him considering the founding of a religion on a Buddhist model,
while he subsisted mainly on boiled grain and potatoes, slept on the
floor and spent long hours in meditation. By the time he appeared
in the United States in 1911, however, he seems to have abandoned
these ideas, as he passed swiftly through the universities of Harvard,
Berkeley and Stanford, proclaiming himself an atheist to his friends,
acknowledging the greatness of Hindu philosophical systems, but
extolling the practical civilisations of the ‘west’. He also became an
advocate of what was then quaintly called ‘free love’—a number of
sources mention this obsession, but are all strangely reticent about
providing further details.22
‘Free Love’ and ‘Anarchism’
‘Free love’ meant, at least, that sexual liaisons before or outside for-
mal marriage were not taboo. The irregularities, from the perspective
of the conventional morality of the time, in the lives of Indian males
20
Ibid., 240.
21
Ibid., 245.
22
Brown, Har Dayal, 104, 114, 162.
in the United States have been written about elsewhere and fiction-
alised in the American radical Agnes Smedley’s novel, Daughter of
Earth, which dwells in some length on the double standards of the
Indian male exiles who claimed a sexual freedom they had great
trouble in accepting among female (mostly non-Indian) colleagues.23
To what extent this aspect of the exiles’ lives were based on prin-
ciples held firmly and/or made up in retrospect is difficult to tell.
But it did cause unease among supporters of their politics. A Ghadr
suspect, interviewed by the police, admitted to having been attracted
to the idea of liberating India from the British, but reports a certain
nervousness among Har Dayal’s potential political recruits for fear
that they might have to share his lifestyle.24 In his years in Germany,
complaints that ‘free love’ was widespread among the Indian com-
munity in Berlin were made to the German Foreign Office by their
Indian informants. Later, during the Great War, Har Dayal sud-
denly vanished from Istanbul, where he had been assigned to work
with other Indian exiles and the Turkish government to organise
an expedition of deserted Indian troops via Afghanistan to India,
and reappeared in Geneva; he was living with one Mansur Rifat, an
Egyptian nationalist and the German Foreign Office, who wanted
him to return to his political work for them, implied a relationship
of some intimacy between the two men when they suggested that
the route to persuading Har Dayal of anything was through Rifat,
even to the extent of suggesting that although Rifat was not required
in Berlin, if Har Dayal refused to travel without him, they would
accept the condition.25
Har Dayal also began to be regarded as an anarchist, not in a
loose sense of the word, but more ideologically. He was associated
with and lectured to the Industrial Workers of the World (IWW),
popularly known as the ‘Wobblies’, and his political statements and
writings moved sharply away from the ‘eastern spiritualism’ theme
23
Smedley, Daughter of Earth, esp. 171–270.
24
Bombay Abstract, dated 24 July 1915, Para.706, S.B. Bombay, 24 July
1915. Statement of WAMAN SAKHARAM SANT-AKOLEKAR, b.1886.
WBSA, Calcutta, IB Records, IB Sl No 12/1915, File No. 102/1915, 106–97.
25
PA-AA, WK 11f series; on Rifat and his relationship with Har Dayal,
see PA-AA, WK 11f, File R21073, 84, 103, and especially 113, cypher
telegram 24 October 1914: ‘Falls Har Dayal verlangt Rifat mitzubringen
hiermit einverstanden’.
that he had adopted not too long ago, although some of the rhetoric
made spiritual references, even Christian ones: men like Kropotkin
were, he said, ‘the St Francises and St Bernards of labour’; terrorism
only provided an opportunity for the state to respond with greater
violence, whereas a labour movement’s ‘martyr’ would be mar-
tyred nevertheless, ‘killed not for killing, but for his greater love’.26
Gradually, he blew his cover as a professor of Indian philosophy
at Stanford and was eased out of his post, jumping before he was
pushed. He was co-founder of the Radical Club, whose full title
was the ‘International-Radical-Communist Anarchist Club’, and
continued to lecture on ‘free love’.27
Although Har Dayal was among the first Indians to take Karl Marx
seriously, publishing ‘Karl Marx—a Modern Rishi’ in the Modern
Review of March 1912,28 he was on shaky ground in his reading. As
the title indicates, he was not an atheist in his rhetoric. The article
opens with a quotation from St Matthew and is written throughout
in a religious-spiritual mode, explaining that ‘saintliness does not
consist only in repeating religious formulae and singing hymns’;29
he is less efficient at explaining Marx than at evoking outrage at the
poverty that co-exists with affluence in Europe as well as in India.
In its allusions and its tone, the piece is Biblical. In its description
of Marx’s ideas, three ideas are dealt with. First, the ‘materialistic
conception of history’, which is dismissed as a ‘half- truth’, compared
with Herbert Spencer’s idea of social evolution, both being treated as
mechanical and dismissed in favour of Thomas Carlyle’s ‘theory of
civilisation as a product of personal influence’. Second, the ‘theory
of class struggle’, which Har Dayal also sees as only a partial truth,
pointing away from class struggle to ‘social cooperation based on the
appreciation of a higher ideal’ as evident in bourgeois (and Marx’s
own) participation in the International. And third, the ‘analysis of
surplus value’, ‘which seems to be the soundest part of his work in
the province of pure theory’, but which Har Dayal says he is not
26
Quoted in Brown, Har Dayal, 110–11. Brown does not spot the spiri-
tuality and Christian rhetoric, seeing it merely as a move away from ‘the
East’ towards ‘the West’.
27
28
Har Dayal, ‘Karl Marx’, 273–86.
29
Ibid., 273.
interested in fully understanding.30 He then proceeds to see money

itself as ‘treason to the race’ of men, with the obligatory quote from
St Paul about the love of money being the root of all evil and para-
phrasing it deliberately to ‘money is the root of all evil’. The editors
of the Modern Review added a footnote: ‘we cannot conceive how
civilised existence would be possible without some sort of money’.31
In Har Dayal’s attempt to find a ‘Fraternity of the Red Flag’ and a
‘monastery’ for that order, which was for ‘[t]he service of the Radical
ideal of life’, he included in its Radical principles those of ‘[p]ersonal
moral development through love and self-discipline’, ‘[p]ersonal intel-
lectual development through education and self-culture’ and ‘personal
physical development through hygiene and eugenics’. As one of the
goals for ‘Institutional Revolution’, he included ‘[t]he establishment
of the complete economic, moral, intellectual and sexual freedom
of woman, and the abolition of prostitution, marriage, and other
institutions based on the enslavement of woman’.32
Ghadr
The best-known phase of Har Dayal’s life is of course his association

with the Ghadr movement, initially San Francisco and Vancouver-
based, but quickly to spread to global proportions, to be associated
with the ‘German plot’ against the British Indian Empire during the
First World War. It is clear from a number of accounts that Har Dayal
was a major source of much of the Ghadr agitational material and a
major inspiration behind its early years of organisation. Har Dayal’s
activities among students and among the agricultural workforce
that made up the bulk of the Ghadr rank and file were known to
British intelligence through their foresight in having seconded W.C.
Hopkinson, formerly of the Calcutta Police, to Canadian intelligence,
and Hopkinson worked closely with US immigration authorities to
try and find a way to stop these activities (Hopkinson was later assas-
sinated).33 One of Hopkinson’s informers was an Indian Christian
30
Ibid., 282–83.
31
Ibid., 284.
32
Manifesto reprinted in Brown, Har Dayal, 114–15.
33
File on Hopkinson’s secondment to North America, IOR: L/P&J/12/1.
student called Pandion, whose scholarship to Berkeley, the Guru

Govind Singh Scholarship, had been created through the joint efforts
of a potato farmer, Jawala Singh, and Har Dayal, but the failure of
the potato crop in the year of the scholarship’s inception had placed
all the students on a financially unstable footing.34
A few contemporaneous accounts might be interesting from the
perspective of the reach of the Ghadr movement and the reputation of
Har Dayal as its leader. The first is from Manila, Philippines, where
an anti-British party had been set up among the East Indians, also
called the Hindustan Association, as it was in the United States.35 At
the end of 1912, 90 ‘East Indians’, as they were called to distinguish
them from ‘West Indians’, attended a meeting where one G.D. Kumar
asked that ‘all East Indians should help each other and follow the
ideas of Mr L. Har Dayal MA[,] whose idea was Anti-British and
who founded a seditious party at San Fransisco’.36 G.D. Kumar left
Manila in mid-1914, after which Bhagwan Singh came from the
United States and became Secretary. He left mid-1915, and Kundar
Lall of Manila became Secretary and Dost Mohamed also of Manila
became President. This information is not from a suspect but from
an informer, one P.N. Sharma, who claimed to know, from hav-
ing translated their writings into English for the British Consulate
and the Philippines Constabulary, the names of Har Dayal himself,
Pandit Ram Chand, the editor of the Ghadr newspaper of the same
name, and Mehar Singh and Badri Posard, workers. ‘The Hindustani
Association is still receiving seditious papers from San Fransisco and
distributing them among East Indians and the Turks.’
This Association was receiving a monthly paper by the name of Jaoanul

Islam from Constantinople through him [it is not clear from context
who ‘him’ is—probably Har Dayal]. Har Dayal who was forwarding
the paper from Switzerland to the Head Office at San Fransisco from
where all the branches of the association were receiving the said paper
and were distributing among the sympathisers. But since the date
Ottoman Empire declared War on Russia the paper was discontinued.
34
Brown, Har Dayal, 127–28; Dharmavira, Lala Har Dayal, 148–52.
35
WBSA, Calcutta, IB Records, IBSl No. 12/1915, File No. 102/1915,
145–53: Statement extract of one P.N. Sharma from Manila, Philippines.
36
WBSA, Calcutta, IB Records, IB Sl No 12/1915, File No. 102/1915,
145–46.
The said paper was Edited by Moulvi Abdul Jamid who is an intimate
friend of the Editor of the ‘Zemindar Akbar’ of Lahore.37
Another statement, this time from Bombay Presidency, of one

Waman Sakharam Sant-Akolekar could provide something of an
autobiography of a political radical of the times, if taken as a whole.
What we are interested in here is his account of Har Dayal: ‘I knew
practically nothing of this gentleman when I was in India, When
I went to the United States, I heard his name very often. Almost
every student of India residing in American knew about Mr Har
Dayal.’38 Har Dayal administered the Guru Govind scholarship for
students, given by Mr Jwala Singh of Holt. Har Dayal allegedly said
that Indian students of all ranks were to be given a scholarship; six
were on offer, and one Professor Tej Singh said only Sikhs should
be offered them. Har Dayal won the argument, and Tej Singh ‘left
California for good’. Har Dayal selected the students.39
Mr Har Dayal hired a house in Berkely [sic] for the maintenance of

those students. Mr Har Dayal was somewhat eccentric in his ways.
He never observed American ways and customs. He used to live like
a beggar. When he was a professor in Standford [sic] University he
acted like a mad man. He professed to be a philosopher. The Hindi
students in America at that time thought that the scholarship holders
would have to live according to the wishes of Mr Har Dayal. This is
one of the reasons why the scholarship holders did not care to live in
the house conducted by Mr Har Dayal.40
Sant-Akolekar names the scholarship holders as Nand Singh,

G.B. Lall, B.S. Sharma, Pandya (the same person as the informer,
Pandion)41 and Khokatnur.
I heard of one Muhammadan student, but I did not get a chance of see-
ing him, when I had been to Berkeley in September 1912. I remember
37
Ibid., 144–53.
38
39
Ibid.
40
Ibid.
41
Brown, Har Dayal, 131, 135.
that I had warned Mr Khokatnur about Mr Jwala Singh and Mr Har

Dayal. I even suggested that the house could not last long as Mr Jwala
Singh was not known to be a rich man. Afterwards I learned from Mr
GP Uplap that the house was broken up. Mr Jwala Singh failed to pay
and Mr Har Dayal tried the experiment of turning these scholars into
sages, but he too failed. Mr Har Dayal was known to every Hindi
student as a scholar and practical philosopher. Nobody ever knew
his political ideas till he started his revolutionary campaign. Many
of the Hindi students loved him for his vast knowledge, but hated
him at the same time for not observing the ways and customs of the
American people. When he showed his disloyal nature, the members
of the Hindustani Association condemned him. Mr Har Dayal was a
famous socialist and avowed anarchist. Some of his lectures on social-
ism were nothing but sermons on anarchism. The attention of every
student in American was drawn towards Mr Har Dayal when he was
arrested in San Fransisco. Some time in the month of February 1914
they (the students) watched closely the action of the Government of
the United States. I do not know the source of the news that Mr Har
Dayal was arrested at the request of the English Government and that
an arrangement had been made between the Governments to hand
over Mr Har Dayal to the English Government. This news created a
sensation among his admirers—Americans as well as Hindus. Finally,
nobody knew how Mr Har Dayal left the USA. For good. It must be
mentioned that though he left America, still he exercised the same
influence over the asram which he started in San Fransisco. He bought
the Ghadr Press. I believe he managed the Ghadr paper for more than
two or three months. His influence among socialists in America was
undoubtedly immense. Even in his absence his admirers (Americans)
helped the Ghadr Press financially. He was the cause of upsetting the
minds of the poor labourers. Any body of common sense will admit
that the existence of such a dangerous personage was the source of
constant trouble to the British Raj, and also the cause of misfortune
to his country.42
The necessary tone that is acquired in being asked to testify to the

police is obvious; they must hear what they want to hear, in the
42
Quote from f. 101.
‘prose of counter-insurgency’43 that also becomes the language of

‘approver’s testimony’.44
Har Dayal left the United States in March 1914 ‘voluntarily’
(having been charged with being in the United States illegally as the
US Government came under considerable pressure from Britain to
deport him, he claimed that his departure satisfied ‘the exigencies
of the law’).45 He reappeared in Geneva. There, and in Berlin and
Constantinople, he was a central figure in what was to be known,
somewhat sensationally, as the ‘Hindu-German Conspiracy’.
Har Dayal and the ‘Hindu-German Conspiracy’
Optimism that a strong Germany successfully challenging Britain in

a war might lead to a weakening of Britain’s hold on India predated
the outbreak of the Great War and had of course been encouraged by
German official circles. Har Dayal’s US speeches in 1913 had already
drawn attention to the fact ‘that Germany was preparing to go to
war with England, and that it was time to get ready to go to India for
the coming revolution’.46 Har Dayal was among many others who,
upon the outbreak of the war, sought to assist this process, gravitat-
ing towards Germany (and Switzerland, which remained a base for
pro-German activities) along with other fellow Indians in American
exile (notably Tarak Nath Das, the Bengali activist from the Swadeshi
era who had acquired US citizenship, and Bhupendranath Datta, the
younger brother of the Hindu missionary, Swami Vivekananda) to
join those already there (for instance, Viren Chattopadhyay, who had
been studying at Halle University) or those who arrived in Germany
from elsewhere in Europe (Champakaran Pillai from Switzerland),
forming the Indian Independence Committee (IIC) in Berlin.47 The
43
Guha, ‘The Prose of Counter-Insurgency’, 45–88.
44
Amin, ‘Approver’s Testimony, Judicial Discourse’, 166–202.
45
Letter to Commissioner-General of Immigration, from Geneva, 22 July
1914, reprinted in Brown, Har Dayal, 166.
46
Sedition Committee, Report, 146. Speech by Har Dayal at meeting held
at Sacramento, 31 December 1913.
47
The literature on this subject is relatively large, but not particularly
analytically rich: see for instance, Bose, Indian Revolutionaries Abroad,
1905–1922; Sareen, Indian Revolutionary Movement Abroad (1905–1920);
Barooah, Chatto; Oesterheld, ‘Der Feind meines Feindes ist mein Freund.’
Committee itself was the brainchild of the Nachrichtenstelle für den

Orient and its director, the Orientalist Max Freiherr von Oppenheim,
who tended to refer to the IIC as Meine Inder (‘my Indians’).48 The
Indians on the Committee were expected to assist with propaganda
material to induce desertions and surrenders among British Indian
troops in Europe; expected to conduct propaganda among the Indian
prisoners of war in German prison camps, inducing them to desert
to the German side and volunteer for a military expedition to free
India from foreign rule; and expected to assist in a move to bring
Indian troops into India via Afghanistan, where a Turkish govern-
ment would use the authority of the Sultan as supreme Commander
of the Faithful to incite at least the Indian Muslims to rebellion
against the British. Har Dayal had his part in the devising of this
strategy: although it played well with some German Orientalists’
(and Oppenheim’s own) views of the ‘warlike’ and temperamental
Mohammedans’,49 the Auswärtiges Amt records credit Har Dayal
with suggesting in September 1914 to Geissler, the German Consul
in Geneva, that once a force had entered India from Afghanistan and
joined by ‘young men ready for any sacrifice’50 who would undertake
terrorist strikes in the rest of India, the country would rise in rebellion
against the British.51 Har Dayal also agreed to coordinate the activities
of Ghadr supporters in East Asia, East Africa and the United States,
as well as to go to Constantinople or Mecca himself in the pursuit
of this cause.52 In the end, he was sent to Constantinople, travelling
48
PA-AA: file series WK 11s and WK 11f series; on ‘Meine Inder’, see for
instance PA-AA: WK11f, R20173, 137–38.
49
Manjapra, ‘The Mirrored World’, 90.
50
Quoted in Barooah, India and Official Germany, 194.
51
This also coincided with the views of other volunteers to the German
cause: the former missionary Paul Walter, in volunteering his services and
expertise from his India years to the cause of the German Foreign Office,
wrote a quasi-historical note speculating inter alia what would have hap-
pened if the 1857 Revolt had instead happened in 1855, during the Crimean
War, and noting in conclusion, ‘Der Zündstoff ist da, es kann von uner-
messlicher Bedeutung werden, wenn wir die Brandfackel hineinwerfen’.
PA-AA: WK 11f, file R21070, 2–5.
52
Barooah, India and Official Germany, 194–95; PA-AA: WK 11f,
R21070, 79–80, cipher telegram to Auswärtiges Amt, Berlin, from the
German GeneralKonsul Geißler, Geneva, 3 September 1914.
on a German imperial passport as Ramalingamdass, a trader born

in Dar es Salaam.53
Har Dayal was in Constantinople in September and early
October 1914 and then vanished from Constantinople and reap-
peared in Geneva, complaining of the arrogance of the Germans in
Constantinople.54 He was persuaded to come to Germany by his old
comrade from his India House days, Virendranath Chattopadhyay,
and his San Fransisco comrade, Maulvi Barkatullah, both already
active in Berlin.55 While still in Constantinople, he began writing
propaganda leaflets to distribute to soldiers at the front to persuade
them to desert, which his German superiors considered far too
intellectual (although, given that they filed them upside down, it is
unclear whether they knew what he was writing).56 He then went to
Constantinople again to coordinate matters related to a proposed
delegation to Kabul and was quickly at odds with his colleagues,
in particular the Kheiri brothers, who had moved from being Boy
Scout masters in Beirut to language teachers in Constantinople to
Islamic revolutionaries during the War, but reckoned that Har Dayal,
despite his current mission, was anti-Muslim, as was the Berlin India
Committee; in summer 1915, Har Dayal left for Berlin via Budapest.57
53
PA-AA: WK 11f, R21070, 108–9, cipher telegram to Auswärtiges Amt
from Geißler, 5 September 1914.
54
PA-AA: WK 11f, R21073, 25–26, cypher telegram to Auswärtiges Amt
from the German Botschafter, Therapia, 15 October 1914, reporting Har
Dayal’s departure without his German imperial passport and with a Turkish
one bearing the name of Ismael Hakki Hassan of Basra and speculating on
possible bad blood between Indian Hindus and Muslims in Turkey; PA-AA:
WK 11f, R21073, 84–85, cipher telegram from Geißler to Auswärtiges Amt,
20 October 1914, quoting Mansur Rifat as saying Har Dayal was upset at
German and especially Oppenheim’s, arrogance.
55
PA-AA: WK 11f, R21073, 46–50, 66–68, 84, 103–4, 106–7, 113, 118.
Krüger, ‘Har Dayal in Deutschland’; Brown, Har Dayal, 183–89.
56
The text in Devanagari script is on file upside down, with the pages
mixed up: PA-AA: WK 11f, R21072, 177–79. Given that it contains simple
slogans: ‘Maro Angrez Ko! Germany ki Jai ho! Hindustan ki jai ho!’ [Kill the
English! Victory to Germany! Victory to Hindustan!] or [the English] ‘apne
labh ke liye tumhara khun bahana chahte hai’ [are shedding your blood for
their own gain], it does not seem too intellectual to grasp.
57
Siddiqi, ‘Bluff, doubt and fear’.
The much-told tale of the ‘Hindu-German plot’ has had many

takers: the romantic secret-service treatment, popular58 or histori-
cal,59 the ironic (and simplistic) Hindu- agitators-failing-to-mobilise-
Muslim-soldiers trope,60 as well as more descriptive treatments,
from various perspectives.61 The details are not quite as sensational.
The ‘plot’ was highlighted and sensationalised in the press during
the famous San Fransisco Conspiracy Case of 1917–1918, when the
United States joined the war and proceeded to take action against
Indians and their sympathisers operating from within the United
States.62 In reality, its military goals were very far from being met,
which included using deserted British Indian troops to enter India and
link up with internal rebellions (the largest attempt of which failed in
1915), although a government-in-exile was set up in Kabul by early
1916, with Maulvi Barkatullah, formerly Urdu lecturer at Tokyo
University and latterly a member of the Ghadr in San Fransisco,
as Prime Minister, and Raja Mahendra Pratap, maverick traveller
and activist for Indian independence, its President.63 Meanwhile,
58
Hopkirk, On Secret Service East of Constantinople, is not much less
sensationalist than Buchan, Greenmantle. Hopkirk (b. 1930), who has
dabbled in intelligence work himself and remains an Empire loyalist, at least
in retrospect, continues to write ‘true’ spy stories, following the exploits of
the British Empire in the East, untroubled by historiographical conventions
or the inconvenience of footnotes. Hopkirk’s predecessor, the Scotsman John
Buchan (1875–1940), was also, apart from being a published writer, an
official propagandist as well as a diplomat working for the British Foreign
Office during the First World War. He ended his career as Governor-General
of Canada (1935–1940).
59
Popplewell, Intelligence and Imperial Defence.
60
Manjapra, ‘The Illusions of Encounter’, 363–82.
61
A sample would include Brown, ‘The Hindu Conspiracy, 1914–1917’,
299–310; Dignan, ‘Hindu Conspiracy in Anglo-American Relations’, 57–76;
Jensen, ‘The “Hindu Conspiracy”’, 65–83; Hoover, ‘The Hindu Conspiracy
in California, 1913–1918’, 245–61 (all focused on the United States); Fraser,
‘Germany and Indian Revolution, 1914–1918’, 255–72; Hughes, ‘The
German Mission to Afghanistan, 1915–1916’, 447–76; and we are leaving
out, for now, a number of biographical sources, autobiographical writings,
and contemporaneous reports, governmental or otherwise.
62
See Ramnath, The Haj to Utopia, 91–94; Brown, Har Dayal, 185, 204.
63
Pratap, Reflections of an Exile, 11–19, 63–70; My Life Story of Fiftyfive
[sic] Years, 39–60.
Har Dayal continued attempting to organise volunteers for the cause

of Indian independence—independently of the Germans—during the
course of the war, utilising IWW and anarchist connections.64 Less
than successful in these attempts, he spent much of the rest of the
war in various German spa towns at governmental expense;65 then,
he was allowed to follow Viren Chattopadhyay to Sweden, where
a strategic branch office of Indian nationalists had been set up and
from where Chatto and his colleagues had begun communicating
with the Bolsheviks in the run-up to the October Revolution.66 He
managed to get to Stockholm in October 1918, 11 months after the
Revolution, during which time he had offered his services to the
Berlin India Committee as a ‘socialist’, who could communicate in
a socialist language and would be able to start a journal address-
ing Indian grievances in the newly legitimate socialist language. He
himself would be suitable for the purpose, he said, because ‘I can
write in the regular socialistic style, with quotations from Marx, etc.,
etc’.67 After the Armistice, he stayed on in Sweden, in common with
a number of members of the India Committee, but unlike them, this
was the end of his radical political career.
Recantation and Attempted Return
From Sweden, after the Great War, Har Dayal tried to prepare a
return to India, communicating with Professor Arnold of University
College, London, declaring that he had broken all ties with Berlin
and returned his German passport and requesting a British one and
‘some financial aid’ while he was looking for a publisher for his
booklet, entitled 44 Months in Germany and Turkey.68
My real purpose is to show that the Indians and Egyptians will not find
disinterested friends among other nations, which may set themselves
64
65
Krüger, ‘Har Dayal in Deutschland’.
66
Barooah, Chatto, 100–56.
67
68
Letter from Har Dayal, Stockholm, to Professor TW Arnold, 23 February
1919, reprinted in NAI: Home (Political), Proceedings, November 1919,
Nos. 23–4, 17–18.
up as rivals of England. It is, therefore, best to accept the principle of

Imperial unity, and work for the establishment of democratic institu-
tions with the help of Englishmen.69
This book is a strange document in the history of Har Dayal’s life.

It contains various attacks on Germany and Germans, Turkey and
Turks, in an undifferentiated and crude manner quite unbecoming
of the intellectual that its author undoubtedly was and, alongside
this, praise of British rule, civilisation and values, rejecting his pre-
vious goal of Indian independence in favour of a longer British
connection for India and Dominion status within the Empire.70
In its crudity, the booklet appears definitely to have overstated its
case. The Government duly noted its publication, ordered several
copies to distribute in India as propaganda material in favour of
British rule and had it translated into Indian languages, but refused
to allow Har Dayal back into India, deeming him dangerous and
regarding the book as a strategic lie on the part of its author.71 It is
not difficult to see why. For instance, in the course of his repetition
of the by-now standard and widespread convention of argument that
declared middle and upper class Indians to be ‘unrepresentative’ of
their country (and one that British colonial officials were known to
use regularly), Har Dayal denounced this ‘demoralised and denation-
alised’, ‘effete’ class who ‘do not know much about their national
literature or history’ and ‘belong to no organised Church’. ‘A healthy
and moral society is organised as a Church and a State’.72 These are
strange views for one who was so recently considered an anarchist.
Har Dayal’s 10 years in Sweden marked a return to the life of
a scholar-Orientalist, now living a precarious life of lecturing and
writing on matters Indian. He studied Greek and Latin, read Chinese
philosophy, wrote on ‘Buddhism’ and on education, and occasionally
intervened in Indian political debates. A much-cited article, originally
appearing in the Pratap of Lahore in 1925, contained this gem:
69
Letter from Har Dayal, Stockholm, to Professor TW Arnold, 31 March
1919, reprinted in NAI: Home (Political), Proceedings, November 1919,
Nos. 23–24, 20–21: quote on p. 20.
70
Dayal, 44 Months.
71
NAI: Foreign & Political, General, Proceedings, January 1922,
Nos: 870–886 B.
72
Dayal, 44 Months, 71.
I declare that the future of the Hindu race, of Hindusthan and of the
Punjab rests on these four pillars: (i) Hindu Sanghatan; (ii) Hindu
Raj; (iii) Shuddhi of Moslems; and (iv) Conquest and shuddhi of
Afghanistan and the Frontiers. So long as the Hindu Nation does
not accomplish these four things, the safety of our children and great
grandchildren will be ever in danger, and the safety of the Hindu race
will be impossible. The Hindu race has but one history and its institu-
tions are homogeneous. But the Mussulmans and Christians are far
removed from the confines of Hinduism, for their religions are alien
and they love Persian, Arab and European institutions.73
Afghanistan and the frontier regions, ‘formerly part of India’, had to

be retaken for the safety of Hindustan, both cultural and military.74
Har Dayal’s apparent transformation into a somewhat eccentric
scholar-Orientalist, though of course always a possibility given his
background in history and Sanskrit, was a surprising coda to a
rather passionate political life. This was interspersed with repeated
attempts to be allowed to return to India.75 The Punjab Government
in particular was not keen on this, and Har Dayal himself did
not risk, for a time, entering British imperial territory without an
assurance of amnesty for his wartime activities. From late 1926,
Har Dayal began a relationship with one Agda Erikson, whom he
acknowledged as his wife from 1932, although he was still married
to his wife in India. He did not tell Agda of this, nor his Indian fam-
ily, friends or acquantainces of her (and it was only after his death
that Agda was to find out that he had a wife in India and had left
all but 200 pounds to his Indian widow).76 In 1927, he moved to
England with her, and he continued to write communications for
the Hindu communal press in India. He completed a PhD from the
School of Oriental and African Studies in London in 1930, and it
73
Har Dayal’s message, quoted in Prakash, A Review of the History, 49,
and reprinted in Baxter, The Jana Sangh, 16. A longer quote from the article
appears in Brown, Har Dayal, 233–34, from which the last sentence quoted
here appears (233); the quote from Baxter is shorter.
74
75
NAI: Home (Political) 192 Part B, 1924.
76
Brown, Har Dayal, 270. Dharmavira, Lala Har Dayal, leaves out Agda
Erikson from his story altogether, referring instead to ‘one Mrs Ericsson’
founding her Folk High School of Viskadelen in 1926 with Har Dayal’s
help (249).
was published as The Bodhisattva Doctrine in Buddhist Sanskrit

Literature in 1932.77 In 1934, he published Hints for Self-Culture,
containing advice on physical culture, intellectual culture, aesthetics,
‘cosmopolitan clubs’ and an ideal of the World-State; much of this,
addressed ‘To A Young Fellow Rationalist’, rambles on in a pedantic
tone about various ways in which ‘the young men and women of
all countries’, and of course Indians as well by implication, should
improve themselves for coming challenges.78
The anti-capitalist remarks in the book are out of joint with his
continued Hindu communalist remarks in the Indian press. Still, for
some reason in 1938, he was able to become Secretary of the Left
Book Club.79
The End
Permission to return to India was finally granted in a letter of

25 October 1938. Har Dayal was living at the time in Edgware in
Middlesex, England. The India Office wrote that
neither the Government of India nor the Punjab Government will

prosecute you or take other action against you in respect of past events
so long as you faithfully observe your assurance not to participate
directly or indirectly in any unconstitutional movement. But in the
event of a breach of your undertaking the Punjab will not hesitate to
take action. They also hold themselves at liberty at any time to publish
the fact that you gave this undertaking.
He would have to surrender his passport on return to India, and the

Government ‘would not be prepared’ to have him go abroad again.80
Har Dayal in reply, writing from Philadelphia, thanked the
Secretary of State for India, the Government of India and the Punjab
Government for their ‘kindness and magnanimity’ and accepted
77
Dayal, The Bodhisattva Doctrine.
78
Dayal, Hints for Self-culture; the book is summarised in Brown,
Har Dayal, 244–47. Quotes taken from Preface and ‘To A Young Fellow
Rationalist’, no page numbers.
79
NAI: External Affairs (External), 1939, 234-X (Secret), 21–22.
80
Letter, A Dibdin, for the India Office, to Har Dayal, 34 Churchill
Road, Edgware, 25 October 1938. NAI: External Affairs (External), 1939,
234-X (Secret), 2–3.
their offer but said he was unable to state exactly when he could
return, listing his many forthcoming engagements: he would return
to England from the United States in April 1939, had promised to
preside at the Summer School of the Peace Academy in Switzerland
in August and had been invited for a lecture tour in America by the
World Fellowship of Faiths in 1939–1940. He said he should like to
return to India via Ceylon, Siam and Burma, where he wished to study
some Buddhist manuscripts before proceeding to India and requested
that the passport he be given be endorsed accordingly.81 The process
of securing the necessary permissions was underway—Ceylon and
Burma refused to admit him82—when on 4 March 1939, Har Dayal
died of a heart attack in Philadelphia. He was not yet 55. Among
the last letters he wrote was one from Philadelphia to S.R. Rana on
27 January 1939:
Thanks for your kind letter, which I have received here in America.
I came here in October for a lecture tour, & shall stay here until
April. I hope to see you in the summer. I have now obtained amnesty,
but I don’t know when I shall go back to India. I have promised to
complete some literary work in Europe & America, and that will
take time. But I am glad that the way is clear now, and I can return
whenever I like. I may be able to do some good work there, for my
health is quite all right, and I have many ideas and plans in my head.
I don’t feel old at all.
I met some of the old-timers in New York, like Basanta Kumar Roy.
I am planning a comprehensive book on ‘New India’. It may be useful,
as it can be circulated in the country without any difficulty.
I hope that Europe can maintain peace this year ...83
In conclusions: trajectories or fragments?
Har Dayal is remembered now mostly by those who appropriate

his ideas to the Hindu right, and clearly, this is not without reason.
81
Har Dayal to Under-Secretary of State for India, 10 November 1938.
82
83
Har Dayal to SR Rana, from 701 Park Manor Apartments, Parkside
Avenue, Philadelphia, dated 27 January 1939, copy in Krüger papers, Box 7,
File 49, No. 2, ZMO, Berlin.
Vinayak Damodar Savarkar, the anointed prophet of the Hindu

right, used the occasion of Har Dayal’s death to highlight the story
of the continuing struggle that had begun in London, when Savarkar,
Har Dayal and the Communist Viren Chattopadhyay, who had
recently vanished in the Soviet Union, had been colleagues and co-
revolutionaries in the India House group, on the editorial board of the
Talwar, the India House group’s journal, and in the leadership of the
Abhinav Bharat, the revolutionary network created by the group.84
Perhaps it is worthwhile using this story to problematise the lin-
ear intellectual histories (to the extent that there are any intellectual
histories) that we might be tempted towards, of a left and right wing
of a nationalism. We could here raise the question of what exactly a
‘radical’ intellectual or political position might have been in the con-
texts of the fluid movements of ideas and people that characterised
the early 20th century as well as the world of anti-imperialist engage-
ments. The conventional categories of our classificatory systems seem
to break down in the face of the bewildering variety of Har Dayal’s
multiple engagements as an exile. Benedict Anderson suggests that
after Marx’s death in 1883, anarchism became ‘the dominant element
in the self-consciously internationalist radical left’.85 Har Dayal had
his anarchist phase, but ‘radical’ is a term that can be employed and
mobilised in a variety of ways, and Har Dayal’s ‘radicalism’, which
is difficult to pin down as left or right, is interspersed with periods
of straightforward conservatism.
Men make history, but not in circumstances of their own choosing,
and one suggestion that could problematise this narrative is that a
historical actor might choose from available languages of legitimation
to build an argument with likely resonances in a social context in
which s/he must speak. This of course does not explain choices that
were strange and disconsonant with many of the contexts in which
Har Dayal operated; it might explain the ‘approver’s testimony’ or
84
Transcript of Vinayak Damodar Savarkar’s speech in Poona on 14 May
1939, MSA: Home (Special) 60-D (h), 1939–41, S157–61; see also police
transcript of Savarkar’s speech in Poona, also on 14 May 1939, DIG (CID)
Bombay, copy in Krüger papers, Box 6, File 24, No. 1, ZMO, Berlin; these
are meetings at different times on the same day, where Savarkar delivered
substantially the same speech.
85
Anderson, Under Three Flags, 2.
the disavowals and denunciations of previous selves in some, but not

all contexts. Many of the ideological frameworks of the early 20th
century appear to share certain eugenic or bio-moral assumptions
(physical fitness, self-strengthening, national discipline) that cut
across political differences86 but there is no indication that Har Dayal
found this to be the key to reconciling his political shifts—indeed,
there is no particular indication that he saw them as uncomfort-
able or unusual or that he sought to reconcile them. The search for
consistency, then, is the biographer’s search, and bearing in mind
that biography is more a genre than a methodology, the rules of the
biographical genre push us gently towards establishing motive and
connection, where the conventions of historiography would pull us
in another direction and urge prudence. The temptations of ascribing
consistency are, therefore, worth resisting.
In lieu of a conclusion, this essay is thus left with a series of
disavowals. Can we say anything of the motives and intentions of
historical actors? These often remains opaque, even to the individu-
als concerned; instead, we might have an indication in a source of
proclaimed motive and proclaimed intention, which is obviously
framed by them in terms of existing idioms of legitimacy, and per-
haps we can therefore learn much about the idioms of legitimacy in
which individuals operated from the language and arguments they
use. Biography must operate in historical contexts; that is obvi-
ous. But when do we as historians resort to personal, political or
conjunctural explanations of events in the lives of individuals? And
while we follow the life of a person, we can also see the individual
as non-agent, as subject to and victim of the circumstances of his
times, the individual as stalking horse across contexts. We can push
this analogy towards another one: we know of the Vedic practice of
the aswamedha yajna, in which the emperor’s army stalks a horse
until it is resisted by another army at which point there is a battle,
after which the horse is sacrificed. Obviously, the expectation of the
emperor who lets the army stalk the horse is that the horse will not
be challenged, or if it is, that his army is powerful enough to defeat
the challenger and impose the route. The end-point is known to the
king, as it is to the historian, but not to the horse or the individual,
86
Franziska Roy, ‘International Utopia and National Discipline’;
Zachariah, Developing India, 242–52.
and the horse-individual is sacrificed to the larger plan. This is the

danger of the biographical temptation: the individual becomes a
metonymy for community, nation, social movement, ideology or
something far larger, and it is awkward when the same individual is
inconsistent, for he cannot be too many metonymies at once.
Har Dayal, then, drifted through various intellectual moments
on his way elsewhere. Do we regard his life as a journey? Towards
what? Do we reduce what is too easily rendered as a ‘transnational
intellectual biography’ to a moment of origin or a moment of
destiny (in a recent study of M.N. Roy, the man is allowed by the
biographer’s pen to emerge as a world traveller, a ‘cosmopolitan’
and a ‘transnational intellectual’, but is in the end reduced to his
Bengali ‘swadeshi’ origins; in another one of Subhas Chandra Bose,
the leader-who-almost-was becomes the guiding theme)?87 I have
expressed discomfort with the frameworks of transnationalism and
cosmopolitanism elsewhere;88 it might be worth mentioning here that
focusing on the ‘transnational’ reifies the national by marking every
border-crossing as special, and a ‘cosmopolitan’, at ‘home’ for vari-
ous periods in various places, might still be parochial, ethnocentric
or racist—the last three adjectives relating in one way or another to
nationalisms of various description. ‘Cosmopolitan’ is thus in dan-
ger of becoming a non-concept, making sense only in a hyphenated
relationship with something else.89 We could chase our man with
nets marked ‘diaspora’ or ‘exile’ with similarly dissatisfying results;
fragments would still slip out of the mesh.90 Any of these frameworks
87
Manjapra, M.N. Roy; Bose, His Majesty’s Opponent.
88
Zachariah, Playing the Nation Game, 262–65.
89
Harvey, ‘Cosmopolitanism and the Banality of Geographical Evils’,
529–64. The phrase ‘all manner of hyphenated versions of cosmopolitanism’,
which I find useful, appears on p. 530. As far as list-making on ‘cosmo-
politanism’ goes, we should at least add Vertovec and Cohen, Conceiving
Cosmopolitanism; Cheah and Robbins, Cosmopolitics; Archibugi,
Breckenridge et al., Cosmopolitanism.
90
One could start by citing Benedict Anderson on the international con-
texts of nationalism, ‘bureaucratic pilgrimages’ to the metropolis, and models
‘available for piracy’ to illustrate this ‘transnational’ nature of nationalism
(and note that the word in favour is no longer international, which Anderson
himself used): Anderson, Imagined Communities. Anderson, in a published
lecture entitled Long-Distance Nationalism: World Capitalism and the Rise
can be invoked to satisfy those intent on multiplying examples to meet

current historiographical trends; but this would be all too easy. We
might instead make the observation that Indian nationalists had a
particular problem with coming up with a consistent and stable idea
of what ought to constitute the Indian nation or the future Indian
state and that Har Dayal’s inconsistencies are somehow symptomatic
of this. But that would not be something peculiar to the Indians, and
the importance of being Har Dayal would then be marginalised in
the quest of the typologies—the sacrificing of the stalking horse. On
the other hand, the biographical exercise of a historian’s sharing
of the long, strange trip does at least illuminate a great number of
contexts, spaces and ideologies, all of which impinged upon the life
of Identity Politics, observes, following Lord Acton, that ‘exile is the nursery
of nationality’ (the phrase is a quotation from Acton, on p. 2), and later on
comments that the modern-day long-distance nationalists who supported
the Khalistan movement or the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam from their
safety in Canada or Britain, were ‘[n]ot, like Kossuth and Mazzini, true exiles
awaiting the circumstances of their triumphal return to the heimat [sic], but
emigres who have no serious intention of going back to a home’ (12). The
distinction, I think, based on judging intentions, which I have already said
remain more or less opaque to historians, and not on circumstances, is dif-
ficult to sustain (how safe was a Tamil Sri Lankan in Sri Lanka?). Whether
these framing devices are appropriate to Har Dayal’s life or not is difficult to
decide; they are certainly not adequate. We could then go on to longer sets of
observations about the national framework, diasporas, homeland national-
isms and exiles, often in the context of understanding past and present issues
relating to migration—but we would be quibbling about the meanings of
terminologies, trying hard to fix our character in a grid that makes retro-
spective sense to academics today, and in addition imposing anachronistic
modes of thinking on our subject: see, for a representative sample of a vast
literature, Basch, Schiller and Szanton Blanc, Nations Unbound; Schiller,
Basch and Szanton Blanc, ‘From Immigrant to Transmigrant’, 48–63;
Wimmer and Schiller, ‘Methodological Nationalism and Beyond’, 301–34;
Vertovec, Transnationalism; Ong, Flexible Citizenship; Tölölyan, ‘Beyond
the Homeland’, 27–45 (the distinction between exilic and diasporic national-
isms I find slightly forced). This rather long footnote, and the previous one,
is dedicated to the anonymous referee who wanted me to respond to the
writers and theories cited above, and it could have been much longer; in short,
the theorising does not work for Har Dayal’s life and times. For a survey
and a critique of this field, see Brubaker, ‘The “Diaspora” Diaspora’, 1–19.
of an individual who is usually rendered as a Punjabi and possibly

as an Indian and a nationalist. To avoid such reductionism is, at
least, revisionist.
Acknowledgements
The title of this article is inspired by: ‘Sometimes the light’s all shining on me/
Other times I can barely see/Lately it appears to me/What a long, strange trip
it’s been’. Robert Hunter, Bob Weir, Phil Lesh, Jerry Garcia, ‘Truckin’, from
the Grateful Dead album American Beauty (1970). The Grateful Dead were
from San Francisco, where Har Dayal spent a number of crucial years; the
lyrics quoted above might well belong to a set of autobiographical reflections
of Har Dayal. I am grateful to Franziska Roy, Ali Raza and Shalini Sharma
for their comments on this article.
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 9
Communism and
‘Democracy’: Punjab
Radicals and Representative
Politics in the 1930s
Shalini Sharma
I ndians inherited much of their version of democracy from their

colonial rulers. This is not to agree with apologists of empire who
celebrate the British attempts to democratise the areas under their
rule. Neither can it be said that British administrators were overly
concerned at spreading the virtues of the Westminster system up
and down the Indian subcontinent while they dealt with wars,
and taxation, political resistance and ungrateful princes on a daily
basis. However, it is difficult to see how independent India would
have developed into the largest functioning democracy in the world
without the representative structures set up by the British. In addi-
tion, it follows that these structures, blatantly undemocratic as they
were, created arenas where politics was officially played out in the
years before independence. Politicians changed their policies and
direction to fit the structures set up by the British. However, this
was not a one-way street as the clamour of different interest groups
in each provincial government of British India itself transformed
the political structures in which they were trying to be heard. The
story of the radical left in the ‘politically backward’ Punjab during
and after the election in 1937 illustrates this point. This chapter will
suggest that their example also presages the workings of democracy
in independent India.
Colonial Punjab offers a worthy template of independent India
because of its dominant agricultural power bases and its celebrated
cross-communal linkages. Within this arena a small group of
Communism and ‘Democracy’ 219
communists and socialists, 13 of a total of 175, was elected into the

Legislative Assembly in 1937. Despite their size, they succeeded in
carving out a niche for themselves in a very hostile field and they
were able to articulate their political demands effectively, which in
turn influenced the ideological foundations of the newly independent
Indian state.
The fact that they took part in the election was not altogether
consistent with their previous actions however. Indeed in the late
1920s, the organised left, under the aegis of the Naujawan Bharat
Sabha, the Communist Party and the Kirti Kisan movement, had a
very clear and definite vision of democracy. In the columns of Kirti,
the government of the Punjab and its legislative assembly was regu-
larly denounced. In its place,
Communists wish to establish a real democracy, but we think that a

real democracy cannot be attained under the capitalistic social system,
nay, both these things are contradictory to each other. What equal
right can a poor man have as compared with a rich man at present?1
‘Real’ democracy was not to be based upon the Westminster model.

Nor was it simply to be a replica of the Soviet system. Actually, the
New World, quite as much as Russia, influenced and inspired many
of these young radical socialists. Some young Punjabis had made
America their home, and they had been influenced by living in a
country where liberty, rights and freedom were written into the con-
stitution.2 Of course, some of them, particularly the Ghadrs, had left
the United States, disillusioned that they had not been given the rights
of citizenship in full measure because of their race. Nevertheless, even
the Ghadrs understood and valued the rights that the people of the
United States possessed under the constitution.
1
Copy of Kirti (Urdu), August 1928, translated by Morid Husain,
Government of India, Meerut Conspiracy Case, Prosecution Exhibits, 84,
NMML.
2
Home Political File 375/25, NAI. This respect was also illustrated by
the proclamation that ‘The object of the association shall be to establish a
Federated Republic of the United States of India by an organised and armed
revolution ... the final form of the constitution of the Republic shall be framed
and declared by the representatives of the people at the time when they will
be in a position to enforce their decisions’.
220 Shalini Sharma
Speeches by the radicals warned the people of the Punjab of

nationalist politicians who claimed to speak for the people. Their
own emphasis was on the emancipation of the masses. Calling
upon Punjab to question the accepted notions of deference and
representation, they questioned the standing of nationalist leaders
and instead urged a variant of communism tailored to the needs of
the Punjabi peasantry, which eschewed communal politics, got rid
of caste inequalities and above all would win India freedom from
colonial oppression.
By the late 1930s, these very same people were appealing to
different religious communities in a very specific religious idiom,
comprehensively aligned with the Indian National Congress and
fully participating in the legislative proceedings imposed by the
British Raj. It would be too easy to explain these actions by referring
to a particular bent in the communist personality as has been done
by many Cold War historian.3 Rather it may be more beneficial to
examine, first, the constraints and opportunities through which they
operated and, second, how their political choices then determined
local understandings of communism and, in this case, democratic
practice.
The 1930s marked a new phase in Indian politics. The national
movement, Congress, had now to make friends capable of winning
at the ballot box and find ways of influencing a much enlarged
electorate. These developments had an impact on communists and
socialists, who for their part also had to devise new tactics to protect
and consolidate their political position, both locally and nation-
ally. Underlying this sea change were two major developments:
the Communal Award of 1932 and the Government of India Act
of 1935. By enshrining the principle of Muslim separatism in the
constitutional arguments by which India was given a much greater
measure of provincial autonomy, the Award and the Act that fol-
lowed it changed the rules of the game, and this led, in the Punjab as
elsewhere in India, to a realignment of the major political groupings.
It is well known that the 1935 Act was a strategy for the British
to stay on in India and to retain hold over the key determinants of
3
The epitome of this genre was Overstreet and Windmiller, Communism
in India.
power and sovereignty by a retreat to the centre, and not (as some
Whig interpretations would have it) a significant milestone in a
planned and staged withdrawal from the empire. What are less
well known are the ways in which the small print of the electoral
arrangements introduced in 1935 was designed, as in the reforms
of 1920, to fortify the hands of those perceived to be Britain’s col-
laborators and friends and to weaken its critics and enemies. By
recasting the electoral balance between town and countryside in
favour of the latter, the Legislative Assembly in the Punjab, in which,
under the Montagu and Chelmsford reforms, the rural constituen-
cies outnumbered urban constituencies by four to one, the towns
now had only 19 seats, whereas the countryside had 130, or a ratio
of seven to one between secure rural localities and the hotspots of
urban unrest. Urban representation in effect had been halved.4 The
plan was that urban ‘dissent’ and militancy were to be redressed in
the new arrangements by fortifying the hand of loyal peasants and
landed interests. These moves were carefully calculated with political
canniness, indeed cunning, in a province regarded as strategically
vital, and they were further afforced by provisions at the centre to
prevent any combined assault by provinces upon central citadels.
The party that had been nurtured by the British to represent
these dominant agricultural interests was the Unionist Party. The
influence of the Unionist Party and its leadership upon the making
of the 1935 Government of India Act can hardly be exaggerated. In
some respects, the Act, and the Award that preceded it, was writ-
ten to a Unionist brief: Muslims got 86 of the 175 seats in the new
Assembly, guaranteeing the Muslims majority of c. 55 per cent of
the population almost half the seats (49%), thereby assuring their
continued dominance over the politics of the Punjab.5 Since the very
considerable measure of provincial autonomy that the Act gave them
largely insulated the Punjab and its politicians from the all-India
stage, the Unionists could continue, in a Punjab ring-fenced, to an
extent, from what was going on in the rest of India, to plough their
regional furrows despite major changes taking place beyond their
provincial boundaries.
4
Report of the Committee in connection with the Delimitation of
Constituencies, Parliamentary Papers 1935–36, Volume IV, 55.
5
Mitra, Indian Annual Register, 1932, Volume II , 236.
222 Shalini Sharma
The 1935 Act weakened, and almost destroyed, the fledgling

Congress movement in the Punjab, a development that in its turn
changed its relationship with the radical left. Since the 1920s,
Congress in the Punjab had divided into two warring factions,
these two factions had rather different spheres of influence, differ-
ent sources of local support and a different focus to their efforts at
political mobilization.6 However, they had much in common as well.
Congress was already so weak in the Punjab, indeed on the verge
of extinction, that its divided leadership realised that their interne-
cine strife might be the end of both houses. Hence, both factions
of this much-weakened Congress in the Punjab had reason to bury
the hatchet and join in resisting the government to win a share of
representation under the new electoral arrangements. Both factions
spoke with one voice on the Poona Pact, by which the ‘depressed
classes’ were denied separate electorates under the provision of the
Communal Award. The all-India imperatives that made Congress
so keen to keep the depressed classes within the Hindu fold are
self-evident. However, in the Punjab, the provisions of the Poona
Pact led to severe cuts in the already exiguous representation of
Hindus in the General seats. Because of the Poona Pact, eight of 43
Hindu or General seats were henceforth reserved for members of
the depressed classes.
6
Since Lala Lajpat Rai’s death in 1928, Congress in the Punjab had
divided into two warring factions, that of Dr Satyapal on the one hand and
on the other that of his rival Dr Gopichand Bhargava, who captured Lajpat
Rai’s Servants of the People Society. By claiming to be Lajpat Rai’s political
legatee, Bhargava and his faction, moreover, had joined with the Congress
High Command to claim to be spokespersons and protectors of trading
and non-agricultural Hindu interests in the province. The other faction of
the Congress in the Punjab was also predominantly Hindu. It too had its
roots in similar Arya Samaj soil. However, Satyapal’s faction played down
its specifically Hindu identity, hoping instead to gain influence by capturing
existing networks of Congress workers in the towns. Satyapal, in the 1920s
the man behind the Naujawan Bharat Sabha, which had done so much to
radicalise students in the Punjab, had a record of working on the ground
in the Punjab’s urban constituencies. Yet the rift between Bhargava and
Satyapal and their factions was to dominate and distract Congress politics
in the province for years to come.
One attempted resolution to what was in fact an impossible

dilemma was to try and re-brand the Punjab Congress to appeal to
the much larger rural electorate and to forge alliances with parties
that had already shown that they were more in tune than Congress
with the aspirations of the new voters. One such group was the
radical socialists and communists in the Punjab. From uncertain
beginnings, they had become a force that had made inroads into
the Punjabi hinterland. The context of Punjab politics had changed,
and with it, the political trajectory of the radicals. Both factions of
the Punjab Congress forged alliances with comrades, ‘atheistic’ and
‘doctrinaire’ though they were, and despite their having been previ-
ously shunned by Congressmen. In other arenas of Indian politics,
the strategy of Gandhi and the Congress High Command is well
known. That strategy looked to Congress cadres, recruited primarily
from dominant agricultural castes, mainly from central and western
India, who were urged to direct their energies to constructive work,
‘harijan uplift’ and spinning the yarn. However, there were other
leaders in Congress, disillusioned by the stop–start tactics of civil
disobedience, who wanted to attack its inherently conservative and
capitalist leadership and transform it into a socialist body. In 1934,
these leaders set up the Congress Socialist Party, which held its first
conference on 17 May 1934 in Patna,7 just when the government
was about to outlaw the Communist Party of India under powers
it had arrogated to itself under the Criminal Law Amendment Act.
The big question for our present purposes, however, is how the
radical left responded to these challenges within a rapidly changing
political environment.
In July 1934, the Punjab government outlawed five communist
and socialist organisations8 and soon after one more.9 In taking these
draconian measures, Lahore was the first provincial government in
India to act, reflecting its particular sensitivities to the perceived
7
Mitra, Indian Annual Register, 1934, Volume 1, 341–42; Lakhanpal,
History of the Congress Socialist Party, 12.
8
Home Political File 7/20/1934, Reports from Local Governments
regarding action taken under the Criminal Law Amendment Act, 1908, to
declare local Communist Associations or Organisations to be Unlawful, NAI.
9
Action taken against Communists under the Criminal Law Amendment
Act, 1908, 1935–1937, IOR/L/PJ/12/474, OIOC.
224 Shalini Sharma
threat from the left. After communism was once again outlawed, the
party’s political choices became significantly narrower.
Parroting their master’s voice in Moscow, Indian communists were
required to condemn the Congress, its Central Committee denounc-
ing Congress as its real enemy and mocking fellow travellers such as
Nehru.10 However, within a year, things had changed dramatically.
The world was in flux, whether in the Far East or in Europe. For the
first time, Lenin’s doctrine that there could be circumstances when
the priorities of national liberation took precedence over those of
the class struggle made sense in a substantial setting. In India, the
recently organised Congress Socialist Party began to win a measure
of support among militant youth within the Congress ranks. To
leverage the radical trends in Congress, the Indian Communist Party’s
manifesto urged its cadres to accept the Congress for what it was: a
mass movement despite being led by Gandhi, a leader who was usu-
ally described in communist parlance as a ‘reactionary’. Hence, its
members were urged to join the mass movement headed by Congress
but to try and give it a new leadership.11
Earlier in 1934, Sohan Singh Josh, the leading communist of
Punjab, had tried and failed to unite all the groups on the left in the
Punjab. The main reason for his failure was that each faction still
had its own distinct source of money, whether Ghadr links in the
US, or the Comintern or more local providers of funds such as the
Congress Socialist Party or the Naujawan Bharat Sabha. If they had
united to form one official party, it was likely that they would have
10
‘Draft Political Theses of the Communist Party of India’ adopted by
the Provincial Central Committee in December 1933. Published in ‘The
Communist’, Central Organ of the Communist Party of India. In Basu,
Documents of the Communist Party of India, Volume III, 143–63. Also
see Verma, From Marxism to Democratic Socialism.
11
‘In order to survive the crisis it has got involved in, under the inspired
guidance of Mahatma, the Congress must be a militant mass organisation.
To undergo such a transformation it must have a clearly defined programme
of National democratic revolution, and a new leadership that can guide it
in the struggle for the realisation of the programme. Nationalism that is the
striving of the oppressed and exploited masses to be free from imperialism
is a revolutionary movement’. Home Political File 24/1/1935, Communist
Party of India Manifesto, NAI.
lost some of these inflows of funds and certainly quarrelled over the
division of the spoils.12
However, Josh did manage to set up a Karza (or debt) Committee,
which contained representatives of all these factions, to push for debt
relief for the Punjab peasantry, demonstrating that on particular
issues the left could sometimes work together, while remaining sepa-
rate and divided institutionally.13 From time to time, the Congress
Socialists and Kisan Sabhas joined to organise strikes against rents
or water rates; in these campaigns, they had a measure of success in
matters that concerned the people. However, the communists could
exploit popular discontents only if they were prepared to adopt
flexible tactics and eschew the Bolshevik dogma. This is what the
Communist Party of Great Britain, in particular Rajani Palme Dutt
and Ben Bradley, advised them to do, stressing how important it was
to achieve ‘Unity of all the anti-imperialist forces in the common
struggle’.14 In fact, this policy suited the Punjab conditions quite
well, and markedly better than those of some other provinces. In
the Punjab, the Congress was weak and hence there was not such
a gulf between its position and that of communists and socialists
as elsewhere in India. In the Punjab, the Communist Party’s line of
depicting Gandhi as a betrayer of the nationalist cause, particularly
by his failure to prevent the hanging of the young revolutionary
Bhagat Singh in March 1931, echoed what everyone to the left of
centre already thought. ‘The Mahatma sits on the shoulders of the
forces of the national revolution like the old man of the sea, paralys-
ing their power to think by blind faith, dampening their will to fight
by transforming the nationalist politics into a mystic metaphysical
cult’.15 Gandhi, in the opinion of these self-appointed men of the
12
Mubarak Saghar, Oral History, NMML.
13
Fifty-two members were elected to a Central Committee at the first Kisan
Karza meeting on 3 March 1935. Home Political File 18/3/35, Fortnightly
Report March 1935, NAI.
14
‘The Anti-Imperialist People’s Front in India’ by Rajani Palme Dutt
and Ben Bradley. Also known as ‘Dutt–Bradley Thesis’. Published in
IMPRECOR, 29 February 1936. In Basu, Documents of the Communist
Movement in India, Vol. 3, 219–34.
15
Home Political Report 24/1/1935, Communist Party of India
Manifesto, NAI.
226 Shalini Sharma
future, was a ‘has-been’ who had outlived his usefulness. At the same
time, pragmatists among the communists recognised the potential of
Nehru’s brand of nationalism and particularly that of the Congress
Socialist Party, in which swaraj and alleviating poverty were two
sides of the same coin, very much the message that the communists
previously had tried to convey to India’s politicians.
The increasingly radical language used by Nehru made it accept-
able for communists to be seen to express similar sentiments in
similar terms. It also helped them appear more plausible candidates
in the upcoming elections of 1937. Hence, the Punjab proved to be
the seedbed of new collaborations between the Congress and com-
munists, foreshadowing similar developments in the rest of India.
Tickets
The Punjab Provincial Congress vociferously advocated a boycott of

elected ministries after the 1937 elections. (They had no chance of
winning.) Nevertheless they were determined to fight the elections.
This meant that they joined in the scramble in the Punjab to obtain
tickets.16 In 1934, the tough man of the Congress High Command,
Vallabhbhai Patel had tried to impose some order and control over
the rank and file of the Congress. He was determined to control the
nomination of all Congress candidates in the upcoming elections.17
By strict rules on how the provinces and districts of the Congress
were to be organised and disciplined, by rules on membership, the
wearing of khadi and the spinning of cotton, he imposed the will of
the High Command over the all-important patronage of allocating
tickets to stand for election. In the Punjab at first it appeared as if
these measures had achieved their purpose. Gopichand Bhargava and
his faction reorganised the Punjab Congress Committee constitution
under the new guidelines from above and maintained a firm grip on
all of the important Congress posts in the province. However, this
was not achieved without a struggle and many old Congressmen did
not like the new Congress constitution. Thus began another round of
complaints, accusations and wrangling. In later years, one faction was
even accused of physically destroying votes cast in a local Congress
16
Home Political File, 18/10/35, Fortnightly Report October 1935, NAI.
17
Mitra, Indian Annual Register, 1934, Volume II, 209.
election by the novel and indigestible method of eating them.18 It

looked as if such disputes would dominate the 1937 election in the
Punjab, and continue long after them. Therefore, the rules of who
could be or could not be Congress candidates had to be relaxed in
the Punjab. Consequently, tickets could be given to anyone the local
Congress leaders believed might successfully win against Unionist
candidates. With this simple strategy in the ascendant, every faction
recruited individuals who were well-known communists and social-
ists to boost Congress’s chances in rural Punjab and particularly
amongst communities that hitherto had associated Congress only
with urban Hindus. For instance, Master Kabul Singh, a young and
enthusiastic communist, was given a ticket in rural East Jullunder, a
hotbed of factional disputes.19 Raghbir Kaur won a woman’s ticket
in preference to other candidates because of her socialist connections,
whereas a Ghadarite communist, Swatanter Singh, was given a Sikh
ticket even though he was still in jail. Overall, six radical Sikhs got
Congress tickets.
Although remaining predominantly Hindu in membership in the
1937 elections, the Congress in the Punjab did put up some Muslims,
such as Mian Iftikharuddin, to contest seats. Reports suggested that
Iftikharuddin was more influenced by communist propaganda than
that of Congress.20 Other fellow travellers, such as Mohammad Alam,
himself sometime a member of the Congress Working Committee,
now set up exclusively Muslim political parties in an attempt to win
the Muslim vote.21
18
Report by Punjab Provincial Congress Committee, Presidential election
dispute, 16 February 1939, G-58-60/1939, All India Congress Committee
Papers, NMML.
19
In late 1937, a Jullunder stalwart described him as ‘a man who has
spent the best portion of his life in jail and whom I have found to be very
actively engaged in Congress work with his group. This group is likely to
Emerge as a Workers’ Party in powering the province in the real Congress
elections, leaving both Dr Gopichand and Dr Satyapal high and dry. It
will be for the good of this country I am sure’. Letter from G. C. Sondhi
to Jawaharlal Nehru, 5 October 1937, P-17, Part 1, All India Congress
Committee Papers, NMML.
20
Home Political File 18/9/41, Fortnightly Report September 1941, NAI.
21
Home Political File 111/1937, NAI.
228 Shalini Sharma
The Ahrar (or Freedom) Party was another Muslim party that had
its roots in the Deobandi movement of Lucknow.22 Its following was
mainly in urban Punjab and its leaders decided to cooperate with
Congress, the Communists and the Congress Socialists to campaign
against the 1935 constitution.
Independents, such as the veteran campaigner Dr Saifudin
Kitchlew and Sohan Singh Josh, also joined forces with Congress.
Kitchlew had been arrested in 1919 just before the Jallianwala Bagh
massacre and now stood as an independent candidate in the Amritsar
Muslim urban constituency, whereas Josh stood as a Socialist
Independent in the rural Sikh seat of Amritsar. Congress was not
the only party to draw upon communists and socialists in this effort
to garner support in the province. The Shiromani Akali Dal of the
Sikhs followed suit, seeing an opportunity for the Akalis to benefit
from the opportunities in the 1937 elections by making new allies
among the radical left.
Propaganda
Following the logic of separate electorates, every candidate for elec-

tion in 1937, whether Unionist, Congress, Socialist, Akali or Ahrar,
had to appeal first and foremost to his or her own religious com-
munity. This blunt fact had many implications. Above all, it meant
raising one’s standing in the community by stressing religion. This
required political ideology or a secular stance to take a back seat.
However, in as far as all candidates had a similar message, Unionists
included, it was the call for redistributive justice in a broadly socialist
society.23 Sikander Hyatt Khan, the leader of the Unionist party, was
22
The party was founded in 1929 by ex-khilafatists and ex-Congress
Muslims around a programme that combined egalitarianism and a strong
religious commitment to shar’iat.
23
This was articulated clearly in a newspaper article written by K. B. Mian
Ahmad Yar Khan Daultana, MLC, Chief Secretary of the Unionist Party, in
February 1937. ‘The founder of the Unionist Party, the late Mian Sir Fazl-
i-Husain, was a far sighted politician. He always laid the greatest possible
emphasis on his perfectly sound theory that the intellectual classes and big
landlords could retain the political picture only by identifying themselves
sincerely with the interests of the poor. If they want to retain their political
thus able to claim that the Unionists were the only truly secular party
in the Punjab, whereas his fellow traveller, Shri Chhotu Ram, the
Unionist leader of Hindu Jats in East Punjab and former President
of the Punjab Legislative Council, argued that the Unionists were
the ‘true Congressmen’ of the province. In his opinion, the Unionists
alone were untainted by communalism, the central plank in their
programme being the non-communal demand for a fairer deal for
the Punjab peasantry.
So suddenly, the Punjab was alive with all manner and sort
of politicians claiming to be the guardians of ‘true’ socialist and
Congress ideals.
During the election campaigns, Nehru himself was one of the most
frequent visitors from the High Command to the Punjab. He came
not only to sort out the wrangling inside the Congress, but also to
try and disseminate the Congress message. Impressed by the record
of the Soviet government, Nehru also had close ties with Labour
politicians in Britain and used the election campaigns to outline his
vision of an independent and socialist India. Indeed, one historian
has gone so far as to assert that Nehru was the first politician to
make the idea of socialism popular in the Punjab.24 Whatever the
truth of such a claim, Nehru, with his high all-India profile, gave a
fillip to local Congress and radical politicians alike on his whirlwind
tours of the Punjab.
However limited his political influence in the Punjab, Nehru was,
nevertheless, a radicalising force, delivering speech after speech on the
need for independence and with independence the need to achieve a
greater degree of economic equality for India’s peoples. This was the
heart and centre of Nehru’s ‘mass contact’ campaign,25 his aim being
leadership they must pay a price for it, the price being that they must not
look to the economic interests of their own class but try to promote a socialist
programme’. Civil and Military Gazette, 7 February 1937, Lahore, NMML.
24
It was alleged that he introduced the concept to Punjabis in 1927 upon
his return from revolutionary Russia. On describing the impact of a speech
by Nehru at the annual session of the Punjab Provincial Political Conference
in April 1928, Josh states, ‘It was for the first time that the word socialism
became familiar in the political atmosphere of Punjab’. Josh, Communist
Movement in Punjab (1926–1947), 80.
25
See Hasan, ‘The Muslim Mass Contact Campaign’, 58–76.
230 Shalini Sharma
to broaden the appeal of Congress among peasants and Muslims and

to mobilise new and vital bases of support where the Congress mes-
sage had not previously reached. This was of particular significance
in the Punjab, where the social and religious background of most
local Congressmen stood in the way of their making a successful
appeal to the new voters, peasants and Muslims alike.
An interesting angle on Nehru comes from provincial intelligence
sources, which, reluctant though they were to recommend internment
of India’s most prominent politicians, nevertheless kept an eagle eye
on his activities and his impact upon the Punjab. One such report
described Nehru’s activities in the following words:
In all his speeches he stressed economic matters and the need for a
socialist order and he emphasised that the amelioration of the condi-
tions of workers and peasants and the establishment of a socialist
state could not be effected without first securing independence from
British rule.26
Nehru also saw the elections as an important milestone in the long

and hard journey towards independence, but from a rather different
perspective, of course, than that of the government: ‘He impressed
on his hearers that the battle of freedom would not be won in the
Councils, but in the fields, in the factories and in the bazaars’.27 For
the government, however, the most worrying aspect of Nehru’s visits
was the impact he had on rural Punjab:
The effect of his visits to the countryside is likely to be more dangerous.

The peasants are eager to hear solutions of their economic difficulties
and the Pandit’s visit has proved the existence among the rural class
of interest in such questions as socialism and independence and has
stimulated this interest.28
According to this report, Nehru was making socialism legitimate in

the eyes of peasantry of the Punjab, which heretofore had somehow
kept isolated from such a dangerous infection.29
26
Home Political File 4/14/36, NAI.
27
Home Political File 18/6/36, Fortnightly Report June 1936, NAI.
28
Ibid.
29
Ibid.
Local activists prepared for Nehru’s meetings months in advance.

Village and district committees set up fairs and held gatherings to
ensure that the new messiah’s coming was not unannounced. Nehru’s
visits ruptured the calm of district life, as locals took advantage of
them to promote their own agendas.
There is great activity among Socialists and communists in this district

in preparation for a conference which Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru is
expected to attend. Small parties are going round the villages holding
meetings to advertise the conference. Much of the speaking is action-
able and all of it is objectionable and dangerous when delivered to
illiterate audiences. It is a crude blend of socialism, communism and
hardly veiled sedition, and full vantage is being taken of any local
grievance, real or imaginary to stir up discontent.30
The officer charged with analysing ‘the Nehru effect’ came to a less-
generous conclusion, portraying Nehru as a glamorous would-be
superstar rather than a serious politician with a cogent message. He
reported Nehru as being:
Held in great respect by the people collected in the meeting especially

by the Hindu women... I believe there was no one in the meeting who
understood to begin with what Jowahar [sic] Lal was driving at, and
secondly no one was sufficiently interested in the subject to think
out details and question him... All that they had come for was to see
Pandit Jawaharlal—the man who had been educated at Harrow, had
lived a luxurious life in England and in India, the man who had had
his clothes washed in Paris and the man who had now forsaken all
the luxuries of like and the wealth of his family and had undergone
numerous imprisonments for the sake of his country.31
All of India—and the Punjab was no exception—loves a festival or

tamasha, and Nehru could always be relied upon to put on a good
show. After all, he was known to have renounced pelf and purse for
the sake of the greater good of the people of India, something that
went down well in a province steeped in traditions of martyrdom
and self-sacrifice. He could, plausibly, be likened to heroes of yore
30
Ibid.
31
Home Political File 4/14/36, NAI.
232 Shalini Sharma
in the Punjab and be presented as a model for the politically minded

young men of the province.
Several aspects of Nehru’s impact upon the Punjab call to be
noted. First, his visits led two Hindu candidates who were opposed
to Congress policy to make ‘spectacular withdrawals’.32 Moreover,
in the heat of the general elections, his presence did dampen down
the quarrels and rivalry in the Punjab Congress, albeit temporarily.
Third and perhaps most importantly, the line he took in his speeches
made it legitimate for those on the left to demand fundamental, if
not quite revolutionary, changes.
By linking socialism with nationalism, Nehru helped create a
context in which it was no longer out of bounds for Congressmen
in the Punjab to talk about socialism and the rights of workers and
peasants.
Nehru, of course, was only one of the many all-India leaders who
came to the Punjab in the enterprise of attempting to dislodge the
Unionists. In much the same way, Jinnah, the leader of the All India
Muslim League, also realised the importance of trying to improve
the League’s standing in this critically important Muslim-majority
province. On his famous incursion into the Punjab, Jinnah attended a
number of student conferences and League meetings throughout the
province, with an agenda that seemed designed to vilify the Unionist
Ministry and to press for a joint League and Congress front in this
anti-Unionist enterprise.33 Interestingly, even in the election manifesto
of the League, Jinnah, according to one intelligence official, included
‘Congress doctrines with socialistic tendencies’.34 The audiences he
attracted consisted mainly of Muslim students and workers, who
had enough of the ‘reactionary’35 Unionists. Most of these leaders,
whether Congress or League, tried to raise the level of interest in the
32
Home Political File 4/9/37, Extract from fortnightly report, January
1937, NAI.
33
‘Mr M. A. Jinnah arrived in Lahore on the 10th of October and on
the following day addressed a public meeting attended by about 6000
Mohammedans. The two main points from his speech were that he wanted
“to break the Ministries which had already been formed here” and to ham-
mer out a strong block to march together with the Hindus’. Home Political
File 18/10/36, Fortnightly Report October 1936, NAI.
35
34
Home Political File 18/6/36, Fortnightly Report June 1936, NAI.
elections by using similar siren songs, and some of them had socialist
overtones. Even though voting at the elections tended to run along
tracks laid long ago, no one can doubt that the foundations had been
built in the Punjab, and indeed beyond, upon which the socialist
and mixed economy of independent India were to be constructed.
Results
In vastly increasing the electorate by the 1935 Government of India

Act, the British assumed that they would in these ways afforce the
hands of their collaborators and friends. In almost every Hindu-
majority province, the result of the elections proved to be spectacu-
larly wrong. However, in the Punjab the elections did not upset
British calculations. The Unionists achieved a landslide victory in
nearly all Muslim constituencies as well as in the rural Hindu seats
in the southeast of the province. In 1937, another Unionist ministry
under Sir Sikander Hayat returned to office. This ministry was a
coalition of the nine Hindu rural members returned by constituen-
cies led by Chhothu Ram, three persons from the depressed classes,
one European, one Anglo-Indian, two Indian Christian and all the
rest Muslim, making a grand total of 95 Unionists in an Assembly
of 175 members.36
In the Punjab, the elections of 1937 were not the victory of com-
munal politics, but rather a triumph for the old political system that
the British and their Unionist allies had set in place in the 1920s.
It was a reaffirmation of the dominance of the Punjab’s landlord
agriculturalists and those who joined the army—in other words the
traditional clients upon whom the Raj depended. In the election, the
36
‘Chhottu Ram’s group of rural Hindus will number about 9 members,
and will of course be staunchly Unionist. The failure of Congress in rural
constituencies in the south-east, which border on the United Provinces, is
very satisfactory, and shows that, for the present at any rate, the Jats, Rajputs
and Gujars of that part of the Province prefer their own tribal leaders to
Congressmen. Chhottu Ram’s group of rural Hindus will number about nine
members, and will of course be staunchly Unionist. The failure of Congress
in rural constituencies in the south-east, which border on the UP, is very
satisfactory, and shows that, for the present at any rate, the Jats, Rajputs
and Gujars of that part of the Province prefer their own tribal leaders to
Congressmen’. Emerson to Linlithgow, 22 February 1937, Document 6 in
Carter, Punjab Politics, 1936–1939, 77.
234 Shalini Sharma
Muslim League was routed. The League was represented by only one
member in the Assembly.37
For its part, Congress won a mere 18 seats, only one of which
was Muslim. By the make-up of the Punjab electorate and the careful
drawing of constituency boundaries of the British and their Unionist
allies, for the time being at least, had kept the all-India parties,
whether Congress or League, out of the province.
Although Congress won only 18 seats, it was nevertheless the
second largest party in the Assembly. Significantly, one in three, or
six of these 18 Congress seats, were won by communists or socialists.
The remainder were won from Hindu members of the Nationalist
Congress Party. However meagre these victories, they were a cause
for celebration in the Congress and they demonstrated just how far
things had improved from the dire straits in which the party had
been before the elections.
All in all, 13 persons known to have socialist and communist
antecedents became MLAs (Members in the Legislative Assembly)
in the Punjab Assembly. Congress had given six of them tickets to
represent central rural tracts of the Punjab, including five former
members of the Ghadr party. The communists Harjeet Singh and
Master Kabul Singh were elected despite both of them being ‘interned’
in their villages under provisions of the Criminal Law Amendment
Act. Indeed the government in the Punjab had to rescind these orders
once they were elected as MLAs.
Harjap Singh, the ex-State prisoner who was confined to his village,
and Master Kabul Singh, another Communist worker who was ordered
by Government not to make public speeches, have been released from
all restrictions under the Punjab Criminal Law (Amendment) Act,
1935, to enable them to sit in the Punjab Assembly to which they
were elected. Both of these members, along with other communist
representatives in the Assembly, have since been very busy.38
Another ‘radical’ Congress socialist, Mian Muhammud Iftikharuddin,

defeated a prominent Unionist leader at the polls. However, this
37
Initially two League members were elected—Raja Ghazanfar Ali and
Barkat Ali—but the former was tempted over to the governing party after
the elections. Samad, A Nation in Turmoil, 31.
38
Home Political File 18/4/37, Fortnightly Report April 1937, NAI.
triumph was attributed to Iftikharuddin being a leader of the newly

enfranchised community of Arains, market gardeners, and being a
scion a prominent and wealthy Lahore family to boot, rather than a
consequence of the popularity of his socialist views, of which he made
much during his election campaign.39 Sohan Singh Josh, who was
returned from the Amritsar constituency, was another radical who
won a seat. He described his own election campaign as being distinct
and independent from both the Congress and the Muslim League,
without benefit of the patronage of either party. Rather, his success
was attributed to his popularity among Sikh farmers of the central
Doab tracts in his constituency.40 The 13 candidates who succeeded
at the polls had taken advantage of an unprecedented opportunity
to express their views in a forum from which they had previously
been excluded. By gaining access to the arena of electoral politics,
they now helped give the politics of the Punjab new orientations.
Inside the Assembly
After 5 April 1937, those who had for so long dominated the Punjab
Council now had to deal with a quite different breed of politicians,
some of them—from their perspective—a rabble.
In the past, the Unionists, although loyal to the Raj, were wont
to blame the British for all their difficulties; now the elections had
changed poachers into gamekeepers. As the party in office, they had to
defend what the state was doing. Before 1937, the Unionists had only
one single Congress member (a woman) in opposition. Now they
faced a phalanx of 35 Congress and Akali members, all of whom,
on the first day the Assembly met, symbolically donned white caps
and khadi clothes, as ‘a visual demonstration of the new order’.41 In
the Assembly, which previously had been full of administrators and
nominated members, this very visible opposition now took their seats;
39
‘There is one Muslim Communist, a curious case, as he belongs to a
family with very loyal traditions and was educated at the Chief’s college and
at Oxford. His election, however, was entirely due to his tribal influence,
had no reference to communistic tendencies, and the Unionist Party ought
later to be able to get hold of him’. Emerson to Linlithgow, 22 February
1937, Document 6 in Carter, Punjab Politics, 1936–1939, 77.
40
Josh, My Tryst with Secularism, 213.
41
Mitra, Indian Annual Register, 1937, Volume 1, 55.
236 Shalini Sharma
on the very first day, Dr Mohammad Alam asked why the members
of the Assembly had to stand up to hear the Governor’s speech to
the House.42 In their white khadi, Congressmen brought a splash of
colour to the Assembly by carrying Congress flags.
The Congress benches in the Legislative Assembly today were gay

with a profusion of miniature tricolour flags. They were placed on
the desks in front of each member and showed vividly against the
black plush of the seats... several members, including non-Congress
members, such as Sir Mahommed Yakub, wore tricolour buttonholes
on the lapels of their coats.43
On the second day of the session, the opposition staged a walkout

over a dispute about the election of the Speaker. The tone of a
much more confrontational parliamentary style had quickly been
set within 48 hours. The opposition saw their role as to challenge
the polite manners of high politics and the cosy closed shop of the
Punjab Assembly. Many of them refused to speak in English even
if they were fluent in the language;44 and some of the newly elected
members challenged each and every accepted norm of behaviour
in the House. This was in line with the strategy advocated by the
High Command to Congress members in provinces where they were
not in a majority. These MLAs swiftly learnt the arts of becoming
an effective parliamentary opposition—noisy and troublesome to
boot leading a disgruntled Sikander Hyat Khan, the Chief Minister,
to complain that opposition members who challenged him in the
chamber were being ‘disloyal’.45
All this was the froth and bubble rising out of deep currents
in the new politics of the Punjab, and indeed of India. And it was
particularly in the Punjab Legislative Assembly where radicals in
opposition, whether Sikh or Congress, set themselves up as the
42
Ibid., 156.
43
Civil and Military Gazette, 3 April 1937, NMML.
44
The Speaker finally made a ruling on 5 July 1938 that members could
speak in the language of the province, prompting both Bhargava and, signifi-
cantly, Sikander Hyat Khan to speak in Hindustani. Mitra, Indian Annual
Register, 1938, Volume 2, 191.
45
Zetland to Linlithgow, 27 June 1939, MSS EUR D609/11, OIOC.
champions of the peasantry and challenged the old Unionist claim

to speak for the masses.
On his very first appearance in the chamber, Sohan Singh Josh
cut to the chase by asking how democracy should be defined. He
questioned the legitimacy of an election in which 76 per cent of the
population had been refused the right to vote. In his view, the Punjab
could learn much from the Russian experience.46 Thus, an Assembly
in a province that had particular reason to fear the Bolshevik example
now had to listen to Josh praising the Soviets and, to add insult to
injury, in Urdu (a practice for which he was continually criticised
since English remained the designated language of parliament in the
Punjab even after permission was given for the vernacular to be used).
During the same debate, another issue was raised, which gave a
hint of the wider radical agenda. It was asked whether those who
collected revenue for the government, the zaildars and lambardars,
and were charged with maintaining law and order and suppress-
ing ‘sedition’, should, as servants and beneficiaries of the colonial
state, be allowed to stand for election and represent the very people
they were exploiting. A Congress Socialist colleague of Josh, Mian
Iftikharuddin, was a fierce critic of things as they were in the Punjab.
The system that ensured the hereditary rights of the Punjab’s landed
aristocracy was, in his opinion, the root of the evil.47
He also urged Punjabis to understand that the ways in which
democracy worked in England were not relevant to India and to the
Punjab. ‘The position in England was that the English masses fought
with their own countrymen in order to get rights for themselves. Here
the situation is entirely different’.48 Iftikharuddin, and others of his
ilk, argued that Punjab’s chamber was not just somewhere in which
46
Punjab Legislative Assembly Debates, 12 April 1937, 199.
47
As Mian Iftikharuddin said, ‘Again the problem involved here is far
more important and wider than the mere question of lambardars or zail-
dars aspiring to represent their constituencies in this House. The question
involved is as to whether the landed aristocracy is to rule us or whether the
masses also are going to have a voice in the administration of the affairs of
this province... It cannot be accepted as true that a post which is held on a
hereditary basis makes a person who inherits it a true leader the moment
the previous holder dies’. Punjab Legislative Assembly Debates, 12 April
1937, 200.
48
Ibid., 79.
238 Shalini Sharma
to raise the familiar themes of anti-colonial rhetoric, idealising the

Soviet experience or criticising the political values of conservative
Punjab. Rather, it should be a forum in which the grievances of the
Punjab’s underprivileged called to be addressed.
Hence, Iftikharuddin, for his part, frequently attacked the repres-
sion habitually practiced by lambardars, working in collusion with
the police, of the Punjab’s still mainly disenfranchised peasantry.
Sohan Singh Josh and Hari Singh repeatedly tabled motions urg-
ing the government to do more for rural Punjab. When crops were
destroyed by hailstorms in seven villages, it was Josh who raised the
matter in the Assembly and called upon the government to step in
and help. The debates of the Legislative Assembly are replete with
such instances of radical intervention. When the Unionist govern-
ment was persuaded to write off debt in a series of Agrarian Bills
in 1938, this was seen as a victory for the Karza Committee,49 and
most Congress politicians in the Punjab had to go along with this
rather more proactive line in favour of the peasantry.50
However, addressing the needs and concerns of the peasantry was
not, of course, a new development in the Punjab. The British had
seen themselves as the guardians of the Punjab peasants, their pro-
tectors against predators, moneylenders or even the vagaries of the
monsoon.51 What was new was the challenge to the old assumptions
49
National Front, 30 October 1938, Communist Party of India Library,
Ajay Bhavan, New Delhi.
50
In the tradition of the long-standing alliance between the urban Hindu
Punjabis and the Congress-led groups who had consistently campaigned
against the Land Alienation Bills since 1901, Maulana Azad (the Congress
Working Committee member charged with overseeing the actions of the
Punjab in the Congress High Command) now ordered the Punjabi Congress
MLAs to vote for the Agrarian Bills. In response, ‘Dr Gopichand appears
to have informed Azad that the orders will be obeyed but that he must find
someone else to lead the Congress party in the Assembly, and it is said that
another 14 other Congress men intend to follow Gopichand’s example’.
Zetland to Brabourne (Acting Viceroy), 8 August 1938, MSS EUR 609/10,
OIOC.
51
In its crudest form, ‘In my time I have done what I could to serve the
interests of the peoples of India, and particularly of the dumb masses who,
in the tumult and the shouting of politics, are least likely to get a hearing’.
O’Dwyer, India as I Knew it, p. x. Malcolm Darling’s writings are testimony
to this important aspect of the ‘Punjab tradition’, investigated, inter alia, by
Clive Dewey in his Anglo-Indian Attitudes.
that the British were the true defenders of the Punjab peasantry.
That the politicians of the Punjab had now visibly shifted their focus
from the towns to the countryside was a cause for particular concern
to the government.52
Another straw in the wind that showed the changed climate was
the sharp debate about the Punjab police and its relationship with
the peasantry, all part and parcel of efforts to address the daily con-
cerns of rural Punjab. Master Kabul Singh argued against a motion
to increase police salaries. Indeed, Kabul Singh made unfavourable
comparisons between the notoriously harsh police in Bengal and
their Punjabi counterparts, and claimed that the Punjab police were
if anything worse than policemen in Bengal. In the Punjab, those who
tried to visit political prisoners were turned away with the simple,
but deeply revealing dictum, ‘This is Punjab sir’.53 The claim that it
was the police that kept the Punjab’s rival communities from each
others’ throats was stood on its head by Kabul Singh’s retort that
‘I would charge the police with the responsibility for causing com-
munal riots’.54 These were strong words, uttered by a man who had
served time; the very fact they could be openly stated in the Assembly
reflects a fundamentally changed political atmosphere. In the chamber
after 1937, Master Kabul Singh’s words could not simply be ruled out
of order as seditious. Strong language from persons who previously
would simply have been thrown into jail had now to be tolerated in
the state’s parliamentary forum. Political Punjab, not just loyalists,
lackeys and toadies, had won the right to speak out in the Assembly.
One small illustration of the radical activity in this forum is
provided by a look at what actual questions they were asking in
the chamber. MLAs routinely asked starred questions of ministers
about the pressing issues of the day. In the Punjab Assembly, radi-
cal politicians used this procedure to repeatedly ask the same ques-
tions, about the state of political prisoners, the education of girls,
the remission of taxes in areas where crops had been damaged and
the corrupt practices of the Punjab police. These issues were raised
in the House before 1937. However, the number of such questions
52
Craik to Linlithgow, 10 May 1938, Document 46 in Carter, Punjab
Politics, 1936–1939, 213.83 quote.
53
Punjab Legislative Assembly Debates, 6 July 1937.
54
Ibid.
240 Shalini Sharma
increased drastically as did the time spent on them. So much so that

Ministers and their opposition would conduct debates in the Punjab
press over whether such questions and subsequent motions were a
waste of time and tax payers’ money or an integral part of democracy
and giving voice to what was hitherto neglected (Figure 1).55
In short, the Punjab Assembly was a changed place, with demos
making its tentative entry into a once strictly controlled and disci-
plined environment. The opposition tackled many matters previously
regarded as taboo, such as the high salaries that ministers gave to
themselves and all the privileges to which the old elites clung. Bit by
bit, the opposition began to whittle away at the comfortably large
majority the Unionists had on such issues as they voted upon. When
Figure 9.1 Starred questions in the Punjab Assembly 1932–1940

250
Number of times question asked
200
150
100
50
0
1932 1933 1934 1935 1936 1937 1938 1939 1940
Year
Female education Relief Political prisoners

Election matters Punitive posts Police excess
Note: Chart based on information supplied from the Punjab Assembly Debates,
1932–1940. One of the reasons for the rise in questions is that from 1937,
the Assembly simply met for longer periods, but despite that proviso,
proportionately more questions were still asked of these particular questions
than the period before 1937.
55
See Civil and Military Gazette, Lahore.
Table 9.1
1932 1933 1934 1935 1936 1937 1938 1039 1940

Female education 7 8 3 1 10 8 23 19 15
Relief 68 47 17 13 30 68 116 182 112
Politicall prisoners 42 18 24 14 33 46 223 110 164
Elections 5 6 1 3 16 15 42 33 35
Punitive Posts 3 2 2 1 16 26 110 24 25
Police Excess 9 2 4 7 10 40 110 82 51
the Assembly first met, the Unionists tended to win motions directed
against their policies with majorities of between 50 and 60. However,
after the defection of some key members this majority was virtually
halved to around 30.
Driving these big changes was the fact that radicals, who previ-
ously had urged the Punjab to take the path of revolution outside
the constitutional framework, now were making an impact inside
the Assembly. This had the consequence of raising their standing
in the Punjab, and also changed the ways in which people perceived
the Punjab Legislative Assembly. In 1929, Bhagat Singh had thrown a
bomb into the Central Legislative Assembly chamber, Delhi, in order,
symbolically, to wake up those seated inside. Eight years later, the
Assembly itself had become the most visible forum of dissent in the
Punjab. Demonstrations and rallies often ended at its doors and this
provided the politicians who sat inside the Assembly a legitimacy,
which those outside now acknowledged and sought to influence.
For example, 2000 students demonstrated against the government’s
record on civil liberties outside the Assembly in January 1938,56
whereas thousands of peasants rallied against rising revenue and
gave themselves up to be arrested in April 1939.57
The only way that the Punjab authorities could reassert control
over the physical area around the Legislative Assembly was to put the
organisers in jail and declare these meetings unlawful, a sledgeham-
mer to break the increasingly hard radical nuts inside and outside the
56
National Front, 13 February 1938, Communist Party of India Library,
57
National Front, 2 April 1939, Communist Party of India Library, Ajay
Bhavan, New Delhi.
242 Shalini Sharma
Assembly.58 The fact that radicals had become members of parliament

provided them a legitimacy and a measure of influence that they
had never previously had. Now, they were invited by trade unions
to preside over their meetings; the public listened to their rhetoric
with a new respect and even the authorities had to think twice before
throwing them into jail. Above all, they now had licence to speak
their minds.59 The big change was that radicals used their position
as elected members openly to advocate the very issues for which
previously they had endured long spells in jail.
Intelligence officials were clearly worried that radical MLAs
would stir up unrest among the Punjab peasants, in their eyes a
once-contented ‘yeomanry’ now in dire danger of being infected
with the virus of disaffection. Communist cadres had learnt to adapt
to changing opportunities in contemporary politics and to exploit
economic discontent to their political advantage.60
In his autobiography, Sohan Singh Josh describes how winning a
seat in the 1937 election changed his own position.
Before the election I was just a district leader. But after I was elected
to the Punjab Legislative Assembly... I overnight became one of the
leaders of entire Punjab. I was welcomed and honoured everywhere—a
Communist getting elected to the Assembly was a big, and new, thing
then in the eyes of the Punjabi people. My election not only raised my
estimation in the minds of our people, but the election campaign also
helped greatly the growth of the Communist movement in Punjab.61
Josh recognised that his victory at the polls raised his status as a
leader in the Punjab and also raised the standing of communism in
58
‘I have some hope that the Lahore Kisan morcha will now shortly
collapse, as a considerable number of the more prominent organisers have
been arrested and are being prosecuted, and the local authorities have been
instructed to deal with jathas trying to enlist recruits in the districts adjoin-
ing Lahore as unlawful assemblies. During the second half of June only 124
arrests were made in Lahore on four days. On most days no people offered
themselves for arrest’. Craik to Linlithgow, 7 July 1939, Document 96 in
Carter, Punjab Politics, 1936–1939, 360.
59
Home Political File 18/11/36, Fortnightly Report November 1936, NAI.
60
Home Political File 18/4/37, Fortnightly Report April 1937, NAI.
61
Josh, My Tryst with Secularism, 214.
the province.62 Josh’s damascene conversion to constitutionalism

was not simply an obedient response to central party diktat. The
process was more complex than that. However, it is undeniable that
the party encouraged its followers to go down this constitutional
path, as an official communist pamphlet written in 1938 suggests.
Communists now began to have a different relationship with the
Congress. Congress ministries were described as ‘our’ ministries:
‘The Congress is our organisation, and therefore the Congress
Ministers are people’s ministers’,63 and Congress was the ‘leading
anti-imperialist organisation in the country’.64 Communist pam-
phlets underlined the new political opportunities that came with
Congress accepting office. The Legislative Assembly was now seen
to be a dynamic institution, which could be deployed to transform
the political scene. A new breed of politicians now had a chance to
force government ministers to behave in the political arena quite
differently from before.
In the Punjab, the first faltering steps towards constructing a
constitutional response capable of challenging imperialism had now
been taken. Finally, the constitution came to be viewed as a way of
undermining the Raj. Therefore, the left had come to accept that
elections mattered and winning them was of the essence. For radicals
and the colonial regime alike, the terms of political engagement had
changed, and changed significantly, never to return to the unequal
balance between the rulers and the ruled, which had been the essence
of the Raj in the Punjab.
Conforming to Traditional Political Mores
In these ways, during the 1930s, the colonial state and the radi-
cal left both had to reconsider and then fundamentally transform
62
Further evidence of Josh’s own political acumen is perhaps indicated
by the fact that he was elected General Secretary of the Punjab Provincial
Congress Committee on April 16, 1939. Home Political File 18/4/39,
Fortnightly Report April 1939, NAI.
63
Home Political File 13/2/1938, C.P.I., ‘The Communists and the
Congress: Being the thesis on the role of the Indian Communists in the
struggle for Complete Independence of India, (with a note by Krishna
Swamy)’ (Agra, 1938), ACI.
64
Ibid.
244 Shalini Sharma
their political strategies. To make the new constitution work, the

Punjab administration could no longer shut out from the Assembly
its political enemies, whether communists or Congress national-
ists. Putting them into jail was no longer an option. For their part,
the radical left now wholeheartedly joined the electoral process,
served as elected members and used their position in the Legislative
Assembly to advance their cause. But, of course, these changes meant
that both sides, with their very different and ultimately incompat-
ible agendas, were bound to clash. Take, for example, the sensitive
issue of recruitment in the Punjab: at all costs the British had to
protect their ability to recruit soldiers from the Punjab, particularly
once it was clear that war was on its way. Yet radical Punjabis had
no intention of being tame collaborators, and they had the issue of
recruitment very much in their sights. An essential element of the
Punjab tradition was to promote the stereotypes of the martial and
loyal Punjabi, the backbone of the British Indian Army. In the First
World War, half the recruits of a massively increased army were
recruited from the Punjab. For long, Punjabis had taken pride in
their status as India’s soldiers. They had done well by joining the
army, both materially and in terms of social standing. To attack their
role as Britain’s enforcers in India and beyond was, in the Punjab,
likely to be a double-edged sword. Thus, Congress and the radical
left alike had to tackle this issue differently and subtly, by lauding
the martial tradition on the one hand but arguing that new channels
for its expression had to be found.
The best exponent of these views, Sohan Singh Josh, proclaimed:
They say that we Punjabis are a martial race and so we must join the
British Army. I say yes we are a fighting race. We have gone to battle
in the past and we shall do in the future but not for `18 a month, as
mercenaries. We shall fight as soldiers, the battle of India’s freedom.65
This peculiarly Punjabi stance challenged not only the Raj but also the
central tenets of Gandhian nationalism, while reasserting a powerful
provincial pride in martial traditions, which its people had nurtured
over two centuries. Now, the radical line argued, it was important
to learn the lessons of the past and deploy the martial talents of the
65
National Front, 4 December 1938, Communist Party of India Library,
Punjab to the real enemy—colonialism. One way that politicians of

all shades channelled these martial traditions was by creating militia
wings of their political party. Hence, by 1939, every political party in
the Punjab apart from the Unionists had set up some sort of a militia
or ‘fauj hr#’ of its own.66 One example of this type of organisation
was the National Militia Congress, active in both Amritsar and
Lahore.67 In these bodies, volunteers were subjected to a training as
much political as physical.
Another tactic was to disrupt the steady recruitment of Punjabis
to the Indian army. Gandhi took another bashing in a speech at
Nowshera Punawan, in which Baba Kesar Singh ‘told his audience
not to repeat the mistake made by Gandhi “and people of his ilk”
who, during the Great War, urged the Indians to join the Army and
fight for British imperialism’.68 The left also used veterans from the
Great War to dissuade Punjabis from yet again becoming cannon
fodder for the imperial regime.69 Punjabi women exhorted their sisters
not to lose their sons on the battlefields of Europe.70 The Naujawan
Bharat Sabha developed a new line in which joining up for the King
66
‘It was decided to build up an Akali Volunteer organisation, to be known
as the “Akali fauj” or “Akali Sena” at a joint meeting of the Shirimani Akali
Dal and city Akali Jatha of Amritsar on the 4 of April 1939... The forma-
tion of these Volunteer organisations is the outcome of the Akali jealousy
between the Akali Party and the group of rural agitators controlled by the
Ghadr Conspiracy case convicts (the Babas)... The present Kisan Morcha
in Lahore is further detracting from Akali influence’. CID Lahore report by
W. D. Robinson, 12 April 1939. Enclosure, Craik to Linlithgow, 17 April
1939, Document 87 in Carter, Punjab Politics, 1936–1939, 331–32. ‘So far
as the Hindu groups are concerned the chief appeal to prospective members
appears to be the Communal and Religious appeal. I notice for example that
the Mahabir Dal, whose preferred objects are purely religious service claims
10,000 adherents in the Punjab. On the other hand, it has to be observer
that in the case of other Hindu Volunteer organisations military training
seems to be adopted’. Zetland to Linlithgow, 24 January 1939, MSS EUR
D609/11, OIOC.
67
Home Political File 18/5/39, Fortnightly Report May 1939, NAI.
68
Home Political File 58/38, Director of Intelligence Report, Notes re.
Anti-recruitment and Anti-war Propaganda, NAI.
69
70
Ibid.
246 Shalini Sharma
Emperor was described as a badge of shame, not of honour. Izzat,

or honour, of which colonial officials had previously made much
to elicit loyalty, was now turned into an effective political weapon
against the British by the radical Naujawan Bharat Sabha and anti-
recruitment agitators.
A central plank of the radical agenda was to challenge the
legitimacy of colonial rule, cast doubt on its values, shame the col-
laborators and loyalists and break the ties between the British and
their subjects by emphasising national pride over and above any
material gain that joining imperial armies could bring. Even the
financial benefits of being soldiers of the King were questioned by
broadcasting how little an Indian sepoy was paid compared with
his white counterparts.71
It is difficult to assess how effective this anti-recruitment drive
was. However, the large numbers who came to the anti-recruitment
meetings in the Punjab suggest that at least the message reached
a wide audience, despite the undoubted and continued success of
mass enlistment in the province, to which the Unionists were com-
mitted.72 From 1937 onwards, anti-recruitment meetings were held
in Hoshiarpur, Jullunder, Amritsar, Ludhiana, and Lahore. Between
April and August of that year, 13 meetings were convened; in
September alone, there were 25 meetings.73 In November, the League
Against Fascism and War was set up in Lahore. Its members were
mainly communists and Congress socialists, but some Ahrars also
joined the League. The Punjab’s radicals had learnt to calibrate their
language to meet specific Punjabi concerns, grievances and fears and
it had an impact, the hundreds of thousands recruited and the many
crores raised notwithstanding.
Another aspect of the radical assault was the way it deployed
religion and religious grievances to try and dissuade Punjabis from
joining the army, another departure from the politics of the 1920s
71
Anti-recruitment and Anti- war Propaganda, NAI.
72
However, some idea of the success of Unionist recruitment methods can
be gauged from the fact that Punjab recruited 800,000 combatants through-
out the war and raised `250 million through war loans and donations. Tan
and Kudaisya, Aftermath of Partition in South Asia, 217.
73
when the Naujawan Bharat Sabha had remained resolutely secular.

Ten years later, the radicals tailored their speeches to the particular
concerns of particular communities. To win over Muslims, much
capital was made of the deteriorating situation in Palestine and the
desecration of Mecca. For example, one worried police informer men-
tioned ‘M. Mohammed Sharif, speaking at Hoshiarpur, remarked
that as the English had opened fire on the Muslims at Mecca, no
true Muslim should render them any help in times of war’.74 Another
headache for the British was the fact that radicals were linking up
with the pro-Congress reformist Ahrar party.
For their part, the Ahrars tried to persuade Punjabi Muslims to
ally with the Congress by taking up specifically Muslim grievances
against the British. Interestingly, the Ahrars were ready to play a
different game in different political arenas. A case in point was
when the Amritsar Municipal Committee decided to increase the
percentage of seats reserved for Muslims from 40 per cent to 49 per
cent. In fact, they were entitled to 51 per cent.75 Hence, the Ahrars
condemned the Muslim members of the Committee for failing to
protect the interests of their community.
All of this shows how every group in the Punjab’s complex political
landscape had to adapt to the new conditions created by the 1935
Act. Different constituencies demanded different agendas and, in an
era when winning votes mattered, voters and their concerns were
getting the whip hand over their erstwhile leaders and patrons.
The radical left also attempted to woo Hindus. Kedar Nath ‘Red
Shirt’ Sehgal directly appealed to the Hindu reformist sect, the Arya
Samaj, urging them to defy the authorities and campaign against
Punjabi participation in the war;76 in addition, as part of the drive to
boycott war recruitment, he demanded the destruction of an abattoir,
bringing cow protection into play.77
Communists and socialists were entering zones of political expres-
sion and action they had previously left alone. They broke new
ground by appealing to a range of people who had hitherto been
beyond their reach, casting their appeals in terms of community and
74
Ibid.
75
Home Political File 18/5/39, Fortnightly Report May 1939, NAI.
76
Ibid.
77
Anti-recruitment and Anti- war Propaganda, NAI.
248 Shalini Sharma
religious identities rather than class. In this enterprise, their most

important success was with Sikhs. Indeed most of the anti-recruitment
meetings took place in the central tracts of the Punjab, where many
Sikhs lived. Concerned by the fact that Sikhs were joining these radi-
cal groups, Craik told the Viceroy:
I had a report from one of my officers a day or two ago that a

Recruiting Officer, who was endeavouring to recruit 80 Jat Sikhs in the
Amritsar district, was actually able to recruit only about 12. This poor
response was probably due to the effects of secret anti-recruitment
propaganda conducted by the local communists.78
Radicals were also found to be active at annual fairs and melas held
up and down the province. These occasions provided communists
and socialists a chance to peddle their wares, suggesting a growing
synergy between radicals and the people—the political fish were now
entering popular waters.79
In general, these festivals were an excellent opportunity for putting
out the radical message because they were a central event in village
life. They gave the radicals a chance to influence and woo people
who would not normally have heard what they had to say.80 The
radicals also organised their own fairs, which more often than not
were devoted to the celebration of past martyrs and this way began
to create a popular following for their own myths and legends.
In the Fortnightly Report for the 2nd half of November, 1938, refer-
ence was made to the commemoration at Sorabah in the Ludhiana
district of the death of Kartar Singh, who was executed for his part
in the 1914/15 Lahore Conspiracy Case. On the 23rd of March the
78
Craik to Linlithgow, 29 October 1939, Document 114 in Carter, Punjab
Politics, 1936–1939, 395.
79
Home Political File 18/10/36, Fortnightly Report October 1936, NAI.
80
‘November 1937–UP. On November 17th at the District Kisan
Conference held in connection with the Bhai Ghat Mela, Shahjahanpur’s
communists and ex-terrorist speakers were prominent. Parmanand (ex-
convict in the first Lahore Conspiracy Case) in moving a resolution against
participation in the next imperialist war appealed to his audience numbering
between 4000 and 5000 persons to organise themselves and to bring about
a revolution’. Home Political File 58/38, Director of Intelligence Report,
Notes re. Anti-recruitment and Anti-war Propaganda, NAI.
notorious terrorist Bhagat Singh’s death anniversary was celebrated

at 6 places in the province, the most important being the Martyr Fair
at his village Khatkar Kalan in the Jullunder district.81
Another interesting development was how the Punjab left revived

another old tradition, widely practised during the time of Ranjit Singh
(and subsequently in British times too), of ‘diwans’ or forums where
popular grievances could be publicly aired and resolved. Similar to
the British before them, the left realised the advantages of maintain-
ing and cultivating local political traditions and being seen to do so
as the guardians of the people.82
Conclusion
Because of the impending war by 22 October 1939, over 150 politi-

cians in the Punjab were in jail,83 and by February of the next year
this had increased to 404. June 1940 saw the incarceration of another
four score ‘leftists’ in the province, including some of those who had
been elected to the Punjab Legislative Assembly. By now, the Punjab
led the rest of India in having the largest number of communists
and socialists in its jails,84 statistics that highlight the anxieties of
the rulers in a strategically important province rather than evidence
that the Punjab was particularly radical.
In retrospect, the radical left in the Punjab had enjoyed a relatively
short-lived period when, as MLAs, they could operate openly. Like
bees, they stung and then they seemed to have died. Their halcyon
days in which they were able to question some of the fundamental
assumptions of Punjab politics were soon cut short. Nevertheless,
81
Ibid.
82
Home Political File 18/3/37, Fortnightly Report March 1937, NAI.
83
Mitra, Indian Annual Register, 1939, Volume 1, 184.
84
A list of members of the Communist Party of Provincial and local
importance who were already under trial or convicted as well as those whose
movements had been restricted showed the Punjab at the forefront with 134.
Bombay and Bengal followed with 91 and 82, respectively. (National leaders
were omitted from this count.) Home Political File—KW to 7/1/40, NAI.
The Government of India issued orders for the detention of 19 principal
communist leaders under the Defence of India Rules on 23 March 1940,
IOR/L/PJ/12/636, OIOC.
250 Shalini Sharma
in this brief interlude, politicians on the left in the Punjab learnt the
arts of parliamentary procedure and began to introduce their own
brand of democracy into the bastions of an establishment they had
first stormed in the elections of 1937.
The years 1935–1939 thus represent a period of transition both
in the governance of the Punjab and in the history of communism
in that province. It was also a time of transformation because for
the first time these years saw communists accepting, and working
within, the constitutional framework constructed by the Raj. This
fact may not seem so significant today, when communists freely join
the electoral process and form governments in India and elsewhere.
However, for Josh and his fellows, fighting elections provided them
a novel legitimacy, far removed from their past life in dingy prison
cells, evidence of the unambiguous opportunism of radicals ready
to deploy any weapons to rid India of the British Raj.
The 1930s began with radicals in jail and that formative decade
ended with them back where they had started. However, in the
interim, radicals had played a part within the constitutional frame.
Men formerly dismissed as seditious jailbirds had had their moment
in the Assembly and outside it and had used these new opportunities
to continue their assault against their colonial masters in a new forum
and to have their say without having to operate by stealth. These
same people would emerge as leading politicians in independent India
and Pakistan in the years after 1947. In India they would contest
elections, woo voters and operate in political assemblies very similar,
in terms of class make-up, to the Punjab Assembly of the 1930s. In
Pakistan, they would demand elections and rights to engage on the
political field. Both of these sets of activities were learnt, in this brief
moment in the 1930s, when radicals viewed electoral politics as a
legitimate, revolutionary endeavour.
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State of Subversion

This volume looks at the interface between ideology, religion and

Virinder S. Kalra is Senior Lecturer in sociology at the University

Shalini Sharma is Lecturer in colonial and postcolonial history at

‘How Best Do We Survive?’ A Modern Edited by: Rosalind O’Hanlon and

First published in hardback 2016

Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business

© 2013, 2016 Virinder S. Kalra and Shalini Sharma

Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trade-

British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

ISBN: 978-1-138-95642-1 (hbk)

List of Illustrations vii

1 State of Subversion: Aspects of Radical Politics

2 Progressives, Punjab and Pakistan: The Early Years 13

3 Majlis-i-Ahrar-i-Islam: Religion, Socialism

4 An Unfulfilled Dream: The Left in Pakistan ca. 1947–50 74

5 Alternative Politics and Dominant Narratives:

6 ‘In One Hand a Pen in the Other a Gun’:

7 The Indian Workers’ Association Coventry

9 Communism and ‘Democracy’: Punjab Radicals

Index Introduction 00v

vi Amita Shah and Jharna Pathak

9.1 Starred questions in the Punjab Assembly 1932–40 240

9.1 [TBC] 241

Kamran Asdar Ali is Associate Professor of Anthropology, Middle

Waqas Butt is an independent researcher, former Lecturer in

Talvinder Gill is an independent researcher who obtained his PhD in

Tahir Kamran is a notable Pakistani historian, currently the Iqbal

Virinder S. Kalra is Senior Lecturer in Sociology at the University

Anushay Malik is currently Assistant Professor in the History depart-

Ali Raza is Assistant Professor in History at the Lahore University of

Shalini Sharma lectures on colonial and postcolonial history at Keele

Benjamin Zachariah is a historian and postcolonial theorist. He is

x Amita Shah and Jharna Pathak

Political radicalism has been a constant feature of Punjab politics

in the early 1920s, the Punjab variant of Naxalism in the 1970s

Radical politics, mostly travelling under the broad umbrella term of

the organising structures and rhetoric of the Left was systematically

the peoples of the Punjab through the slogans of communism, class

in a symbiotic relationship, the leaders of the left, vilified, arrested

Punjab was partitioned when India gained independence from British

fixated on explicating the religious sectarianism and partitions that

with Marxism and to recognise that in its actual application, the

In order of presentation, the first two articles are situated in colonial

that politics is imagined and practised in the Punjab. The story of

Overstreet, Gene D. and Marshall Windmiller, Communism in India, Los

B y the mid-1950s, Muslim Nationalism that led to the creation of

Pakistan remained suspicious of any challenge to its authority. Jinnah

This article partly follows Sajjad Zaheer’s career (1948–1955) in

The Muslim Question

relation to their Hindu neighbours. Krishnan gives examples of how

The Communists and Pre-independence Punjab

Given CPI’s changed position on the Muslim question, the Party

in the Kisan front and was instrumental in founding the Congress

state land by landless peasants, while arguing for progressive taxa-

The Reversal and Partition

Despite the desire to work within the League, by the mid-1940s,

partition would be a reactionary step’.24 He went on to argue that