Global Sikhs: Histories, Practices and Identities [1 ed.] 9781003281849, 9781032219714, 9781032251578

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Global Sikhs

This book brings a broad, holistic approach to the study of the phenomena of the global Sikh community referred to collectively as the Panth. With contributions by an interdisciplinary range of experts, the volume provides insight into current debates and discussions around Sikh identity in the twenty-first century. It examines the terms Sikh, Sikhism and ‘Sikhi’ and considers how those ‘outside of the margins’ fit into larger definitions of the wider Panth. Both the secular and religious dimensions of being a Sikh are explored and lived experience is a central theme throughout. The chapters engage with issues of authority and diversity as well as representation as Sikhs become increasingly settled and active within their diasporic locales. The book includes a variety of case studies and makes a valuable contribution to the growing field of Sikh studies. Opinderjit Kaur Takhar is an Associate Professor of Sikh Studies and Director of the Centre for Sikh and Panjabi Studies at the University of Wolverhampton, UK. Doris R. Jakobsh is a Professor in the Department of Religious Studies at the University of Waterloo, Canada.

Routledge Critical Sikh Studies Encounters Across the Disciplines

Series editors: Pal Ahluwalia and Arvind-Pal Mandair

Routledge Critical Sikh Studies is an interdisciplinary book series dedicated to publishing new and innovative research on Sikh formations in the Punjabi and wider global context. Key to the approach of this series is the concept of ‘encounter’, which can be applied to Sikh Studies in two ways. First, that the term ‘Sikh’ designates a critical point of intersection with the world, and secondly, that the so-called ‘Sikh world’ has itself evolved through constant encounters: material, conceptual and spiritual. This idea of encounter is increasingly accentuated in the era of modernity, in the sense that it touches every aspect of Sikh existence and is potentially open to being studied by any discipline, or even a range of disciplines. The notion of encounter is also particularly relevant, as the Sikh lifeworld is being forced to expand beyond its comfort zones and traditional boundaries. Today’s ‘encounters’ are being registered in every field of study, including philosophical and religious encounters with other traditions of thought and practice; encounters with science, technology and media; encounters with secularism; encounters with new political and social systems, languages, literatures and groups; even intra-social encounters with new movements within the Sikh traditions. The series editors, therefore, welcome contributions that work across disciplines, allowing scholars working broadly in Sikh and Punjab Studies to explore wider theoretical debates and thematic concepts from across the Humanities and Social Sciences. Global Sikhs Histories, Practices and Identities Edited by Opinderjit Kaur Takhar and Doris R. Jakobsh Bhai Vir Singh (1872–1957) Religious and Literary Modernities in Colonial and Post-Colonial Indian Punjab Edited by Anshu Malhotra and Anne Murphy For more information about this series please visit: https://www.routledge. com/Routledge-Critical-Sikh-Studies/book-series/RCSSEAD

Global Sikhs Histories, Practices and Identities

Edited by Opinderjit Kaur Takhar and Doris R. Jakobsh

First published 2023 by Routledge 4 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 605 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10158 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2023 selection and editorial matter, Opinderjit Kaur Takhar and Doris R. Jakobsh; individual chapters, the contributors The right of Opinderjit Kaur Takhar and Doris R. Jakobsh to be identified as the authors 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 utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library ISBN: 978-1-032-21971-4 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-032-25157-8 (pbk) ISBN: 978-1-003-28184-9 (ebk) DOI: 10.4324/9781003281849 Typeset in Sabon by codeMantra

Contents

List of Contributors Sikhi/sm, Sikhs and Sikh Studies: Contextualizing Diversity of Histories, Practices and Identities

ix

1

D O R I S R . J A KO B S H A N D O P I N D E RJ I T K AU R TA K H A R

PART I

Histories: Authority, Texts and Politics

31

1 Academic History and Sikh Studies: Is It Time to Configure a Disciplinary Manifesto?

33

H A RJ O T O B E RO I

2 The Construction of Authority within the Sikh Panth and Its Challenges

51

PA S H AU R A S I N G H

3 Guru Gobind Singh and the Khalsa

73

LOU IS FEN ECH

4 Guru Granth Sahib in the Writings of Western Women

93

ELEA NOR N ESBI T T

5 India, Pakistan and the Sikhs: The Kartarpur Corridor in Its Historical and Political Perspective G U R H A R PA L S I N G H

111

vi Contents PART II

Lived Religion/Lived Sikhi: Practices, Rituals and Expression 133 6 Looking for Langar: The Promise of Commensality, the Praxis of Ethics, and Some Problems of Modernity

135

N ICOLA MOON EY

7 Adaptation and Incorporation in Ritual Practices at the Golden Temple, Amritsar

154

N AV T EJ K . P U R E WA L A N D V I R I N D E R K A L R A

8 Lived Experiences in the Sikh Diaspora: Diversities, Differentiation, Gender Narratives and Challenges to Tradition

170

SH I N DER S. TH A N DI

9 Sevā, Vand Chakko, and Sarbat da Bhala: Sikh Humanitarianism in Global Perspective

192

V E R N E A . D U S E N B E RY

10 Punj Pyarian: Artistic Expressions of Sikh Existentiality

215

N I K K Y- G U N I N D E R K AU R S I N G H

PART III

Identities: Diversity, Representation, and Belonging

239

11 Speech Unites, Script Divides: Destruction of Panjab’s Shared Cultures of Piety by Religion, Language and Script

241

A N J A L I G E R A ROY

12 Not Asian Enough? The Racialization of Sikhs in Southeast Asia

260

J A SJ I T S I N G H

13 Sikh Journeys beyond Panjab: Experiences from Eastern and North-Eastern India

278

H I M A D R I BA N E RJ E E

14 Panjabis, Panjabi Mexicans, and Sikhs in the United States K A R EN LEONA R D

299

Contents  vii 15 Sikh Studies and Sikh Institution Building in the United States: Reflections on Academic Research, Public Scholarship, and Advocacy in Post-9/11 America

317

S A N G E E TA K . LU T H R A

16 Diversity within the Sikh Panth: Some Critical Reflections

338

RO N K I R A M

Appendix 1: Tables for Sikh Organizations Pre and Post 9/11 Index

355 363

Contributors

Himadri Banerjee  is a Professor Emeritus of Indian History at Jadavpur University, Kolkata, India. Verne A. Dusenbery is a Professor Emeritus of Anthropology and was the founding chair of the Global Studies Department at Hamline University in Saint Paul, Minnesota, USA. Louis E. Fenech  is a Professor of History at the University of Northern Iowa, USA whose sole academic focus is the history of the Sikh tradition. Doris R. Jakobsh is a Professor in the Department of Religious Studies at the University of Waterloo, Canada. Virinder Kalra  is a Professor of Sociology at the University of Warwick, UK. Karen Isaksen Leonard is a historian and anthropologist who taught at the University of California, Irvine, USA, and retired in 2014. Sangeeta K. Luthra is an independent scholar working within cultural anthropology in the USA with a particular focus on post-9/11 Sikh American institution building, civic engagement and sociocultural change. Nicola Mooney is an Associate Professor of Anthropology in the Department of Social, Cultural and Media Studies and a Senior Associate at South Asian Studies Institute University of the Fraser Valley in Abbotsford, Canada. Eleanor Nesbitt  is a Professor Emerita (Religions and Education) at the University of Warwick, UK. Harjot Oberoi is a prize-winning historian and Professor of Asian Studies at the University of British Columbia, Vancouver, Canada. Navtej K. Purewal  is a Professor of Political Sociology and Development Studies at SOAS, University of London, UK.

x Contributors Ronki Ram is currently a Fellow, Dean (Arts Faculty) and Shaheed Bhagat Singh Chair Professor of Political Science at Panjab University, Chandigarh, India. Anjali Gera Roy is a Professor in the Department of Humanities of Social Sciences at the Indian Institute of Technology, Kharagpur, India Gurharpal Singh is a Professor of Sikh and Punjab Studies at SOAS, University of London. Jasjit Singh is an Associate Professor in the School of Philosophy, Religion and the History of Science at the University of Leeds, UK. Nikky Guninder Kaur Singh is the Crawford Family Professor and Chair of the Department of Religious Studies at Colby College, Maine, USA. Pashaura Singh is a Distinguished Professor and Dr. J.S. Saini Chair in Sikh and Punjabi Studies at the University of California, Riverside, USA. Opinderjit Kaur Takhar MBE is the Director of the Centre for Sikh and Panjabi Studies at the University of Wolverhampton, and an Associate Professor of Sikh Studies at the University of Wolverhampton. She is also the President of the Subject Association Theology and Religious Studies UK (TRS-UK). Shinder S. Thandi teaches courses in Global Economy and Global Diasporas at the University of California, Santa Barbara, USA. He previously taught at Coventry University, UK. He is also the founder-editor of the Journal of Sikh and Punjab Studies.

Sikhi/sm, Sikhs and Sikh Studies Contextualizing Diversity of Histories, Practices and Identities Doris R. Jakobsh and Opinderjit Kaur Takhar

This edited volume, as its title suggests explores the diversity of beliefs and practices amongst Sikhs from both a historical as well as contemporary perspective through the lens of the “lived religion/lived Sikhi/sm)” paradigm. This approach is not confined to a textbook version of Sikhs and their religion, but rather contextualizes the global community of Sikhs (the Panth) as one that is diverse in its beliefs and practices. Therefore, the Panth at regional, national and global levels is not a homogenous community but one that has a number of sectarian groups and characteristics, specific to particular regions, similar to other major world religions. Of these traditions, Sikhs constitute the fifth largest following worldwide (Takhar 2005). The essays in this volume are presented under three main sections; each highlights the richness of Sikh history, practice, and beliefs that constitutes the global Panth. The three sections focus on (1) Histories; (2) Lived Religion/Lived Sikhi/sm and (3) Identities. Collectively, the contributors bring a broad, holistic approach to the study of the twenty-first-­ century global Sikh Panth. The seeds for this volume were sown at the three-day Inaugural Conference of the Centre for Sikh and Panjabi Studies (based at the University of Wolverhampton) in September 2019. Outside of India, there are a total of eight Sikh Studies Chairs in Canada and the USA, all of these are philanthropically endowed Chairs from Sikh donors. The UK currently has no Chairs funded by the community, and a proposed Guru Nanak Sikh Studies Chair at the University of Birmingham, with funding from the Government of India, remains unfilled at the time of writing this volume. The University of Wolverhampton, also in the UK is the only Western University to have set up and funded a Centre for Sikh and Panjabi Studies. The editors of this volume are both female scholars of Sikh Studies from the UK and Canada. The many conversations between the editors, some of which are voiced here in the introductory section contextualize the insider/outsider debate within the academic discipline of Sikh Studies, but also academic differences within their respective regions. One of the editors identifies herself as Sikh (the “insider”), and the other as a Christian (the

DOI: 10.4324/9781003281849-1

1

2  Doris R. Jakobsh and Opinderjit Kaur Takhar “outsider”). This positioning has in itself been an interesting journey in how we edited this volume and how we have reflected on our own approach to Sikh Studies. For example, one of us has a preference to use the term “Sikhi” as a means towards de-colonizing the Sikh tradition, whereas the other has a preference for the term “Sikhism” or “Sikhisms,” given the range of diversity in the wider spectrum of Sikh traditions (see Jakobsh 2022). In the UK, there is increasing preference to refer to the Sikh religion as a way of life in which case the framing of the Sikh way of life through the term Sikhi is seen as more inappropriate. In Canada and USA however, the term Sikhism appears to be used at a popular level by Sikhs themselves as well as best reflecting the study of Sikhs within the North American academy. Such discussions become ever more complex when “Sikh Studies” is contextualized, largely from within “western” university settings, especially departments of Religious Studies. The majority of textbooks focusing on the world religions paradigm utilize the term “Sikhism” when the religion of the Sikhs is examined. Indeed, even within the Indian context, books in English refer to “Sikhism” as the religion of the Sikhs, for instance, the famed historian Harbans Singh’s Encyclopaedia of Sikhism (1996). Interestingly, a number of the contributors who identify as Sikh have tended to use Sikhism rather than Sikhi, whereas others (both insiders and outsiders) have preferred the latter term. As editors, we have therefore felt that it is up to the contributing authors as to their choice of terms when exercising their academic freedom. Reflexivity and positionality are therefore key considerations when exploring the debates and issues at hand, as well as pitfalls around the insider/outsider debate in academia (Warner 2014). Takhar’s experiences as a Sikh, researching her own Sikh community, has necessitated the bracketing out of the attitudes towards caste for example, that she has grown up with but is now challenging through her work (see Takhar 2005, 2014). Jakobsh’s experiences as an outsider and scholar of Sikh Studies, while otherwise well received within the academy, was once marked by a degree of animosity from a small but vocal group of Sikhs who targeted her as both a disciple of the pioneer of Sikh Studies, W. H. McLeod, as well as taking issue with her research into the construction of gender in Sikh history. Similar to other Sikh Studies scholars thus targeted, this has subsided with time. Much of the public sphere of global Sikh engagement presents a dichotomy of defining a “true” Sikh in the light of largely hegemonic definitions of the term “religion” and as a consequence of the historiography of the development of Sikh identity. These issues become increasingly important, and even problematic, in addressing notions of Sikh “praxis,” especially if understood from the perspective of lived religion, “the way religion is lived” (Ammerman 2016) or the embeddedness of religion in everyday life (Edgell 2012). Arvind Mandair’s post-colonial critique maintains that western notions of clearcut, even rigid religious boundaries have in turn added to the

Sikhi/sm, Sikhs and Sikh Studies  3 problematic use of western definitions of the term “religion” when applied to the Sikhs and their tradition, pointing out that: [t]here is now overwhelming evidence to show that this process of making’, that is the transformation of an action-oriented ‘religion-­ Sikhi into a rigid object Sikhism, occurred during the colonial period through a process of inter-cultural mimesis between Sikh and European scholars disguised as natural translation. (Mandair 2013: 6)

Histories: Authority, Texts and Politics There is much debate around ultimate authority for and within the Panth. Most Sikhs would agree that in terms of textual authority, the Guru Granth Sahib takes central position. However, in terms of temporal and political matters, not all Sikhs are agreed as to which body, organization or individual is turned to for guidance. One of the key principles amongst Sikhs is that of miri piri, which translates as the Guru having both secular/political and spiritual authority. The diversity in acknowledging who has authority in and for the Panth is further complicated through the many sects and groups we find in the Panth (Kalsi 1992; Takhar 2005). The following of particular Sants, Babas and Gurus (as in the case of the Namdharis) bring with them their own authoritative figures, tenets and practices, which are not accepted by all Sikhs alike. Furthermore, the label of heretics has been applied by the more conservative Sikhs to a number of these sects and groups (McLeod 2000). Although the Shiromani Gurdwara Parbandhak Committee (SGPC) has responsibility for gurdwaras in Panjab, Kalra has clearly articulated that in terms of “dominant and pervasive forces in Sikh politics” it is the SGPC and the political party the Shiromani Akali Dal (SAD) are the “two dominant institutions of Sikh contemporary politics…” (2014: 263) Harmandir Sahib, which is also referred to as the Golden Temple, represents spiritual authority and the Akal Takht, housed in the same complex represents political/temporal authority. On the practical level, this demonstrates the importance of the inseparable relationship between spiritual (piri) and political/temporal (miri) authority within the Panth. The first part of this volume begins with Harjot Oberoi’s setting the scene for Sikh Studies in Canada, the USA and England. Sikh Studies is a relatively young discipline within academia outside of India, at the most spanning to around 40 years old. This brings with it its own challenges in relation to the tensions between academic and confessional approaches to a study of Sikhi/sm and the Sikhs. Oberoi addresses the animosity that scholars, particularly historians of Sikhs Studies, have faced from within the Sikh community. He asks why there is “such strong antipathy towards disciplinary history?” whilst also making it clear that such antipathy is not restricted to Sikh Studies alone. In relation to the tug between confessional

4  Doris R. Jakobsh and Opinderjit Kaur Takhar and academic approaches to Sikh Studies, Pashaura Singh and Lou Fenech, in their seminal Oxford Handbook of Sikh Studies have noted that: The volume of the vitriolic attacks this scholarship engendered, both in India and abroad, cautioned and silenced many academic Sikh voices forcing them to follow more established and well-known interpretations of Sikh history and tradition in their research and writing. Scholars who failed to fall in line with generally accepted wisdom, especially those academics who were also practising Sikhs, often found themselves picketed and placarded at their place of work or at academic conferences … by Sikh groups, groups many of whose members were motivated in part by selfless aims such as ‘protecting Sikhism’ to be sure, but some of whose leaders may have been encouraged by less altruistic goals, a dichotomy that gradually develops between movements and their leaders that is relatively common worldwide. (2014: 9) Oberoi’s analysis in this volume explores the critically analytic approach towards research and academic publications in the field of Sikh Studies and how this has resorted in targeting of such scholars by the more conservative and traditionalist Sikhs in the Panth. In many ways, this echoes the succinctly presented arguments by J.S. Grewal in his Contesting Interpretations of the Sikh Tradition (1998) in which he explores the criticism and animosity towards the research of Sikh Studies scholars, calling for a “more fruitful dialogue in Sikh studies” (1998: 18). Grewal highlights how Sikh critics of Sikh Studies scholars are responsible for creating paranoia towards scholarly analyses of the Sikh textual (and scriptural) tradition in particular; these scholars have often been labelled as anti-Sikh or aligned to anti-Sikh forces, often identified as the Government of India. This paranoia most certainly continues into present day tussles between the Sikh critics of scholars and Sikh Studies scholars, such as the label of anti-Sikh/anti Panthic being used in attempts to tarnish the names and research of Sikh Studies scholars. Historian Harjot Oberoi is keenly aware of the virulence of these clashes. He is thus in an excellent position to focus, in this present volume, on the discipline of historical Sikh Studies, which when accepted uncritically ignores the historiography of the Sikh faith especially during the Tat Khalsa period of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. In the first part of his essay, Oberoi focuses on the works of Karam Singh, whom he refers to as the “first Modern Sikh historian.” The Tat Khalsa was formed after its break away from the Singh Sabha (Barrier 1998), where the former emphasized the Khalsa identity as synonymous with Sikh identity, which has in turn often promoted the notion that it is only the amritdhari (initiated) Sikh who can be regarded as “proper” and truly representative of Sikh identity and concerns. In this context, the term “orthodox Sikh” has come to be used unreservedly by Sikhs. Its problematic usage when

Sikhi/sm, Sikhs and Sikh Studies  5 referring to Sikhs is two-fold. First, the term has long been associated with orthodox Jews and is therefore an appropriation of the term. Second, as Takhar (2005) argues, Guru Nanak’s emphasis through his concept of Oneness and egalitarianism gives weight to the argument that labels such as orthodox, liberal, and so forth have no relevance in the teachings of the Gurus. All human beings are equal, which strictly speaking nullifies the concept of priesthood (and conversely laity) in the Panth. Regardless however, the terms Giani and Granthi have been, and continue to be, misleadingly translated as “priests” by Sikhs. The academic debate around authority within the global Panth is continued with Pashaura Singh’s contribution in this volume with his exploration of the challenges around the construction of authority within the Panth. He argues that authority is fundamental to the teachings of Guru Nanak and the succeeding Gurus. Furthermore, as Pashaura Singh highlights, sectarian diversity in the Panth poses its own challenges in terms of authority in terms of differing interpretations around the very notion of where authority lies. Although the global Panth has many bodies and organizations claiming to represent the Panth as a whole, the situation is not so clear cut in terms of a collective voice for Sikhs across the world. Adding to this complexity are the different Maryadas “codes of conduct” for the various sects and groups within the Panth (Takhar 2005; Singh, Jasjit 2014), many of which are constructed around caste identity. One’s caste identity further adds to the complexity of attempting to homogenize Sikh identity in linear terms, thus refuting claims that Sikhs reject caste distinctions (Takhar 2005; Ram 2008; Sato 2012). These or similar heated issues have been raised throughout various times during the development of the Sikh tradition and they continue into the twenty-first century. Thus, diversity and a search for what constitutes Sikh identity within the Panth is a reality just as much a contemporary issue as it was in the fifteenth century (Takhar 2005). Pashaura Singh in this volume addresses modern and postmodern notions of authority in relation to its pre-modern counterpart. Authority as both divine Guru and temporal master would have undoubtedly inspired the contemporaries of Guru Gobind Singh. The third essay in the Histories section of this volume is that by Lou Fenech who focuses on textual histories relating to the creation of the Khalsa. Fenech argues that a shift of focus is required when exploring the post-Guru Gobind Singh period. Highlighting and expanding on the work of Purnima Dhavan (2011), Fenech puts forward the point that the evolution of the term “Khalsa” was an evolution of the designation for those Sikhs who had a direct relationship with Guru Gobind Singh. Anne Murphy (2007) supports this notion, arguing that poetic accounts were purposefully written to enforce the Panth’s relationship with Guru Gobind Singh and the collective Khalsa in the early eighteenth century. Fenech is also clear in his assertion that despite the prominence and authority of Guru Gobind Singh amongst the Panth, Sikhs would have undoubtedly been aware of the fact that the

6  Doris R. Jakobsh and Opinderjit Kaur Takhar Mughal dynasty were the rulers of India at the time. Narratives focussing on sovereignty during this period, therefore encompass a number of perspectives as highlighted by Fenech through his contribution to this volume. The authority and content of the Guru Granth Sahib in the writings of western women is a topic that has been discussed by Eleanor Nesbitt in this volume. Nesbitt draws attention to the writings of Dorothy Field in Ganda Singh’s special issue of the journal Panjab Past and Present, produced to mark the 500th Gurpurab (birth anniversary) of Guru Nanak in 1469 (Singh 1969). For Field, and other western women observers, the Guru Granth Sahib was witnessed as supreme and spectacular in terms of the royal attention afforded “the book” through visits to the gurdwara and at weddings that these women had been invited to attend. Nesbitt makes it clear that, for many of these women, there was no knowledge about the embodiment of the Guru Granth Sahib as the living Guru for Sikhs, they simply did not have the understanding that the Guru Granth Sahib, for Sikhs, was anything more than a scriptural text. However, later writers such as J. K. Rowling, when using Sikh characters in their storylines, are seemingly more aware of the status of a living Guru that Sikhs attribute to the Guru Granth Sahib. Nesbitt takes us back to the writings of earlier western women such as Emily Eden whose nephew William Osborne witnesses the royal authority of the Guru Granth Sahib in the darbar (court) of Maharaj Ranjit Singh. Nesbitt’s discussion goes on to portray how the practices of the Sikhs were interpreted through the Christian lenses of western women; some accounts viewed the reverence towards the Guru Granth Sahib as idolatrous. Dorothy Field and Annie Besant were two, of very few western women, who, albeit in English translation, explored the actual content of the Guru Granth Sahib. Social media and other forms of media, as Verne Juergensmeyer highlights, have the power to unite the “transnational consciousness of Sikhs across the world” (2014: 391). Issues of representation are of vital importance as Sikhs become increasingly settled and active within their diasporic locales. The popularity and increase of the number of Sikh media channels which broadcast to Sikhs across the world are testimony to how events in the Panjab very much dominate Sikh media. The ancestral home of the majority of Sikhs remains that of the Panjab, therefore, events taking place in the Panjab have long been at the core of Sikh activism and advocacy in the diaspora. The opening of the Kartarpur corridor (which connects historical Gurdwaras associated with Guru Nanak in Indian Panjab with Gurdwara Sahib Kartarpur in Pakistan) to mark the 550th Gurpurab of Guru Nanak was one such example of how media became the main vehicle through which the Panth’s sentiments and emotions are linked with sites associated with Sikh history in Lehnda Panjab, now in Pakistan as a result of the Partition of India in 1947 (Brass 2010). Gurharpal Singh’s framing of historical and political discourses around the opening of the Kartarpur corridor, in this volume, explores the historical and religious background to the opening of

Sikhi/sm, Sikhs and Sikh Studies  7 the corridor amidst the tensions that have existed, and a number of times, accelerated, into a number of wars between the two nuclear-­armed rivals, Pakistan and India. The opening of the corridor was covered extensively by all Sikh media channels, which leads Gurharpal Singh to analyse its implications for the global Panth. As Singh highlights, both India and Pakistan exercise control over Sikh sacred shrines, since the Partition of India in 1947 resulted in key Sikh historical shrines being situated in the newly created Pakistan.

Lived Religion/Lived Sikhi(sm/s): Practices, Rituals and Expression Deeply held sui generis definitions of religion having a “trans-historical essence” (Asad 1993: 29) as well as clearly defined notions of the sacred and the profane have largely constituted the cornerstones of studies in religious spheres, in other words, “pre-defined understanding[s] of religion as a starting point of analysis” (Knibble and Kupari 2020: 159). The dominant approaches to the study of religion – the disciplines of history, sociology, philosophy and theology – have generally been bounded by scripture, historical texts and the official and expressed beliefs and approved practices of institutional religion. It is thus that spokespersons of religions based on their “elitist preserves of the written text” (Frazier 2010: 1) are well-­positioned to offer clear distinctions between the sacred and the profane as well as define morality – in other words – how people should live. The “textual fixation” (ibid.) continues to be central to the academic study of religion, even when scholars produce textually based findings that are somewhat different or even conflicting with those of institutional religion. Moving beyond this impasse means questioning the process of giving “pride of place to words” (Desjardins 2004: 153) within the study of religion. And indeed, we are witnessing a growing body of work that is critiquing universal definitions as remnants of the Protestant reformation’s legacy (Orsi 2016) as well as having colonial and nationalist undertones (Asad 1993). Meredith B. McGuire in her hugely influential volume Lived Religion. Faith and Practice in Everyday Life, instead addresses “the sacred within the profane” (McGuire 2008: 220–221, italics editors) in calling for a more complex and dynamic approach to the narrow conceptual boundaries that have been associated with the study of religion. A lived religion approach is based instead on the notion that “religion is the handiwork of people” (Kupari 2020: 213), that it is ongoing “cultural work” (Orsi 2003: 217) and that its value lies in “distinguishing the actual experience of religious persons from the prescribed religion of institutionally defined beliefs and practices” (McGuire 2008: 12). The founding scholars of the lived religious approach (Hall 1997; Orsi 1997, 2003; Ammerman 2007; McGuire 2008) challenge those of us who study religion to move beyond narrowly defined assumptions and turn our attention to religious

8  Doris R. Jakobsh and Opinderjit Kaur Takhar identities, embodied expressions, materiality, affiliations, and practices of religious individuals. This approach includes what David Morgan defines as material religion or culture, “all aspects of religion that pertain to bodies, objects, places, and artifacts of any kind” (Morgan 2019). This means that scholars must pay attention to actions and patterns that may not have counted as “religious” according to traditional definitional standards. Enlarging spaces of religious inquiry allows for an opening to “ever-changing, multi-faceted, often messy – even contradictory – amalgam of beliefs,” as opposed to “tidy, consistent, and theologically correct packages” (McGuire 2008: 4, 17). We are reminded that the study of religion can and must move beyond traditional authority structures to include attitudes and practices of lay people, “actors in their own right” (Hall 1997: viii–ix), whether they reside within religious institutions or outside of traditional religion. While traditional approaches continue to be vital modes of inquiry, it is important to include “a questioning of boundaries, a sympathy for the extra-­ecclesial” (ibid.) in coming to a more widely nuanced understanding of what is religious. In summary, a lived religion approach, or “everyday religion” is best understood as “embodied and enacted forms of spirituality that occur in everyday life” (Ammerman 2014: 189), that embraces those activities, performances, narratives and texts, or even “invisible” aspects of religion (Luckmann 1967), and that have often been considered inherently meaningless or simply too trivial to merit attention within the study of religion. This is clearly the case, according to Nicola Mooney who opens the second section of this volume with regard to the Sikh tradition of langar. Scholarly writings “dedicated to this important and evolving tradition are scarce: in the growing literature of Sikh studies, langar is frequently but only fleetingly mentioned” (Mooney, this volume). What is particularly intriguing about the paucity of religious scholars’ focus on langar is how central langar is within non-academic, popular realms. Namely, it is to langar, often publicized as “free food in Sikh gurdwaras” that both Sikhs and non-Sikhs point to when Sikh traditions are discussed. Indeed, as Mooney notes langar is “one of the most recognizable and frequent of Sikh rituals” (this volume). As some have posited, religion as popularly understood is not primarily about teachings or tenets, “rather, it is about lived community. And lived community is rooted in food” (Desjardins 2004: 157). Yet food and food practices have historically been perceived as mundane, generally tied to domestic spheres, and thus viewed as unworthy of scholarly inquiry (Bailey 2017). Priya Krishna’s (2020) feature article “How to Feed Crowds in a Protest or Pandemic? The Sikhs Know” in The New York Times’ wildly popular “Food” section, is decidedly not contained in the “Religion and Belief” section of the Times and is a case in point. Foodways and their religious intersections, laments Corrie Norman in the influential Oxford Handbook of Food History, indeed, practice-oriented aspects of religiosity not focused on the analytical and abstract “meaning-making process” (Norman 2012: 411) are generally left to anthropologists and sociologists

Sikhi/sm, Sikhs and Sikh Studies  9 as opposed to specialists in religion. Perhaps it is natural that Mooney, a trained anthropologist and squarely situated within Sikh Studies, is giving this central Sikh practice its due. Lived traditions, also identified as vernacular beliefs and practices, including foodways, often translate the very ethos of a community and it is through “microstudies of a culture” (Dallam 2014: xxiv) that the most deeply held beliefs and history of the people can be understood. In her chapter, Mooney offers one such microstudy to contextualize and problematize langar practices today. Moving beyond popularized and widely touted egalitarian slogans, Mooney examines “thicker” descriptions (Geertz 1973) and moments in langar’s history, both in India and Canada. For instance, she examines an incident in a Canadian gurdwara where skirmishes between factions erupted vis-à-vis langar practices. The issue revolved around whether langar might be eaten at tables and chairs, as opposed to the traditional langar practice of commensality of sitting on the ground. Factions “deeply invested in the spoils of gurdwara politics” led to a widely publicized media debacle that necessitated the Royal Canadian Mountain Police intervening as violence ensued, with “kirpans and other ceremonial weaponry, as well as utensils from the langar were drawn and brandished” (Mooney, this volume). Mooney contends that a discussion of Sikh langar must include more nuanced perspectives, including notions of “tradition,” “modernity,” “migration” and “religious authority” within the Sikh communities in Canada, clearly resulting in greater complexity than popular catchphrases such as “free food” and “egalitarianism” vis-à-vis langar practices. Mooney also examines an increasing trend of langar commodification in the form of catered langar, one that is both modern and transnational. One consequence of performative, conspicuous catered langars is that not only can wealthy sponsors afford to offer more extravagant langar, and more often, but the relative cost of langar is much greater, and thus prohibitive, for poorer sponsors. Once commodified, it thus would seem to become especially challenging for langar to express the ethical tenets of Sikhism. (ibid.) Here, religion’s intersection with economics, production, consumption, status, inclusion and exclusion alongside notions of equality and inequality, must be taken into account when looking to highly complex and somewhat paradoxical’ sites of ritual and “lived” practices as well as communal identities. Navtej Purewal and Virinder Kalra also call for greater complexity in understanding lived Sikh practices, but firmly situate those practices within the most venerated site of Sikh religiosity, the Harmandir Sahib or Golden Temple, in their chapter, “Adaptation and Incorporation in Ritual Practices

10  Doris R. Jakobsh and Opinderjit Kaur Takhar at the Golden Temple, Amritsar.” They describe and analyse popular practices and contemporary expressions of devotion noting that there “is a gap in studies of popular practices at Sikh spiritual sites due to two debates which have directed the lens of scholarship towards textual and historical evidence, eclipsing any focus upon popular and contemporary expressions of devotion” (Purewal and Kalra, this volume). Indeed, arguments surrounding popular religion, forms of belief and performance that do not “enjoy the privileged status that a ruling elite commands” (Morgan 2014: 9) have a well-established history within Sikh Studies, particularly since the publication of Harjot Oberoi’s seminal volume The Construction of Religious Boundaries (1994). Oberoi offered a historical reinterpretation of Sikhs, society, and religion in Panjab, with a particular focus on competing ritual, identity and boundary construction of the Sikh tradition in the nineteenth century. If we turn to the first lines of his volume: It is all very well for historians of religion to think, speak and write about Islam, Hinduism and Sikhism, but they rarely pause to consider if such clear-cut categories actually found expression in the consciousness, actions and cultural performances of the human actors they describe … I was constantly struck by the brittleness of our textbook classifications. There simply wasn’t any one-to-one correspondence between the categories that were supposed to govern social and religious behaviour on the one hand, and the way people actually experienced their everyday lives on the other. (Oberoi 1994: 1–2) David Morgan concurs, insisting that popular religion must be distinguished from “rival conceptions of religion,” the rivals being “the official, usually hegemonic religion of the state or temple; the religion of the colonizer, missionary or imperial occupier; and the intellectual religion of literati, most influentially informing scholarly approaches to the study of religion” (Morgan 2018: 9). Purewal and Kalra make the case, however, that a more helpful approach to that of rivalry is to examine instead the extent that negotiation between orthopraxy and heteropraxy is taking place, for alongside formal, regulated rituals of worship and obeisance, there is also a continuing popular practice constituted by a multifariousness of seekers of devotion. Folklore, devotional votive, and village religion, thus, are not necessarily in conflict with Sikh identity, but exist in tandem, though sometimes on contested terms’. (Purewal and Kalra, this volume, italics editors) Notions of agency, whether individual or collective, often pose a challenge as to what is considered valid devotional performance or correct religious

Sikhi/sm, Sikhs and Sikh Studies  11 definitions. For “other components of human experience [also] influence the boundaries of religions” (Ramey 2007: 7, italics editors). A recent study on the folk religious practice of jathera (ancestor worship) in its form unique to Panjab and widely practiced by Sikhs (as well as by other traditions) is a case in point. Importantly, jathera is clearly prohibited by Sikh institutional authority. Kamalpreet Gill describes one such jathera and the extent that its creators insist on its ties to Sikh devotional practices: The Jathera spread over five acres and is built to resemble a Sikh gurdwara. The shrine’s self-identification as belonging to a Sikh devotional landscape is highlighted at the entryway itself by the presence of two Sikh Khanda symbols painted on either side of the archway … The presence of these Sikh Khanda symbols is significant as the jathera as a site and as a devotional practice faces proscription from Sikhism … This tactic is deployed … in order to both declare its presence within the Sikh devotional universe, as well as to communicate sacrality through coded symbols to its audience … The jathera’s engagement with Sikh tradition takes the form of a three-step dialectical dance of convergence, divergence, and eventual strained co-existence leading to what I described as ‘simultaneously inhabiting multiple devotional universes’. (Gill 2021: 314, 317) The ubiquitousness of the practice highlights the multifariousness of religious identities as well as the extensive negotiations necessary for popular Sikh devotional practices such as jathera to co-exist with hegemonic traditions. The devotional universe described by Purewal and Kalra, on the other hand, is that of the Harmandir complex, the centre of the Sikh sacred universe. It offers a unique backdrop to both contestation and negotiation in terms of potentially transgressive though widely practiced popular religion and piety, which, from a purely negative interpretation, have long been depicted as “hopelessly irrational” (Brandes 1990: 186). These include deeply held beliefs of the curative power of the waters surrounding the Golden Temple as well as the restorative qualities of specific trees within the complex, particularly Berh trees.1 Historically, as Purewal and Kalra note, votives were tied on their branches, their leaves were gathered as sacred and healing. Then as now, Sikhs immerse themselves into the sacred pool for its remedial powers. However, in the 1990s, as well as today, these worshippers are blocked from direct contact with the trees and any acts of devotion are overseen by a paid employee of the Golden Temple, effectively bringing these sacred spaces under the purview of officialdom. Purewal and Kalra note that with the additional installation of the Ad Granth (Sikh sacred scripture) alongside the Berh, as well as the tree’s “re-narrativisation into a Guru-centred history,” a “two-way process of institutionalisation and regulation of rituals’” (this volume) has been put in place, despite the fact

12  Doris R. Jakobsh and Opinderjit Kaur Takhar that these rites that in earlier forms were clearly rejected as unsuitable by the authorities. According to the authors, evolutionary processes are taking place within the institution of the Golden Temple through incorporation and adaptation of devotional acts. Kalra and Purewal also add a levelled and gendered gaze toward points of disputation revolving around the performance of kirtan (devotional singing) at the Golden Temple. Contention surrounds the performance of kirtan’s classical form in terms of “rules of raag and taal as specified in the Guru Granth Sahib” or more popular renditions as “shabads [hymns] for the public sung in pleasant, accessible tunes” (Purewal and Kalra, this volume. See also Kalra 2015). While these debates are taking place, much of it within scholarly realms, the authors note that a gender-based struggle, namely that of Istri Satsang, women-only kirtan groups that take place in women-only Sikh spaces, have largely been overlooked. Most particularly they point to these kirtan groups being excluded from the carefully regulated and gendered-gates-of-admission into the Golden Temple. While women’s kirtan groups, largely diasporic, have not only endured, they have also become professionalized. Yet, they remain a prime example of the extra-­ecclesiastical (Williams 1989) – at least with regard to the male-only ritual performance of kirtan – taking place within the Harmandir Sahib, the ultimate authority structure of Sikhism. There, as music becomes more sacred and pure, so women as music makers become more rare … Both the morning and evening rituals and the performance of kirtan within the Harimandir are central boundary-markers of a masculinist Sikh identity. (Purewal and Kalra, this volume) What the chapter underscores is that popular pious performances, whether adoration of trees, water or even when taking the form of gendered musical practices (even when rejected within the Golden Temple) is the complex continuation of multiplicity, heterogeneity and heteropraxy taking place within and outside of Sikh institutions. An important aspect of scholarly forays into lived religion that has largely been unexamined are the intersections of transnationalism, gendered migration practices and religion. The “tendency within academic transnational literature to fasten onto a particular classed and gendered body, namely the globetrotting, implicitly male entrepreneur” (Walton-Roberts and Pratt 2005: 173) here is squarely addressed in Shinder Thandi’s chapter where he explores the lived realities of diasporic Sikhs in terms of historical migration patterns and migration cultures, including caste, religious and political organizations, family life and gender dynamics. While contemporary Sikhi/sm holds the notion of egalitarianism in high regard, “Sikhs in particular have not been able to fully escape the powerful hold of patriarchy over gender and social relations” (Thandi, this volume), including caste

Sikhi/sm, Sikhs and Sikh Studies  13 discrimination. He adds that the notion of izzat (honour) “figures heavily in gendered discourses around growing number of inter-caste and inter-racial marriages [and] sexual orientation” (ibid.) of Sikhs. Panjabi Sikh marriage migration patterns are largely based on traditions of village exogamy as well as patrilocality, leading to some Sikh women’s marriages into “distant villages and into families with whom previous contact has been limited, with infrequent contact subsequently with their natal kin” (Qureshi 2016: 1218). This, as Thandi notes, often leads to women’s compromised role within their new family. He documents well-publicized examples of domestic and sexual violence faced by Panjabi women, whether in popular films such as Heaven on Earth (2008) or academic or media reports focusing on unsuccessful transnational marriages leading to bridal abuse, highly touted NRI marriage scams, and reports of abused Sikh women committing suicide, largely within the British context (for a Canadian perspective see Kang 2006). Nonetheless, gender relations and patriarchal practices and attitudes are “transformed and renegotiated as ideas and people move from place to place, but in indeterminate ways” (Walton-Roberts and Pratt 2005: 175). Thandi too argues that while abuses have and are occurring, the picture is far more complicated and nuanced. He offers counter-narratives to the negative patriarchal patterns, customs and experiences of Sikh Panjabi women, all widely touted within the media, but underscores instead Sikh women’s agency and empowerment, what Westwood and Bhachu identify as “a theoretically more adequate account of gendered lives” of immigrants (1988: 1). Jakobsh’s work on online gendered realms would concur. The rise of organizations founded by Sikh women in the USA, for instance, SAFAR – the Sikh Feminist Research Institute (2012) and the many online Sikh feminist forums, such as Kaurista, Kaur Life and The Kaur Project are not only providing spaces for women to express their own realities and addressing the needs of contemporary Sikh women, but they are also challenging homogeneous representations of Sikh woman (Jakobsh 2022). In the various diasporic locales that Sikh women have migrated to, argues Thandi, access to education has played a significant role in their socio-­ economic status, their opportunities and choices. These include by-products such as gender empowerment workshops taking place in Sikh student associations in colleges and universities across Canada, the UK and USA. These and others have led to significant changes in gendered power dynamics among diaspora Sikhs, including the movement “I am Kaur” that focuses on “the importance of equality within the household” (Desai 2020, italics editors’) thus making specific connection between domestic relationship patterns and religious ideals. These challenges are often, and superficially according to Thandi, identified as conflicts between “tradition and modernity and religious versus cultural identities” (this volume). Jacobsen (2018) has also argued that a search for similarities between western socio-­ cultural norms and Sikh traditions are impacting gender dynamics among Sikh diasporic youth.

14  Doris R. Jakobsh and Opinderjit Kaur Takhar In terms of increased access to education, Thandi observes that in many diasporic Sikh locales it would appear that female Sikh students are outperforming male Sikh students. “The cumulative effect of this has been to enable Sikh women to enter better paid and higher status jobs enlarging their opportunities and choices, including marital options” (Thandi, this volume; Thandi 2018; see also Bhachu 1988, 2004). Important outcomes of widening educational opportunities include transnational marriages of British-born-and-raised South Asian women, mainly Indian, largely negotiated on achievement in education levels (Dale and Almond 2011; see also Ballard 1990). Clearly, there has been an increase in the number of Sikh women entrepreneurs and a greater visibility of females within law, medicine, finance, and politics, Bardish Chaggar (Canada) and Preet Gill (UK), examples of the latter. Sikh women have also become successful within creative industries: artists Amrit and Rabindra Singh (widely known as the Singh Twins), writers, Rupi Kaur and Shauna Singh Baldwin, among others, musicians such as Hard Kaur, Gurinder Chadha, the well-known film director, and media personalities Lilly Singh and Tina Daheley. Sikh women’s entrepreneurial developments include, according to Zabeen Khamisa’s work on Sikh millennials, two Canadian fashion lines, Kundan Paaras and TrendySingh that are making a significant mark on the Canadian fashion industry (Khamisa 2020). Thandi concludes that the verdict is out whether gendered power dynamics among Sikhs in their various diasporic locales will continue to change positively with upward social mobility, increasing settlement periods and changes in segregation and assimilation patterns. This could well lead to Sikh communities moving away from what Thandi identifies as a “pendu” (village) mind-set that includes deeply gendered Panjabi norms of izzat and shame. However, he insists that “just as transnationalism and transnational practices have the power to be a modernizing and homogenizing force, they also have the power to re-enforce, re-galvanize and re-vitalize traditions” (Thandi, this volume). In the tension between change and continuity of tradition, can be added new possibilities for agency in tension with both traditional and novel sources of domination and conformity … Second and third generation settlers and even some new migrants, however, will be situated within long-standing communities operating with well established, sometimes rigid patterns of authority, customs and values in which room for cultural and social maneuver may be limited. (Knott 2016: 71) Patriarchal religio-cultural attributes have long been the guardians of traditional gender relations; patterns of social and cultural change may be resisted or accepted and affirmed in diasporic (or other) locales (Perales and Bouma 2018, see also Quero 2016).

Sikhi/sm, Sikhs and Sikh Studies  15 One of the ways traditional gender dynamics – roles in particular – are being challenged within Sikh diasporic communicates is in evidence in the activist Sikh institutions that have come to the fore post-9/11, particularly in North America. These institutions, especially those focusing on civil rights and community building have led to significant opportunities for Sikh women to “take on leadership roles and to be recognized for that work” (Luthra 2017: 4). Whether this humanitarian ethos and ethic extends to an acceptance of Sikh women leaders in gurdwaras, “and to what extent it will redress the particular forms of exclusion and subservience expected of many Sikh women and girls in family and community life” (ibid.), remains, similar to Thandi’s conclusions, still to be seen (ibid.). Nonetheless, a lived, embodied approach to religion and the practice of humanitarian ethics and actions that are “at the interstices of the routinized practices of the everyday” (Osello 2019) is the focus of Verne Dusenbery’s chapter in which he argues that Sikh humanitarian ethics and social welfare activities have led to an increase in the global visibility of Sikhs and Sikh organizations, particularly within their varied diasporic locales (see Tatla 2014 for an excellent overview of Sikh diasporas). For Dusenbery, the humanitarian ethical impulse is central to Sikh teachings and practice, history and Sikh institutions, “particularly the Sikh ideal of sevā (selfless service) and the Sikh value of vand chhako (sharing what one has with those in need) as a basis for undertaking activities on behalf of sarbat da bhala (the welfare of all)” (Dusenbery, this volume). He points to historical and contemporary heroes and heroines of seva such as Bhai Kanhaiya (1648–1718), Bhagat Puran Singh (1904–1992) and more recently, Bibi Balwant Kaur Soor (1915–2009) whose seva earned her a Member of the British Empire (MBE) award in 2000 for her international charitable service as examples of a Sikh humanitarian ethic. Moreover, the institution of Gurū kā Langar (the Guru’s kitchen) open to all, is a central aspect of every Sikh gurdwara, an arena in which the “humanitarian dimension of Sikh service and giving are most clearly brought into focus” (Dusenbery, this volume). Clearly, gurdwaras have long been the institutional hubs for mobilizing Sikh service and giving, both locally and collectively. Sikh philanthropic and humanitarian diasporic activity in the post-1947 period was largely “Panjab-centric and focused on Sikh-related causes” (Dusenbery, this volume). During the 1980s, humanitarian causes tended toward the aftermath of the 1980s political violence in Panjab, including aid and service to Sikh refugees, widows and children. This was not of course unique to Panjabi Sikhs; diasporas, according to Werbner, have tended to be “implicated both ideologically and materially in the nationalist projects of their homelands” (Werbner 2002: 120). There was a shift, however, from the late 1990s and 2000s when wealthy Sikh emigrants began directing investment and private philanthropy instead towards specific furthering ancestral village development projects. However, for young Sikhs having come of age within their various locales, with minimal ties to “the village”

16  Doris R. Jakobsh and Opinderjit Kaur Takhar in Panjab, philanthropic and humanitarian efforts have increasingly turned to the local issues facing Sikhs in the diaspora and “more cosmopolitan forms and channels of Sikh social welfare and humanitarian activism focused on systemic injustices (human rights abuses, economic inequality, environmental degradation, political corruption, racial/religious/caste/gender discrimination)” (Dusenbery this volume, see also Jasjit Singh 2020) beyond Panjab and even Sikhs. These are religiously motivated activist projects bound by a shared religious identity that allows for a forum within which Sikhs and others who are strangers can work together with relative ease and with common resolve (see Smith 1996). As Sangeeta Luthra’s recent work contends, these practices are deeply inspired by traditional Sikh approaches: [C]ontemporary Sikh activists in the US and in the global Sikh community tend to support a cosmopolitan or globalist vision, which they believe was also Guru Nanak’s perspective … [the] current generation of Sikh American activists, a mix of millennials and Generation Z, often express their faith and identity first and foremost through ethical practice’. (Luthra 2021: 1–3) These include groups such as Khalsa Aid International (www.khalsaaid. org) that have been lauded for their work during the Syrian crisis, Seva Food Bank in Canada and in the USA, Khalsa Food Pantry among others. Clearly, diasporas are not defined by a singular centred focus; they are social formations that recognize and foster multiple concerns within a wide amalgam of spaces (Goldschmidt 2000). Moreover “the imagination of diaspora” can be understood as having a “compelling sense of moral co-­responsibility embodied in material performance which is extended … across and beyond national boundaries” (Werbner 2002: 129–131). Through such performances, particularly in their varied diasporic locales and contexts, Sikhs are both interpreting and re-interpreting Sikh identity/ ies (see Townsend 2013). Dusenbery here, through the lens of humanitarian action and ethical stands being taken by Sikhs against systematic injustices, both locally and globally, highlights new dimensions of Sikh religious identity and practice in the twenty-first century. In other words, Sikhs in their various diasporic locales and within novel and varied international contexts are negotiating their own spaces and places “between multiple religio-cultural territories” (Townsend 2013: 186). And, Sikh humanitarian activity is making its mark, worldwide. Dusenbery concludes his chapter with a recent headline in The Guardian on United Sikhs humanitarian responses to recent environmental disasters and the novel coronavirus pandemic in Australia: “If you want anything done, get the Sikhs” (Thandi, this volume). To come to a more nuanced understanding of this process of contemporary Sikh

Sikhi/sm, Sikhs and Sikh Studies  17 religio-cultural identity construction, the scholarly study of Sikhism can in turn, or must, be reimagined and reinvigorated through a change in focus, from the text to that of practice – in its multitude of forms – through a more complex understanding of what constitutes religion. One of the most significant developments in this regard, including lived religion approaches, has been an increasing awareness of the multiple ways in which art and aesthetics intersect with and have influenced the “geography of religion” (Brown 2014: 1) over time. Accordingly, religion has taken a “visual turn” (Frazier 2014: 350). This has opened the study of religion to new voices and more diverse approaches than those traditionally offered by words alone. It also allows for more complex, embodied engagements with a greater panorama encompassing religious studies. For religion happens materially no less than textually or through humanitarian activity. In fact, belief is a complex phenomenon that usually happens in intermingled ways. Beyond affirmation, belief is something believers do. Writing about Hinduism and the arts, Frazier adds that From dance to sculpture, song to architecture, craftwork to poem, myth, or sacred history, the arts present a range of cultural artefacts in which ever-fresh provinces of the imagination are laid bare before the eye of the scholar. Yet these arts present various problems; they require new hermeneutic sensitivity, while stirring hornets’ nests of tense debate about the boundary between the ‘safe’ secular arts and their politically loaded religious equivalents’. (ibid.) It is precisely to the “stirring of hornets” nests’ of boundaries defining those who represent the secular arts and those of religious arts, but also bringing in a decidedly feminist and gendered perspective that Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh adroitly addresses in her intriguingly entitled, “Punj Pyarian. Artistic Expressions of Sikh Existentiality.” The contested and highly gendered institution of punj piare (five beloved) is essential for most Sikh ritual activity to take place. As representatives of the “body of the Khalsa,” they are the “embodiment of its ideals, namely, equality, brotherhood and devotion” and their “presence represents a holy congregation” (Jhutti-Johal 2011: 49). The traditional reason given for barring women from this role is because the original panj who answered Guru Gobind Singh’s call to sacrifice during the inauguration of the Khalsa were male. Women did not represent ‘the body of the Guru,’ they were not called ‘Singhs,’ they were not weapon-bearers and they did not wear turbans. The developing Khalsa was in a process of ‘gendering’ in that distinctions, symbols and images were put in place to reinforce divisions between males and female. (Jakobsh 2015a: 127)

18  Doris R. Jakobsh and Opinderjit Kaur Takhar While some changes in ritual leadership activity are beginning to take place, women continue to be far from equal in Sikh institutions. Indeed, according to Jhutti-Johal, except for some fringe groups within the wider Sikh universe, 3HO Sikhs for example, women are excluded from this institution (Jhutti-Johal 2010, 2011; see also Jakobsh 2008). Nikky Singh has long both critiqued and questioned this overt rejection of the feminine within all aspects of Sikh ritual, for, “Sikhism has no priesthood, and nowhere in the scripture are men delegated to be the sole custodians of their sacred text and leaders in worship, and yet women are tacitly discouraged from conducting public ceremonies” (Nikky Singh 2014: 620; see also Jakobsh and Nesbitt 2010). It is thus with some tenacity that Singh turns the traditional equation of male-only “beloveds” on its head, insisting that with the sentiments of the first guru of the Sikhs who proclaimed that “in the body dwells the divine Name” (GGS: 1026) as well as with the creation of the Khalsa by the tenth guru, there is a clear “sensuous-spiritual plenitude at the foundations of the Sikh religion” (Singh, this volume). The inauguration of the Khalsa, according to Singh, is in essence is a celebration of body, spirit and bana – the external items of identity known as the 5 Ks. However, an “ongoing fear and anxiety about palpable flesh and blood dominates the psyche of both Sikh men and women and hinders them from savoring the jouissance delivered by their Gurus in their daily life” (ibid.). Singh then turns to five twentieth-century female artists to make a case in point; these “punj” “unabashedly express the power of the physical body,” thus reinforcing the “integral unity of the corporeal and the transcendent, and project Sikh foundational transformative and liberatory currents in new and wholesome ways” (Singh, this volume). These profound examples of material forms of religion and embodied practices must be highlighted, according to Singh, even if, or perhaps especially because a good number of these artists and their work have seldom counted as representing the central tenets, ethics and theological worldviews of Sikhism. But as Jakobsh has noted, Sikh women have long utilized alternate forms of spiritual devotion and visual bodily practices, beyond those prescribed by text and creed (Jakobsh 2015). The beloved five here highlighted, Amrita Sher-Gil, Arpita Singh, Arpana Caur along with Amrit and Rabindra Kaur Singh, the latter widely known as the Singh Twins, “courageously question and examine the relationship between gender and society, between the personal and the political, between the local and the global” (Singh, this volume) as a “multi-sensorial Sikh existentiality comes out forcefully in each of their brushstrokes.” In their images, these “Punj Pyarian are on to shaping reality itself” (ibid.). Nikky Singh then painstakingly and brilliantly examines particular aspects of Sikh tenets and spiritual experiences that come to the fore through the painting of the Punj Pyarian, despite some of them being labelled as “irreverent”; “shockingly modern” (ibid). 2

Sikhi/sm, Sikhs and Sikh Studies  19 On Sher-Gil, Singh notes that she is both “artist and model, the muse and maker, self-desiring—not object of desire, Sher-Gil experimented with gendered tropes to explore her own bicultural, biracial, binational, bisexual identity, and her deep-seated melancholy” (Singh, this volume). Singh also ponders the deeply spiritual aesthetics of Sher Gil’s painting, The ­Musicians, of dynamic motion, emotions, and aural resonance amongst the Sikh musicians produce Sher-Gil’s “ecstasy of aesthetic emotion,” —a symbiosis of the cognitive, sensuous, and spiritual planes; they reproduce Guru Nanak’s maxim “only the relisher of fragrance knows the flower”. (GGS: 725) (Singh, this volume) Sher-Gil and the other painters represented here must be understood as more than “mere illustrations of anterior texts” (Morgan 2014: 487). For in Sher-Gil’s work, religion happens in colour and composition, “materially no less than textually” (ibid.). In Arpita Singh’s works, aptly named, Hymns of Guru Nanak, Nikky Singh muses that these “paintings highlight the compositional elements of the textual body by tellingly stitching together the multiple emotional layers evoked by each particular raga” (Singh, this volume). Through colour and form, Arpita Singh enhances the deeply emotive aspects of Guru Nanak’s textual compositions through an additional religio-aesthetic experience. Singh here is very much in line with Margaret Miles who reminds us that all painted – or other artistic medium – bodies are not only sexed, they are also gendered through socialization to highly particular assumptions and expectations and roles (Miles 2014). Beyond the religious values and ideas portrayed in Arpita Singh’s “visual translations” (Singh, this volume) of Guru Nanak’s hymns, the artist also makes fundamental the feminine and the female, similarly central, according to Nikky Singh, to the GGS as well, despite its being “often neglected or even overturned into male syntax by translators and exegetes” (Singh, this volume, see also Singh 1993). Of Arpana Caur, the third of the Punj embraced by Nikky Singh, the author examines her series Nanak: The Guru. Caur invites her audience to journey with her to Guru Nanak’s medieval Panjab and in doing so, juxtaposes the historical with the present. Through her work, Caur exposes the negative consequences that have come with our contemporary consumer society. As with Amrita Sher-Gill and Arpita Singh, Caur too “reiterates the material-transcendent nexus of the human body” (ibid). Prompted into hermeneutic reflection, Nikky Singh exclaims that through Arpana Caur’s artistic intervention “Cartesian dualisms fall flat at our feet” (ibid). Through Arpana Caur’s reflective strokes, a less male-focused version of Sikh history is brought to life. So too India’s history – celebrated for its pluralist legacy, but also censured for the violence, religion and caste-based intolerance that has come with great contestation throughout its history.

20  Doris R. Jakobsh and Opinderjit Kaur Takhar We are reminded that identity is contested terrain, the site of multiple and conflicting claims (Scott 1991). To conclude her insightful investigation of her iteration of these Punj Pyarian, Nikky Singh turns to the renowned UK-based Amrit and Rabindra Kaur, largely known as the Singh Twins and their interpretations of the Sikh diasporic body. Their work brilliantly offers a thorough dismantling of the colonial as well as deconstruction of colonial subjectivity in painted form. Nikky Singh, here firmly within “the nexus of art, religion, and gender” (Miles 2014: 470) challenges her readers to pay close attention to gender relations, power and religious messages in these artworks. In Casualty of War: A Portrait of Maharaja Duleep Singh, Duleep Singh, the last son of the Lion of Panjab, Maharajah Ranjit Singh, is proudly cast as the rightful heir to the Sikh kingdom by the Singh Twins. In Singh Twin’s The Last Supper, Nikky Singh draws attention to the multicultural diasporic body. The Twins and their family and friends are depicted in the midst of a Christmas dinner in a “space bursting with food, activities, clothes, icons, decorations belonging to the West, the East, and the Middle East” (ibid). To be an integral part of a society is also to share “in common the stock of cultural and social items that allow for communication and membership” (Morgan 2014: 481) without these artists rejecting their own deep cultural roots, ideals and visions. Indeed, the material culture of religion is an essential aspect of how worlds may be imagined, not in terms of “mere fiction-making” but in the actual construction of place in the “physical or temporal universe” (Morgan 2014: 495–496) here through the provocative creations of the Singh Twins. Moreover, Amrit and Rabindra Kaur along with the other Punj are consciously rewriting/repainting/reinterpreting historiographical accounts of dominant political and cultural institutions, both in India and within the varied Sikh diasporas, while at the same time shifting their viewers’ gaze beyond the male and the masculine, whether religious, military or political perspectives. The tendency of historians and scholars of religion to concentrate on the activities of male members of the upper castes/classes has been well documented (see Chakravarti 1996: 161–162). These Punj offer glimpses of new ways, particularly gendered ways, of seeing and “doing” religion. As Diana Eck has long insisted, “seeing” is not only the reserve of traditional “seers” we too, as the spectators of the visions created by these Punj, are called into new ways of “seeing” (Eck 1981: 41). Indeed, art opens possibilities to “cultural artifacts in which ever-fresh provinces of the imagination are laid bare” (Frazier 2010: 1–2). Indeed, in understanding the “intimate interdependence” (Miles 2014: 476) of religion, art and gender is to recognize that material forms of religious meaning making offer ever more promises beyond the text. Through the artworks illuminated by Singh, we are moved to engage deeply with the bodies, sensations, beliefs, imagery, religious imagination and feelings of Sikhs and Sikh traditions and their experience of time, place and society.

Sikhi/sm, Sikhs and Sikh Studies  21 Importantly, Singh’s work stands as a necessary corrective to the pointed assertion of Juergensmeyer (1979) that Sikhism has long been the “forgotten tradition” in the study of religion. So too in the study of religion and art. The seminal The Oxford Handbook on Religion and the Arts (Brown 2014) completely omits mention of Sikh art and aesthetics. One of the early expounders of the lived religion approach, Robert Orsi, believes that lived religion offers new directions and directives in terms of studying religion. It “holds the possibility of disentangling us from our normative agendas and defamiliarizing us in relation to our own cultures forcing us to confront in a direct way the implications of the discipline’s history for its contemporary work” (Orsi 2003: 174). As noted earlier, the study of religion, particularly Sikh Studies is beset with “historical baggage” (Knibbe and Kupari 2020: 162) much of it stemming from definitions and categories and theorizing borrowed from philosophy, theology and though less so, sociology. We have here attempted to bring in new ways and means of understanding Sikh identity, praxis and piety by highlighting and even prioritizing the motivation, religious acts and experiences of Sikhs who might stand outside of institutional religious leadership, privilege and scholarship (see Ammerman 2013).

Identities: Diversity, Representation and Belonging According to the Sikh Rehat Maryada, only amritdhari Sikhs are regarded as being “proper” or “true” Sikhs; as such, it is this form of Sikhi/sm that is generally called upon to speak for “the Sikhs.” So where do non-initiated Sikhs, who form the majority in the Panth, fit in? Where do Sikhs “outside of the margins” fit into larger definitions of the wider Panth? Are they Sikhs? The first legislated definition of a Sikh was coined under the Gurdwaras Act of 1925, and was later modified in 1971 (Takhar 2005: 5). The latter definition regarded Sikh identity as synonymous with Khalsa identity. Grewal succinctly reminds us that the issue around Sikh identity was being raised almost a century earlier by Kahn Singh Nabha in his Ham Hindu Nahin “We are not Hindus,” published in Panjabi in 1898 (Grewal 1999: 231). As Takhar (2005, 2014, 2017) has noted, identities are constantly multi-­ faceted, be this faith, linguistic, gender, cultural, political and so forth. Anjali Gera Roy in this volume explores two schools of thought on Sikh identity. One being the efforts of the Singh Sabha and the Tat Khalsa in consolidating formal religious identities, the other as a continuity of shared cultures of piety in the villages of the Panjab. Roy argues that folk and popular culture can serve as sites of memory of overlapping identities in Panjab. Her discussion takes into account the long history of invaders, traders and conquerors using the Panjab as the gateway into India, which inevitably resulted in the Panjab becoming the melting pot for the many cultures and faiths which the invaders brought with them (Sen 1969). Diversity within

22  Doris R. Jakobsh and Opinderjit Kaur Takhar the Panth dates to the time of the Sikh Gurus. The impetuous efforts of the Singh Sabha and Tat Khalsa were undeniably fuelled by their determination to eradicate internal differences amongst Sikhs by establishing a homogenous identity (Takhar 2005, 2014). This was only possible, as evidenced through their various publications, through uniformity in beliefs and practices which implemented the redundancy of the brahmin and Vedic rituals when performing “Sikh” rites of passage (see Jakobsh 2003 for a gendered perspective of the construction of rituals for Sikh women). The Tat Khalsa ideal became the official correct procedure for Sikh practice and belief. These were eventually stated in the Rahit-namas, the current one being the Sikh Rahit Maryada established in 1950 under the Shiromani Gurdwara Parbandhak Committee (SGPC). In her chapter, Roy alludes to the use of colonial documents, such as the Imperial Gazetteer of India Vol 20, when tracing the history of the veneration of Sufi sants. Such documents refer to the visiting of sites associated with Muslim sants by Hindus in Muslim-dominated Panjab. It is the fluidity of such boundaries that are well documented by Oberoi (1992) in the veneration of Muslim sants by Hindus, Sikhs and Muslims alike. Representations of the Sikh tradition/s vary and change among individuals depending upon their time, context and with whom they are interacting. The “Racialisation of Sikhs in Southeast Asia” is the topic of Jasjit Singh’s discussion in this volume where he poses the question as to whether Sikhs in Southeast Asia are “Asian enough”? The events of 9/11 after which the first victim was a Sikh from Arizona, highlighted the increase in hate crimes towards bearded and turban wearing Sikhs. The settlement of Sikhs in Southeast Asia is traced back to their recruitment in the police and security forces during British rule of Hong Kong in the late 1860s (Tatla 1998). Yet, other than in the work of Dusenbery (2008), there is a gap in literature charting Sikhs in Southeast Asia, a gap which Jasjit Singh fills through his analysis in this volume where he concludes that Sikhs in Southeast Asia have, and continue to, face racism fuelled by minority/majority differences rather than around notions of white supremacy as is the case in countries such as the UK and the USA. Sikhs in India tend to be largely connected with the state of Panjab as their ancestral homeland; they are also numerically significant in the capital state of Delhi. Himadri Banerjee’s discussion in this volume focuses on Sikhs in India who are settled outside of Panjab, focusing on how their diverse religious practices are contextualized within the wider space of historic gurdwaras and Takhats (seats of temporal authority) outside of Panjab. He draws reference to six provinces in particular, those of Bihar, Odisha, Bengal. Assam, Meghalaya and Manipur, all of which are located in eastern and north-eastern India. Pan-Indian membership of the Panth is evident, especially when one bears in mind that the punj pyare, the five initial Khalsa Sikhs came from across the different states of India, with only one being from the Panjab (McLeod 2000). Banerjee draws reference

Sikhi/sm, Sikhs and Sikh Studies  23 to a number of sources which have alluded to Sikh settlements outside of Panjab. These include the Janamsakhis and Bhai Kahn Singh Nabha’s Mahan-­Kosh, amongst others. Guru Nanak’s travels across India resulted in a number of Gurdwaras having been set-up by those attracted towards his teachings, which therefore meant that sangats became established in the regions highlighted by Banerjee to maintain the upkeep of these centres associated with Guru Nanak (Singh, Ganda 1969). In focussing on the global settlement of Sikhs, Karen Leonard in this volume, explores the case of the Panjabi Mexicans as an example of the relational and diasporic approach to identity through her detailed and extensive interviews with Panjabi migrants in Mexico. Leonard’s discussion in this volume takes her back to the 1980s during which she studied a community in Southern California who were offspring of Panjabi fathers and mostly Mexican and Mexican American mothers. Leonard explores the transition in terminology by highlighting how this community became known as Panjabi Mexicans from previous references as Mexican Hindus. Leonard asserts that 85% of the early Panjabi immigrants to Southern California were in fact Sikhs, and also were amongst the leadership structure of the Ghadar Party which was formed as a revolt against the British Raj. The exploration of the Panjabi Mexican community indicates, as Leonard has stated in this volume, that: The Panjabi Mexicans, rather than reclaiming ancestral religious identities, have moved to claim membership in the nation as American citizens, as mainstream Americans taking pride in their ancestral cultural or ethnic heritage. Leonard goes on to discuss how the Panjabi Mexican diaspora, fathered largely by Jat Sikhs directly from Panjab, is different in terms of how they portray their citizenship, belonging and identity(ies) to that of the Panjabi Sikh diaspora in Southern California. Issues of representation and belonging are of vital importance as Sikhs become increasingly settled and active within their diasporic locales. Representation and misrepresentation around Sikh identity is one that became particularly prominent after the events of 9/11 where Sikhs in America (and other western countries) became perceived as supporters of Al-Qaeda. Indeed, the first victim of race hate and confused identity in the aftermath of the 9/11 attacks was Balbir Singh Sodhi, a Sikh gas station owner in Arizona, USA (Kaur, Valerie 2016). Sangeetha Luthra’s observations in this volume highlight the extensive activism and advocacy undertaken by Sikhs in America against racial profiling and hate crimes towards, especially, turban wearing Sikhs. Gurdwaras in America were also targets of hate crime which witnessed the tragic events of the Oak Creek Shootings in 2012 (Singh, Jaideep 2013). Luthra discusses the effects that the Oak Creek Shootings have had on both the psyche as well as advocacy of American

24  Doris R. Jakobsh and Opinderjit Kaur Takhar Sikhs through her arguments around the interplay between authority and issues around Sikh identity in America as highlighted in scholarly writings. Furthermore, she contextualizes such advocacy through the setting up of Sikh Studies courses and degrees by the community in American institutions as a means through which to end hate crimes and racial profiling of Sikhs in America. This leads her on to explore the role played by Sikh advocacy groups in America such as SALDEF, Jakara Movement and the Sikh Coalition. In addition to the religious, linguistic and cultural identities that many Sikhs share, and which labels them as fulfilling all the criteria in identifying as a qaum (nation), is that of caste (zat) identity. Discussion of the role that zat plays amongst Sikhs is one that continues to raise heated debates, to the extent that the Sikh narrative has been visibly vocal in legislating against caste-based discrimination in the UK (see Takhar 2017). Ronki Ram’s observations in this volume focus around the diversity of identity from the time of Guru Nanak onwards and how zat identity has been a notable factor in narratives around representation and belonging from both a historical as well as contemporary perspective. Despite the efforts of the Sikh Gurus in challenging caste-based prejudice and discrimination (Singh, Pashuara 2003; Jodhka 2009), caste identity continues to play a role amongst Sikhs, the dichotomy here is to question whether culture is dominant over egalitarian teachings of Sikhi/sm in social interactions. A prime example of the persistence of caste-based discrimination is best highlighted through the exploration of the Ravidassia and Valmiki communities across the globe, who are insisting on their distinct identity as non-Sikhs (Ram 2008; Takhar 2014). The 2011 Census of England and Wales in the UK clearly demonstrated that 11,000 Dalits recorded their faith identity as “other” from the Sikhs. Historically, they would have labelled themselves as Ravidassia Sikhs and Valmiki Sikhs. However, re-negotiating their faith identity labels as specifically Raviadassia and Valmiki and furthermore referring to their places as bhawans, sabhas and mandirs (and not as gurdwaras) further strengthens the level of activism and advocacy amongst the Dalit castes towards a distinct identity as non-Sikhs (Shah 2001). Ronki Ram in this volume argues that, despite the creation of the Khalsa in 1699 and the adoption of Singh and Kaur in place of caste-based surnames, caste-based discrimination continues to have a presence amongst Sikhs. He draws reference to the works of a number of scholars who have argued that although the Gurus spoke out against a system that was deeply entrenched in the Indian society and culture, to get rid of it per se was not possible (Judge 2002; Puri 2003). Ronki Ram succinctly links the establishment of castebased deras (devotional institutions) with discrimination on the basis of caste faced by the Dalits who had at one time been identified as Sikhs. This volume brings together scholars in Sikh Studies from across the globe, all with distinct perspectives, approaches, and disciplines. Regional differences have been highlighted. Traditional disciplines involved in the

Sikhi/sm, Sikhs and Sikh Studies  25 study of religion and Sikhi/sm are here well represented, as are novel approaches to understanding what “being Sikh,” or lived approaches, might include. Furthermore, troublesome issues in Sikh Studies have been raised, but so too the bright future of Sikh Studies, in all its diversity, is also highlighted. We are truly grateful to each of the contributors for agreeing to be part of this volume and in so doing, bringing the opportunities and challenges that surround the global Panth and Sikh Studies into greater critical reflection.

Notes 1 Ron Geaves has written about the highly charged and contested discourses concerning the legitimacy of Sikh healing sites given a general opprobrium towards practices that are deemed “magical,” especially magical healing, particularly vis-à-vis pilgrimages to healing shrines. See Geaves (2011). 2 Negative labelling of Sikh female artists is not unique to the five visual artists highlighted here. Amrita Pritam, the giant of the Panjabi and Indian literary world was once branded as a “lustful ant,” running afoul of Sikh authorities who questioned her right to imagine and image the pregnant Tripta, mother of Nanak, following the publication of “Mata Tripta Da Sapna.” The poem is a remarkably embodied and expressive dream of the waiting and birthing process of all women. Pritam responded in Kaala Gulab that Society attacks anyone who dares to say that its coins are counterfeit. But when it is a woman who dares to say this, society begins to foam at the mouth. It puts aside all its theories and arguments and picks up the weapon of filth to fling at her. A woman who has suffered an attack can understand it; this attack is not against a particular woman, it is an attack on all of womanhood. See Kishwar and Vanita (2020)

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28  Doris R. Jakobsh and Opinderjit Kaur Takhar Khamisa, Zabeen. 2020. ‘Disruptive Garb: Gender Production and Millennial Sikh Fashion Enterprises in Canada’. In Doris R. Jakobsh ed. Exploring Gender and Sikh Traditions. Basel: MDPI, 217–229. Kishwar and Vanita. 2020. ‘Stories Written on the Bodies and Minds of Women: Amrita Pritam’s Life and Work,’ https://www.kractivist.org/on-101st-birth-­ anniversary-of-literary-giant-amrita-pritam/, previously published in the 1982 print edition of Manushi, No. 10. Knott, Kim. 2016. ‘Living Religious Practices’. In J. B. Saunders, E. Fiddian-­ Qasmiyeh and S. Snyder eds. Intersections of Religion and Migration: Issues at the Global Crossroads. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 71–90. Krishna, Priya. 2020. ‘How to Feed Crowds in a Protest or Pandemic? The Sikhs Know’. The New York Times, 8 June, accessed December 5, 2021, https://www. nytimes.com/2020/06/08/dining/free-food-sikh-gundwara-langar.html. Kupari, Helena. 2020. ‘Lived Religion and the Religious Field’. Journal of Contemporary Religion, 35:2, 213–230. Luckmann, Thomas. 1967. The Invisible Religion: The Transformation of Symbols in Industrial Society. London: Collier Macmillan. Luthra, Sangeeta. 2021. ‘Remembering Guru Nanak: Articulations of Faith and Ethics by Sikh Activists in Post 9/11 America’. Religions. 12:13, 1–14. Luthra, Sangeeta K. 2017. ‘Out of the Ashes: Sikh American Institution Building and the Promise of Equality for Sikh Women’. Sikh Formations: Religion, Culture, Theory. 13, 308–332. Mandair, Arvind-Pal Singh. 2013. Sikhism: A Guide for the Perplexed. London: Bloomsbury. McLeod, William. Hewitt. 2000. Exploring Sikhism: Aspects of Sikh Identity, Culture and Thought. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Miles, Margaret. 2014. ‘Gender, Imagery and Religious Imagination’. In Frank Burch Brown ed. The Oxford Handbook of Religion and the Arts. New York: OUP, 469–479. Morgan, David. 2014. ‘Art, Material Culture and Lived Religion’. In Frank Burch Brown ed. The Oxford Handbook of Religion and the Arts. New York: OUP, 480–497. Morgan, David. 2019. ‘The Material Culture of Lived Religions: Visuality and Embodiment’. The JUGAAD Project, https://www.thejugaadproject.pub/home/ the-material-culture-of-lived-religions-visuality-and-embodiment, accessed November 28, 2021. Murphy, Anne. 2007. ‘History in the Sikh Past’. History and Theory. 46, 345–365. Norman, Corrie E. 2012. ‘Food and Religion’. In Jeffrey M. Pilcher ed. The Oxford Handbook of Food History. New York: OUP, 409–427. Oberoi, Harjot. 1994. The Construction of Religious Boundaries. Culture, Identity and Diversity in the Sikh Tradition. Chicago. University of Chicago Press. Orsi, Robert A. 1997. ‘Everyday Miracles: The Study of Lived Religion’. In David D. Hall ed. Lived Religion in America: Toward a History of Practice. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 4–21. Orsi, Robert A. 2003. ‘Is the Study of Lived Religion Irrelevant to the World We Live in?’ Special Presidential Plenary Address, Salt Lake City, November 2, 2002. Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion. 42:2, 169–174. Orsi, Robert A. 2016. History and Presence. Cambridge, MA: The Belknap Press Harvard University Press.

Sikhi/sm, Sikhs and Sikh Studies  29 Osella, Fillipo. 2019. ‘Islam, Humanitarianism and Everyday Religion #MUHUM’, https://allegralaboratory.net/islam-humanitarianism-and-everyday-religion-­ muhum/, accessed January 2, 2021. Perales, Francisco and Bouma, Gary. 2018. ‘Religion, Religiosity and Patriarchal Gender Beliefs: Understanding the Australian Experience’. Journal of Sociology. 55:2, 323–341. Puri, Harish K. 2003. ‘Scheduled Castes in Sikh Community: A Historical Perspective’. Economic and Political Weekly, 38:26, 2693–2701. Quero, Hugo Córdova. 2016. ‘Embodied (Dis)Placements: The Intersections of Gender, Sexuality, and Religion in Migration Studies’. In J. B. Saunders, E. Fiddian-­Qasmiyeh and S. Snyder eds. Intersections of Religion and Migration: Issues at the Global Crossroads. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 151–171. Qureshi, Kaveri. 2016. ‘Shehri (City) Brides between Indian Punjab and the UK: Transnational Hypergamy, Sikh Women’s Agency and Gendered Geographies of Power’. Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies. 42:7, 1216–1228. Ram, Ronki. 2008. ‘Ravidass Deras and Social Protest: Making Sense of Dalit Consciousness in Punjab (India)’. The Journal of Asian Studies. 67, 1341–1364. Sato, Kiyotaka. 2012. ‘Divisions among Sikh Communities in Britain and the Role of Caste System: A Case Study of Four Gurdwaras in Multi-Ethnic Leicester’. Journal of Punjab Studies. 19, 1–26. Scott, Joan Wallach. 1991. ‘The Evidence of Experience’. Critical Inquiry. 17:1, 773–797. Sen, Siba Pada. 1969. Studies in Modern Indian History: A Regional Survey. Calcutta: Institute of Historical Studies. Shah, Ghanshyam. 2001. ‘Dalit Movements and the Search for Identity’. In G. Shah ed. Dalit Identity and Politics. New Delhi: Sage. 195–213. Singh, Nikky-Guninder Kaur. 1993. The Feminine Principle in the Sikh Vision of the Transcendent. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Singh, Ganda. 1969. (ed.) The Panjab Past and Present, vol 3 (Parts 1 and 2) Guru Nanak’s Birth Quincentenary Volume. Sources of the Life and Teachings of Guru Nanak. Patiala: Department of Panjab Historical Studies, Punjabi University. Singh, Harbans. 1996. Encyclopedia of Sikhism. Patiala: Punjabi University. Singh, Jaideep. 2013. ‘Memory, Invisibility, and the Oak Creek Gurdwara Massacre’. Sikh Formations: Religion, Culture, Theory. 9:2, 215–225. Singh, Jasjit. 2014. ‘The Guru’s Way: Exploring Diversity Among British Khalsa Sikhs’. Religion Compass, 8:7, 209–219. Singh, Nikky-Guninder Kaur. 2014. ‘A Feminist Interpretation of Sikh Scripture’. In Pashaura Singh and Louis E. Fenech eds. The Oxford Handbook of Sikh Studies. Oxford: OUP, 317–327. Singh, Pashaura. 2003. The Bhagats of the Guru Granth Sahib. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Smith, Christian. 1996. Disruptive Religion: The Force of Faith in Social Movement Activism. Oxford: Routledge. Thandi, Shinder S. 2018. ‘Educated Millennial Sikhs: Higher Education, Social Mobility and Identity Formation among British Sikh Youth’. Sikh Formations: Religion, Culture and Theory. 14:3–4, 384–401. Takhar, Opinderjit Kaur. 2005. Sikh Identity: An Exploration of Groups among Sikhs. Aldershot: Ashgate.

30  Doris R. Jakobsh and Opinderjit Kaur Takhar Takhar, Opinderjit Kaur. 2014. ‘Trajectories of a Distinct Identity among the Ravidasias in Britain’. Journal of Contemporary Religion. 29:1, 105–120. Takhar, Opinderjit Kaur. 2017. ‘British Legislation against Caste-based Discrimination and the Demand for the Sunset Clause’. Contemporary South Asia. 25, 3. Tatla, Darshan Singh. 1998. ‘Sikh Free and Military Migration During the Colonial Period’. The Cambridge Survey of World Migration. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Townsend, Charles M. 2013. ‘Performance’ and ‘Lived Religion’ Approaches as New Ways of ‘Re-imagining’ Sikh Studies’. In Pashaura Singh and Michael Hawley eds. Re-imagining South Asian Religions Essays in Honour of Professors Harold G. Coward and Ronald W. Neufeldt. Leiden: Brill, 171–194. Warner, Cameron David. 2014. ‘On the Relationship between Method and the Object of Study when Studying Religion’. Numen: Methodological debates in the Study of Religion. 61:2, 131–144. Williams, Peter W. 1989. Popular Religion in America: Symbolic Change and the Modernization Process in Historical Perspective. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Walton-Roberts, Margaret and Pratt, Geraldine. 2005. ‘Mobile Modernities: A South Asian Family Negotiates Immigration, Gender and Class in Canada’. Gender, Place and Culture. 12:2 (June), 173–195. Werbner, Pnina. 2002. ‘The Place Which Is Diaspora: Citizenship, Religion and Gender in the Making of Chaordic Transnationalism’. Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies, 28, 119–133. Woodhead, Linda. 2012. ‘Strategic and Tactical Religion’. University of Edinburgh, 10th May 2012. ‘Religion and Society: Sacred Practices of Everyday Life Conference,’ paper available at http://www.religionandsociety.org.uk/attachments/ files/1337692875_Woodhead-Tactical%20Religion-Edinburgh%20May%20 2012.pdf, accessed November 10, 2021.

Part I

Histories Authority, Texts and Politics

Harjot Oberoi - Academic History and Sikh Studies: Configuring A Disciplinary Manifesto? Pashaura Singh - The Construction of Authority within the Sikh Panth and its Challenges Louis E. Fenech - Guru Gobind Singh and the Khalsa Eleanor Nesbitt - Guru Granth Sahib in the Writings of Western Women Gurharpal Singh - India, Pakistan and the Sikhs: the Kartarpur corridor in its historical and political perspective

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1 Academic History and Sikh Studies Is It Time to Configure a Disciplinary Manifesto? Harjot Oberoi This is a widely acknowledged truth that a scientific history can illuminate the path of a community. It is my firm belief that many possible Sikh victories turned into defeats because Sikhs do not pay proper attention to their history and do not learn from the past. Hira Singh Dard The truth is that so far, we have not even been introduced to proper history. If one wants to assess the culture of a community, all one needs to do is to look at the state of historical research in that community. If there is a lag in historical methodology, one shall find that the community lags as well. The standing of history within a community is a sign of the state of culture within that community. Karam Singh

The last three decades can be described as the golden age of modern Sikh Studies. We now have five chairs in Sikh Studies in the United States, three in Canada and one in England. For every single year of the twenty-first century, a major university press has published a landmark book, in the area of Sikh Studies. Funding bodies like the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada have released tens of thousands of dollars in support of Sikh Studies. Major journals like History of Religions and the open-access Religions have published Special Issues fully devoted to highlighting advances in the field of Sikh Studies. Practitioners within the field have launched their own specialized journal: Sikh Formations. Graduate students trained and nurtured under the auspices of Sikh Studies programs have started finding employment in Departments of Religion. The evolving digital commons now feature blogs, podcasts and YouTube lectures that routinely host prominent scholars in the field. However, despite these phenomenal advances a key paradigmatic shift keeps eluding Sikh Studies: contemporary Sikh public sphere, generally speaking, has very low trust for all that modern scholarship has to offer, whether it be in sociology, history, gender studies or political economy. Such trust deficit is particularly

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34  Harjot Oberoi noticeable when it comes to the craft of history, a core discipline within modern Sikh Studies. Given the close association between Sikh identity and the Sikh past, one would have anticipated that historians of the Sikh past would be warmly embraced by the community, but this is certainly not the case. Why is there such strong antipathy towards disciplinary history? And what can be done to counter this antipathy? These are the key questions that this essay seeks to answer. At the outset, it is important to point out that this antipathy is not merely confined to the area of Sikh Studies. Two of India’s leading historians – Dipesh Chakrabarty and Neeladri Bhattacharya – have astutely documented how South Asian society has an uneasy relationship with modern critical historiography.1 In the first part of this chapter, I will explore how disciplinary history came to be established in South Asia. And in the second part of this paper, we will examine the life and contributions of the early modern Sikh historian, Karam Singh of Amritsar. In the final part of this essay, I will lay out a road map that will help in strengthening the claims of historical reasoning. Professional historians need to do a better job of explaining to the broader public what is it that they exactly do. Here I shall explore three themes: how modern liberal democracies cannot thrive without perpetual search for truth and establishing transparent protocols for truth-telling, the link between historical representation of the unrepresented and inclusive democracy, and finally the therapeutic role of history, in generating psychological well-being, for all those who seek to flourish in modern societies.

The Beginnings For any community to exist – ethnic, religious or political – it is essential that it has some form of historical self-representation. This self-­representation can be in the form of stories, legends, myths, epics and complex narratives. The Canadian philosopher, Charles Taylor evocatively describes the totality of such self-representations as “social imaginaries.”2 Never shy of offering definitions, Taylor proposes: Our social imaginary at any given time is complex. It incorporates a sense of normal expectations we have of each other, the kind of common understanding that enables us to carry out the collective practices that make up our social life. This incorporates some sense of how we all fit together in carrying out common practice. Such understanding is both factual and normative, that is, we have a sense of how things usually go, but this is interwoven with the idea how they ought to go, of what missteps would invalidate the practice.3 The evolution of the Sikh community closely follows the global cultural logic of “social imaginaries.” Early in the history of the Panth we get elaborate Janamsakhis and these are followed by splendid biographies

Academic History and Sikh Studies  35 of the Gurus, particularly in the category of Gurbilas literature and by mid-­nineteenth century an elaborate epic history is written by the famous poet-­historian Bhai Santokh Singh, entitled: Gur Pratap Suraj Prakash. When a leading publisher in the holy city of Amritsar undertakes to turn the copious manuscripts of Santokh Singh into a printed book the epic had to be released to the public in large-format fourteen volumes. All this historical production over several centuries, as Taylor would say comfortably embeds the Sikh Panth into certain temporal, cultural and socio-religious structures. But the coming of colonial modernity invoking radically new “social imaginaries” in the form of market economy, individualism, print-culture, dissolution of ancient social hierarchies, the growing importance of Western educational mores and instrumental rationality begins to rapidly unravel much of what had been put into place before the coming of the British and thus one can join Taylor in speaking of the “great disembedding.”4 The “great disembedding,” wherever it took place was an unsettling and torturous process. Given the growing power and prestige of the West, traditional elites in distant metropolitan centres like Kyoto, Beijing, Delhi, Cairo and Addis Abba were suddenly compelled to assess what we generally club under the category of tradition. This was not going to be an easy task for indigenous elites. However, the “great disembedding,” gifted the elites with many new tools to reassess the past or what came to be clubbed together as tradition. One of these modern tools was disciplinary history. The Bengali historian, Dipesh Chakrabarty provides us with a good lead on how this process unfolded in India, particularly when metropolitan universities set up Departments of History and the subject turned into a domain of professional research.5 “What exactly is involved,” writes Charles Taylor when a theory penetrates and transforms the social imaginary? For the most part, people take up, improvise, or are inducted into new practices. These are made sense of by the new outlook: the one first articulated in theory; this outlook is the context that gives sense to the practices. Hence the new understanding comes to be accessible to the participants in a way it wasn’t before.6 The intricate process that Taylor is describing of how a particular theoretical apparatus, in our case the theoretical apparatus of disciplinary history, gets established in a society and its repertoire of “social imaginaries” can be well-documented as we turn to how a pioneer Sikh historian engages with modern historiography and makes it a part of Sikh “social imaginaries.”

Karam Singh: The first Modern Sikh Historian If one is asked to name the founders of modern disciplinary history for the Sikhs, three names immediately come to mind: Ganda Singh, Khushwant

36  Harjot Oberoi Singh and W.H. McLeod. While this list is not wrong, it overlooks a crucial name: Karam Singh (1884–1930), who in fact ought to be credited as the founder of modern Sikh history. For some strange reason, he is missing from the cannon. Academics rarely cite him, and he largely remains unacknowledged.7 Perhaps, this may have something to do with the fact that he exclusively wrote in Panjabi, unlike the other three historians, who were much more comfortable writing in English. However, unless we start with Karam Singh, it is not possible to make any sense of the origins, developments, and vicissitudes of how modern Sikh historical writing got established. Let us begin with some biographical details of Karam Singh, the nature of his publications and how he reflexively answered the question: what is history and why is it important to study the past? The Sikh holy city of Amritsar is surrounded by many villages that played a critical role in the formation of the Sikh community. One of these historic villages, towards the southern tip of the city, Jhabel Kalan, has been associated with Sikhism since the Mughal epoch. In the late sixteenth century, village elders during the tenure of Guru Arjan (1563–1605), converted to Sikhism. Subsequently, the village continued enjoying close association with important events in Sikh history. For instance, the famous Sikh misl leader, Baghel Singh, who defeated the forces of the Mughal emperor, Shah Alam, considered Jhabel Kalan his home. By the time our protagonist Karam Singh was born in this village in 1884, the Mughals had long vanished but so had the Sikh kingdom of Lahore. Karam Singh grew up during the era of the Raj.8 The imperial machinery made up of a vast bureaucracy and army but also railways, telegraphic lines, printing presses and western education was his to encounter. Initially educated in the village school, he later transferred to the Khalsa School in the city of Amritsar. On graduating from high school, he enrolled for a BA degree at the premier Sikh educational institution, the Khalsa College. The establishment of the College was a major achievement of the Singh Sabha movement. And many of the early enthusiasms of the Singh Sabha movement, particularly in the domain of religion and modern education, were fully intact at the Khalsa College. Karam Singh was the sort of young man who would fully draw in the oxygen from his environment. Prominent Sikh leaders like Sant Attar Singh, Bhai Vir Singh, Bhai Takhat Singh, Professor Teja Singh, Bhai Mohan Singh Vaid, and Pandit Jvala Singh of Patiala embraced him and became his mentors. Sant Attar Singh, used to call Karam Singh, “our philosopher.”9 In December 1905, only four months before the final exams for the completion of his BA, Karam Singh, much like the famous case of Bill Gates, who dropped out of Harvard before completing his degree, quit Khalsa College.10 While Bill Gates famously quit to pursue his vision of technological transformation and wealth, in case of Karam Singh, it was his love for Sikh history that led to his unprecedented departure. In 1905, a plague epidemic was raging all over Panjab and Karam Singh who had for long wanted to carry out an oral history project to record the

Academic History and Sikh Studies  37 memories of Sikh veterans from the time of the Sikh empire was deeply concerned that many of these veterans may die because of the epidemic. Deeply disturbed by the possibility that an important link with Sikh past may be shortly sundered, he decided to double-down in pursuit of his dream project. By late December, with the epidemic at its peak, Karam Singh with almost no financial backing started touring villages far and wide in Panjab, seeking out these veterans. Among those he interviewed were the following: an employee of Maharaja Kharak Singh, a servant of the famous Sandhanwalia aristocrats who was an eye-witness to the assassination of Maharaja Sher Singh, an employee of the Khalsa army during the reign of Raja Hira Singh, a personal attendant of Maharaja Dalip Singh, and a veteran who fought in all of the major Anglo-Sikh wars.11 It was while conducting these interviews that Karam Singh developed a lifelong habit of walking and cycling all across Panjab in search of his interviewees and historical materials. Rarely, when he received tiny amounts of financial help, he would indulge in the luxury of taking a train to his destination. Fortuitously, his early habit of walking across vast distances, ended up matching his historical methodology and investigative imagination to that of great writers and historians like Franz Hessel, Walter Benjamin, Bruce Chatwin, Werner Herzog and Eric Stokes. There is no better way of writing about the cultural zones of a region than by walking across its terrain. Much like Herzog and Chatwin, he built up an indefatigable stamina that led him to unusual places. In 1906 he set out for Mecca to confirm details concerning Guru Nanak’s visits to centres of Islamic civilization. Since non-Muslims are not allowed to enter Mecca, he disguised himself as a Haji (a Muslim pilgrim enroute to Mecca). Eventually, he was outed when his fellow-Muslim pilgrims heard him reciting verses from Guru Nanak’s Japji composition one morning. Compelled to turn back, he left Baghdad for the city of Karachi. Undeterred by this setback, Karam Singh continued in his search for Sikh historical materials by visiting distant libraries in Calcutta, Darbhanga, Patna and Aligarh. He also dreamt of visiting Paris, Berlin, and London but his early demise at the age of forty-six prevented him from travelling to Europe. His early success in gathering vast amounts of new materials spurred him to start publishing biographies and monographs. In 1907, the Chief Khalsa Diwan, a premier Sikh organization, based in Amritsar released Karam Singh’s first book: a biography of the Sikh hero Banda Bahadur.12 Besides being the first biography of a major figure in Sikh history, the book demonstrated how historians could use hitherto untapped Persian sources in reconstructing the past. They need not rely solely on Sikh sources. Many key events and chronological details could be better appreciated by relying on sources that were visibly hostile to Banda Bahadur; yet beneath this hostility, there existed considerable details concerning war strategies, troop strength and storming of forts. The annals of steel and valour were followed by pathbreaking biographies of two Sikh women: Bibi Sada Kaur and Bibi Harnam Kaur. Both these too were published by Wazir

38  Harjot Oberoi Hind Press (owned by Bhai Vir Singh) and released in late 1907. Besides being a founder of modern Sikh historiography, Karam Singh needs to be credited for being a pioneer scholar of Sikh women’s history. While these early books brought considerable attention to Karam Singh, the book that firmly established his reputation in historical circles was his 1912 publication, Kattak ki Visakh?13 In this book, for the first time the Sikh public could see what an active research agenda in modern history can achieve and what does a close reading of classical texts entail. Karam Singh put forward two large claims. First, the widely popular Bala Janamsakhi ought not to be trusted. The vernacular hagiography on the life of Guru Nanak, the founder of Sikhism, put forward many spurious claims that found no support in historical evidence. Second, contrary to the popular belief that Guru Nanak was born in the month of Kattak (October–November) the actual birth-month of Guru Nanak was Visakh (April). For the early twentieth century, a time when many within the wider public were unaware of the protocols of modern history and the purpose of truth-telling through historical investigations, these were novel claims that unsettled many firmly held convictions. The rumor-mills in Amritsar were agog that Karam Singh had blasphemed. Given the growing controversy, around the book, the publisher, developed cold feet and stopped distributing the book. It was perhaps the controversy around this book that compelled Karam Singh to leave Amritsar for the princely state of Patiala. Here his two patrons Sir Jogendara Singh, the prime-minister of the State and Pandit Jvala Singh, helped him be appointed as a state historian. While serving as a state historian, Karam Singh wrote a biography documenting the life of Ala Singh, the founder of the Patiala state.14 Eventually he resigned the post of state historian and decided to become an independent scholar. Faced with serious financial challenges, he decided to try his hand at farming. But even as a pioneer farmer in the Himalayan region of Nainital, he could never turn his eyes away from Sikh history. His goal was that once the farm was set up as a self-sustaining business, he would write a large history on Sikh struggles in the eighteenth century. Unfortunately, this dream of his remained unrealized as he succumbed to a bout of malaria in 1930. Although Karam Singh only lived for forty-six years, he still managed to radically change the direction of Sikh history. Besides his pathbreaking publications, this happened because he put forward a certain philosophy of history. This philosophy was made up of six components: (1) A historian must be objective. (2) The enterprise of history is a form of truth-telling and thus there should be a protocol for verifiability of facts. (3) All historical knowledge is open to revision. (4) A historian ought to be methodologically innovative. (5) All good history needs to be backed up by good sources. (6) As intellectuals historians need to cultivate a certain temperament and humility in the quest for knowledge. Let us now turn to examining in some detail each of these propositions from Karam Singh’s epistemology of history.

Academic History and Sikh Studies  39 Normatively, objectivity is the hardest goal in a historian’s craft. Karam Singh was terrified by the prospect of communal, ethnic or religious biases. In one of his early essays on the historian’s craft he proposes: Anyone wishing to master the art of historical interpretation needs four skills in abundance: he/she be deeply devoted to research, have an open mind, be committed to objectivity and abandon cognitive biases. The reason most people can not carry out historical research objectively is because they have either religious or ethnic biases. Historical interpretation calls for philosophical detachment and a cool-headed approach to the past. Anyone who cannot bear to hear unvarnished truth and interpretations, ought to stay away from writing history. Such people are better suited for communal politics or policy recommendations. Never mistake policy prescriptions or political posturing for historical inquiry.15 It is quite remarkable on Karam Singh’s part to be able to clearly state that politics and historical inquiry ought to be kept separate. The great master of the Social Sciences, Max Weber made a similar point in his most famous speech – “Science as a Vocation” – delivered to a student body in Munich in November 1917.16 He had seen tribal and national hatreds tear Europe apart and was deeply worried that these hatreds and political passions would become permanently embedded in the academy. To prevent the hollowing out of the German universities, Weber in his speech warned professors not to act as prophets and exercise restraint. Karam Singh too was a witness to the excesses of the Great War and perhaps concluded that the time had come for a dispassionate assessment of the past. How was this to be done? Karam Singh provided a fine answer. Much like all practitioners in the history of science, Karam Singh proposed that all knowledge be subject to rational verification. Once a historian had gathered his facts, she should start the arduous task of subjecting these facts to close-scrutiny. The best method to do so was through cross-referencing. Our ideal historian should check what other historical sources report the same facts. If say, many Persian chronicles and vernacular sources report the same fact, in that case, the assessment of the fact under scrutiny passes muster. Karam Singh was highly critical of Kavi Santokh Singh (1787–1843) and Giani Gian Singh (1822–1921), two prolific writers of Sikh histories. The former, Karam Singh argued had taken the Bala Janamsakhi at face value when he wrote his biography of Guru Nanak and the latter had uncritically accepted mythical narratives when he wrote his master narrative of Sikh history in the late nineteenth century. Both Kavi Santokh Singh and Giani Gian Singh are highly respected figures in Sikh historiography and for Karam Singh to question the veracity of their narratives was unprecedented. But in questioning founding figures, Karam Singh was driving home the point home that all historical knowledge is

40  Harjot Oberoi provisional and can be subjected to critique. In his note on knowledge-­ production, he observes: All historical writing, anywhere in the world is predicated on the fact that it can be revised through new methods of research and inquiry. No human community can survive without an active agenda of historical research. The point of historical research is to find new narratives and these new narratives in turn enrich and expand the existing historical record. Any community that abandons historical research, under the illusion that the totality of its history stands completed and fully interpreted, will eventually fade away from the global stage. Historical research does not just mean finding new materials, like diaries and memoirs, but also using existing repositories of data and facts to arrive at new conclusions. Historical research is a disciplinary and professional specialisation and thus should only be entrusted to intellectuals. It ought not to be carried out by non-specialists. The development of a sophisticated historiography calls for extraordinary training and skills. Historical research can aptly be compared to task of looking for a needle in the haystack. Since our passions and temperaments differ widely, not all humans will be interested in carrying out the task of looking for the elusive needle. And then there is the question of what is to be done with the needle once it has been found in the haystack?17 Karam Singh here is posing large metaphysical questions and putting forward a wager that no human community can survive without fundamental historical research. But what I find most fascinating is his contention that history is open to a constant process of new discoveries, novel interpretations, amendments, and revisions. In other words, Karam Singh is warmly embracing a central tenet from the project of modernity that all knowledge is provisional. Traditional cultures would have found such modes of thinking to be heretical. For in all hierarchal societies social stability was predicated on notions of immutable knowledge. If our epistemologies can be constantly revised then anything is possible and thus traditional societies used instruments like inquisition and vocabularies made up of such terms as blasphemy and censorship to contain new thought. Karam Singh refused to affiliate himself with traditional categories of thought. He cultivated a deep habit of self-critique. Often, he would finish his books with a disclaimer stating that his history was not the final word and surely someone else at a future time could improve it further. Writing in a reflexive mode, close to twenty-two years after he wrote his pioneering biography of Banda Bahadur, he publicly declares that he made many mistakes in the book and based on new materials discovered since its publication, if time was to permit, he would make amendments.18 Similarly, he states that although he worked twelve hours a day over a period of eight months to write his most famous book, Kattak ki Bisakh? he still made mistakes. Once again,

Academic History and Sikh Studies  41 he is open to revise his writings and restate his findings. Such openness is not a hallmark of a traditional intellectual. Karam Singh’s way of thinking is well aligned with modern historiography. Let us now turn to his striking methodological observations and innovations. The sterling reputation that Karam Singh enjoys is not merely because he was the first Sikh to take a crack at disciplinary history but also because he was open to new ways of accessing the past. To a great measure, the reputation of a historian rests on the primary sources she unearths. Karam Singh intuited this historical maxim at the very start of his career. In 1905, he launched his oral history project with the aim of recording the lives and memoirs of veterans from the Sikh kingdom of Lahore. He knew most of his subjects were already at an advanced age and thus it was urgent to record what they had to say. While some transcripts of these interviews are lost to us, the bulk were published in Panjab’s first monthly magazine, Phulwari.19 The originality, of the oral history project, can be appreciated if we compare it to a recent Partition Archive based on recording the oral histories of all those who were impacted by the partition of the subcontinent in 1947. The Partition Archive was set up in 2011 in California inspired by similar projects recording the memories of Hiroshima and Holocaust survivors. 20 The important point to note here is how Karam Singh was so much ahead of his times and that is what in many ways turns him into a fascinating figure. But his innovative stance does not stop with one single project. He was a historian who greatly valued, much like cultural anthropologists today, the importance of field-work. He would visit established families in Panjab wanting to review their family libraries. In early 1906 when he was working on the biography of Banda Bahadur, he travelled from Amritsar to Jammu to confer with the descendants of Banda Bahadur. He had rightly anticipated that at the headquarters of this lineage he would locate invaluable sources on this trip. The reward was his discovery of a famous manuscript: Sewa Das Dian Parchian. 21 This text was written soon after the death of Guru Gobind Singh and although it mostly records narratives from the life of Guru Gobind Singh, there are also several stories associated with early Sikh Gurus. As Clifford Geertz would say, “the thick description,” we now have of the early Khalsa would not have been possible without some of Karam Singh’s discoveries during his legendary field trips. One final story of Karam Singh’s tours needs to be added here to illuminate how fastidious he was in habits of verification, the protocol without which disciplinary history is impossible. In 1675, Guru Tegh Bahadur, left Makhowal, to go to the imperial court in Delhi. However, instead of taking the direct route to Delhi that would be via what came to be known as the imperial Grand-Trunk road, the Guru took a much longer alternate route through Jind, Rohtak, Agra and then Delhi. Why would the Guru do this? To find out for himself, Karam Singh travelled through the alternate route and surmised that the Guru must have had an urgent meeting before arriving in Delhi. Clearly, nothing escaped Karam Singh’s keen eyes. 22 No detail

42  Harjot Oberoi was too small to be overlooked. He could travel hundreds of miles to just look at an artefact, purely out of curiosity. In deciphering, Karam Singh’s philosophy of history, we finally need to examine what he deemed as the core virtues without which it was impossible to be a good historian. Such a list would include items like patience, imagination, dedication, commitment to hard work, an ability to think beyond contemporary social mores, love for learning new languages, and an ascetic disposition. The limitations of space here will not allow me to examine each of these virtues in any detail. Thus, I am going to focus only on one virtue: patience. Karam Singh was an interesting mixture who excelled both in field-work and critical reflections. He was very fond of Rattan Singh Bhangu’s legendary text: Prachin Panth Prakash.23 It was his firm conviction that without Bhangu’s intervention it was impossible to tell a coherent narrative of Sikh history. But despite his proficiency in languages, Karam Singh found it hard to fully comprehend Bhangu’s text. He probably first encountered the text around 1904. But he confesses to his readers that it was only in the year 1927 that he finally understood what Bhangu was trying to convey. In other words, he devoted a period of twenty-three years to grapple with the underlying meanings of a text. In a similar spirit he proposes: All those interested in Sikh history need to minimally devote ten years to untie the knots of a topic. In fact, if one is interested in pursuit of excellence, it would be better to devote two decades to one topic in Sikh history. Only with that kind of singular commitment we can be confident that we have done a good job in interpreting the past. 24 Karam Singh paid a very high cost for his virtues. Outside a select circle of Sikhs, very few people in Panjab understood what he was trying to accomplish. The beginnings of disciplinary history in any jurisdiction is rarely easy, for it is either contested by forces of nationalism or the general public refuses to embrace this new mode of knowledge. Thus, the toll on Karam Singh for his extraordinary commitments was tragic. Not pursuing a conventional career alienated Karam Singh’s father from an early age. In colonial Panjab, there were very few jobs for a modern professional historian, particularly for one specializing in Sikh history. Determined to make it any cost, Karam Singh was forced to turn to many petty businesses, just to survive. In his early twenties, there were many occasions when he was close to starvation. A close friend agreed to bail him out by sharing half of his monthly salary with Karam Singh. Finally, he decided to pursue agriculture in the foothills of the Himalayas and that too did not prove to be an easy venture. Clearing forested lands, he had an accident and lost one of his eyes. Undeterred he continued but a few years later given the ecology of the area he succumbed to malaria and died in 1930. But his pioneering spirit was picked up by historians like Dr Ganda Singh and Professor Fauja Singh.

Academic History and Sikh Studies  43 All seemed to be proceeding fairly well for modern Sikh historiography but then something mysterious happens and even before academic history could plant deep roots in Panjab, the discipline comes under sustained attack, starting in the mid-1980s. Although much of this attack was directed at the New Zealand-based historian of the Sikhs, W.H. McLeod, the actual aim of the polemics was not so much McLeod but what was broadly classified as Western scholarship. This brand of scholarship was characterized as Eurocentric, Darwinian, blasphemous, ill-informed, methodologically unsound, prejudiced, clique-based and disrespectful. 25 In all of this heated debate there was no acknowledgement of either the foundational scholarship of Karam Singh or a nod towards the aims of modern historiography. It is hard to ascertain, what sort of forces were behind this negation of established scholarship. Within the academy at least, for instance, McLeod was highly applauded. He was invited as a Visiting Professor by the University of Toronto, a university consistently ranked among the top twenty in the world. Academic presses vied to publish McLeod’s writings. Besides Oxford University Press his writings were published by Columbia University Press and Penguin. He was invited by Oxford University to deliver Radhakrishnan Memorial Lecture. While contesting his findings in peer-reviewed journals would be a standard practice within the academy, but to dismiss his entire oeuvre as useless and ill-informed signals something else is at play behind this sustained opposition. It is for this reason that I use the word mysterious. What is going on here? Is this a clash between tradition or modernity? Is this a contestation between faith and scholarship? Why did Sikh scholars not cite Karam Singh and prove that many of the hypothesis proposed by McLeod had been similarly suggested by Karam Singh? The answer to all these questions is a complex one and would require us to conduct a detailed inquiry of both colonial and post-colonial modernity in Panjab and how it impacted the cultural milieu of indigenous society. Perhaps it may have something to do with the partition of the subcontinent in 1947. Equally, it is possible that the dislocations unleashed by the Green revolution in Panjab generated cultural fissures. Robin Jeffery, an established Panjab scholar suggests that since politicians in the province use rhetorical history as part of their election blitzkrieg, academic historians never stood a chance in the public culture of the Sikhs. 26 Instead of following that complex trajectory, I want in the rest of this essay to explore what good disciplinary history can do. In this, I seek to build on what Karam Singh started with but did not quite finish. Also, since his passing away in 1930, almost a century ago much ink has been spilled on what is it that historians do and why all ethical societies ought to support their endeavours. What follows is not so much about the historical method and how historians handle the mechanics of space and time and arbitrate facts, but more on what is the end game of history.

44  Harjot Oberoi

What Is History Good for? Among all species on the planet, humans seem to have the most pressing need to learn about ourselves and the world we live in. Thus, human societies over many millennia have invented myriad ways to answer the question: Who are we? Or some variation of this fundamental question. Among the various repositories of knowledge founded to grapple with our existential angst, one could count the following domains: religion, philosophy, literature, science and technology, music, arts and history. Notice that in my list, I place history right at the end, even though I have been a professional historian for close to four decades. The reason I do so is to highlight the fact that history has certainly no monopoly in answering the central questions of life. It is one among many disciplines that can help us untangle life’s mysteries. But the historian’s craft does possess one advantage over all other epistemologies or knowledge systems. It is the best method to tell us what mistakes we made in the past and how to avoid committing the same mistakes in the future. So, it remains one of our best radars for disaster management, both for individuals and large institutions like the nation-state. Having stated the most obvious advantage for the study of the past, let me spell out some other cardinal virtues that should make us value the historian’s craft. Historical writing flourishes best in liberal democracies. There are certain reasons behind this connection between democracy and modern protocols of truth-telling. When Leo Tolstoy published his great Russian novel, War and Peace in 1869, he devoted a large section in the novel to questions of historiography. 27 Perhaps he thought it was best to surreptitiously embed the discussion of history in a novel and thus avoid any harsh attention, from the czarist bureaucracy. The ploy worked. He was spared the fate of Dostoevsky who was sent to prison in Siberia. In modern democracies, for most times, historians need not come up with elaborate subterfuges like that of Tolstoy, for they are protected by constitutional rights of free expression. But then that leads us to the meta question of what protects the constitution. We could say that the state does so, but that proposition is only partially true. A democracy is always a sum total of much more than the state and the rule of law. It requires many things beyond the state and judiciary, for a polity to become what the political philosopher Karl Popper famously described as an “Open Society.”28 In concluding his survey of political thought, Popper proposes that an “Open Society,” besides things like rule of law and constitutional morality, is predicated upon two disciplines: natural sciences and history. The reason Popper connected science and history was because both these disciplines first seek to establish a large body of facts. While initially all facts may be welcomed, eventually only those are admitted that have passed the test of falsification. He writes: This is what we call testing a theory – to see whether we cannot find a flaw in it. But although the facts are collected with an eye upon the

Academic History and Sikh Studies  45 theory, and will confirm it as long as the theory stands up to these tests, they are more than a merely kind of empty repetition of a preconceived theory. They confirm the theory only if they are the results of unsuccessful attempts to overthrow its predictions, and therefore a telling testimony in its favour. So it is, I hold, the possibility of overthrowing it, or its falsifiability, that constitutes the possibility of testing it, and therefore the scientific character of a theory; and the fact that all tests of a theory are attempted falsifications of predictions derived with its help, furnish the clues to a scientific method. 29 This principle of falsification that Popper proposes as foundational for knowledge systems is also central to the flourishing of democracies. We are all familiar with how political elites and political parties put out all sorts of claims to impress the electorate and garner votes. Most of these claims, at least the serious ones are contested and vetted by the media and the court of public opinion. Rhetorical flourishes and policy claims that stand falsified are eventually banished from the public discourse. A good example of this would be the Watergate scandal under President Nixon. And while the President initially denied that any break into the headquarters of the Democratic Party had been carried out by his political operatives, eventually his lies were nailed by a pair of journalists and his presidency came to an end.30 Historical reasoning works in a similar fashion. Texts that propose plausible narratives are closely interrogated and all claims that are not sufficiently corroborated by other independent sources are swiftly dismissed. Similarly, all theories are methodologically subjected to rigorous testing and if found deficient are immediately put to rest. Thus, I argue that disciplinary history is like a nursery of democracy. All those who are educated in this nursery learn from early on the art of rigorous contestation and Popperian falsification, thereby contributing to the flourishing of modern democracy. The moment a society seeks to exclude certain historical narratives and only approve official interpretations of the past, a death blow will have been dealt to the proper functioning of democracy. There is a reason that authoritarian societies favour official schools of history. If they can succeed in blindfolding their citizenry in one area of life, they will try to do the same in all other areas of civic life. This is the reason history must be treated like a public good, much like infrastructure projects, like roads and ports are in a prosperous economy. And much as the public ought to be vigilant about infrastructure projects, a similar vigilance is called for the cultivation of historical studies as a public good. We need to explore one more connection between democracy and history as part of our discussion of how imitating historians in the way they think can advantage us. The universal franchise common to democracies was not always the case. The social upheaval caused by the French revolution, persuaded political elites to start granting limited voting rights beyond the propertied class. It would take decades of oppositional political

46  Harjot Oberoi mobilization before similar rights were conceded to other constituencies like labourers, peasants and the urban poor. At the same time virtually half of civil society – made up of women – continued being denied the right to vote until very late. Eventually the extensive campaign led by the suffragettes won women in the West the right to vote. For instance, the right to vote was granted to women in the United States in 1919 and in England in 1928. A similar analogue can be seen in historiography. The old adage that all history is written by winners traditionally had a ring of truth around it. Large swathes of society: marginalized communities, women, immigrants, the poor and children were excluded from the records of history. It took theoretical interventions from feminist scholars, Subaltern Studies and leadership of organizations like the History Workshop to start including all those groups that were traditionally denied a place in the making of history.31 Today equality, diversity and inclusion are becoming central tenets of historical writing. Much as the widening of democratic franchise led to drives for inclusion, similarly historiographical revolutions have increasingly advanced the project for including the unrecognized in our collective annals. So today any narrative that seeks to exclude underprivileged groups or communities from historical representation ought to be immediately suspect. Much as a thriving democracy calls for all to participate, the first sign of a vibrant historical interpretation is its capacity for inclusivity, and how it honours the voiceless. Having discussed the links between democracy and historical writing, I now want to turn to how history can help us with psychological well-being. It is undeniable that we have been living in the age of modernity for at least two hundred years, if not longer. While modernity has endowed us with many gifts: our longevity and physical comforts immediately come to mind as examples, at the same time modernity has turned us into what Nietzsche famously described as “half-barbarians.” This quality of “half-barbarians” stems from modernity’s panache to split everything. Here is a short list of these splits: mind: body, private: public, religious: secular, rational: irrational, materiality: spirituality, belief: nihilism and so on. For a long time, no one had any solution as to what to do with these splits or as Marshal Berman aptly calls them: “the demons that haunt modernity.”32 But in due course, a solution was found as to how we ought to exorcise these demons. The professional careers of the founders of modern ­psychoanalysis – ­Sigmund Freud and Carl Jung – were dedicated to fixing the splits that stem from the project of modernity. How did they do so? Both the masters would record extensive case histories of their patients before offering diagnosis and cure. In other words, the art of restoring mental well-being was to record and interpret stories. The historian’s craft is very similar and shorn of its methodological jargon, disciplinary history too can perform a huge therapeutic service. In 1995, the government of South Africa, inspired by Nelson Mandela and Desmond Tutu’s reading of psychology and history set up the Truth and Reconciliation Commission. For a period of seven

Academic History and Sikh Studies  47 years, both the oppressors and oppressed were invited to share their stories before the Commission and the public (the proceedings were live broadcast in South Africa every Sunday). 33 What we can learn from this example is that historical narratives are a great tool for healing, not only for horrific situations like apartheid subjected South Africa but, also in more ordinary situations: our everyday lives because the demons of modernity shall always cast their shadow and we shall always need antidotes. I shall name history as one of those potent antidotes.

Conclusions We started this mutual journey with Charles Taylor, the Canadian moral philosopher, and Karam Singh of Amritsar. It is time to go back to them and tie the myriad threads proffered here. One of the greatest challenges posed by colonial modernity was how to respond to the new “social imaginaries” introduced by the Raj. While the most challenging of these Taylorian imaginaries may have been economic and political, one could equally argue that the most pressing of these new forces were actually in the field of culture. Partha Chatterjee, in his classic work on Indian nationalism has put forward such a position.34 Given the daunting task of updating “social imaginaries,” we surveyed how Karam Singh early in the twentieth took on this challenge and left us with a rich legacy of modern historiography. One could argue that he was the first Sikh to distinguish between myth and history (the closest competition to this ranking would be his elder, Attar Singh Bhadaur, of Singh Sabha fame). While Karam Singh often swung open the doors of Narnia and enjoyed sightings of an enchanted and magical world, he was equally apt at shutting the Narnia doors behind him and venture back into the troubled world of colonial modernity. 35 In addition, Karam Singh deftly managed to transcend the hegemony of Udasi-Nirmala ecosystem thus discounting many archaic beliefs rooted in what Wittgenstein would have called the language games of Vedanta. In doing so he left us with a sophisticated model that weds human agency to Sikh spirit, thus illuminating what guided the trajectory of Sikh history making. Despite these achievements, his heuristics were not widely pursued by Sikh intellectuals, as many by the early 1980s developed self-doubts about such departures and instead directed their energy at deconstructing modernity. As part of this reconvening of “tradition,” they went after eminent practitioners of disciplinary history, like Fauja Singh and W.H. McLeod. In a way none of this is surprising. Societies rarely proceed in a linear fashion when it comes to cultural scripts. In post-revolutionary France, throughout the nineteenth century, many attempts were made to turn back to monarchical models, the models that the 1789 revolution had attempted to destroy. During the Meiji restoration, the ideological reconstruction of Japan led many intellectuals to embrace Shintoism, aiming to cleanse Japanese culture of all foreign accretions, including Buddhism. German intellectuals

48  Harjot Oberoi like Nietzsche and Carl Schmidt were alarmed by the widening arc of democracy and egalitarianism. Deeply disturbed by the prospects of a parliamentary polity beholden to the masses, they both used their ample talent to critique the theoretical premises of a liberal order. For them, liberalism and secularism stood for the negation of an honour system that celebrated a warrior culture and individual achievement, particularly martial heroism. Our examples from France, Japan and Germany demonstrate the fault-lines that develop as the foot-print of modernity expands. In all societies, there will be intellectual enclaves that will warn against modernity and its perils. As global Sikhs venture deeper into the twenty-first century they will once again have to engage with Karam Singh and his warm embrace of disciplinary history; alternately, they could retreat to pre-Karam Singh epistemologies. How they negotiate this risky terrain will determine in many ways: what precisely is going to be the nature of the manifesto that connects Sikh Studies to academic history in our times? Hopefully, this new manifesto, if it is ever produced will allow Sikhs to see both sides of the Narnia portal.

Notes 1 Dipesh Chakrabarty, “The Public Life of History: An Argument out of India,” Postcolonial Studies, Vol. 11, 2008, pp. 169–190 and Neeladri Bhattacharya, “Predicaments of Secular Histories,” Public Culture, Vol. 20, 2008, pp. 57–73. 2 See Charles Taylor, Modern Social Imaginaries, Durham, Duke University Press, 2004. 3 Ibid., p. 24. 4 Ibid., pp. 49–67. 5 Dipesh Chakrabarty, “The Public Life of History: An Argument out of India.” Also see, Manan Ahmed Asif, The Loss of Hindustan, The Invention of India, Cambridge, Harvard University Press, 2020, particularly chapter 6, pp. 181–219. 6 Charles Taylor, Modern Social Imaginaries, p. 29. 7 For instance, there is no mention or citation of Karam Singh in the widely read text by J.S. Grewal, The Sikhs of The Punjab, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1990. 8 For my biography of Karam Singh I have drawn extensively from Hira Singh Dard ed., S. Karam Singh Historian di Ithihasik Khoj, Amritsar, Sikh Itihasik Research Board, 1964 and Bhupinder Singh Grover, Karam Singh Historian, Patiala, Punjabi University, 1986. 9 Bhupinder Singh Grover, Karam Singh Historian, pp. 1–2. 10 Ibid., p. 4. 11 For these transcripts and background see Hira Singh Dard ed., S. Karam Singh Historian di Ithihasik Khoj, Amritsar, Singh Brothers, 1964, pp. 267–357. 12 See Karam Singh, Banda Bahadur, Amritsar, Chief Khalsa Diwan, 1907. 13 Karam Singh, Kattak Ki Visakh? Ludhiana, Lahore Book Shop, 1979, first published, Amritsar, 1912. 14 Karam Singh, Ala Singh, Ludhiana, Lahore Book Shop, 1979, first published, Tarantaran, 1918. 15 Karam Singh, Bahu Mule Itihasik Lekh (A Probe into Sikh History), Amritsar, first published, 1963, third edition, 2001, p. 14. All translations from Panjabi to English in this essay are my own.

Academic History and Sikh Studies  49 16 For a recent translation of Weber’s Munich speech see, Paul Reitter and Chad Wellmon eds., Charisma and Disenchantment, The Vocation Lectures, New York, 2020, pp. 1–42. 17 Ibid., p. 13. 18 For this confession see Hira Singh Dard ed., p. 12. 19 Oral history transcripts available in Hira Singh Dard ed., S. Karam Singh Historian di Ithihasik Khoj, Amritsar, 1964, pp. 267–357. 20 See https://www.1947partitionarchive.org/about, accessed April 23, 2021. 21 For a published version of this manuscript see, Professor Hari Singh ed., Parchian Sewa Das, Patiala, Bhasha Vibhag, 1961. 22 For this story see, Hira Singh Dard ed., S. Karam Singh Historian di Ithihasik Khoj pp. 48–49. 23 Rattan Singh Bhangu, Prachin Panth Prakash, ed., Bhai Vir Singh, New Delhi, Bhai Vir Singh Sahitya Sadan, 2008, first published, 1914. 24 Ibid., p. 15. 25 The following are some of the leading works representing this stream of thought: Gurdev Singh ed., Perspectives on the Sikh Tradition, Patiala, Siddharth Publications, 1986, Bachittar Singh Giani ed., Planned Attack on Aad Sri Guru Granth Sahib: Academics or Blasphemy, Chandigarh, International Centre For Sikh Studies, 1994, Jasbir Singh Mann et al. eds., Invasion of Religious Boundaries, Vancouver, Canadian Sikh Study and Teaching Society, 1995. 26 Robin Jeffery, “Grappling with History: Sikh Politicians and the Past,” Pacific Affairs, Vol. 60, 1987, pp. 59–72. 27 For Leo Tolstoy’s philosophy of history see his novel, War and Peace, New York, The Modern Library, 2002, pp. 1344–1386. First published 1869. 28 See Karl Popper, The Open Society And Its Enemies, London, Routledge, 20i1, first published 1945. 29 Ibid, p. 466. 30 The best book on the Watergate scandal remains, Carl Bernstein and Bob Woodward, All The President’s Men, New York, Simon & Schuster, 2014, first published, 1974. 31 For interventions from below see a review essay by Bill Schwarz, “Subaltern Histories,” History Workshop Journal, Vol. 89, 2020, pp. 90–107. 32 Marshal Berman, All That is Solid Melts in the Air, New York, Simon & Schuster, 1982, p. 14. 33 For extensive background see Alex Boraine, A Country Unmasked, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2001. 34 Partha Chatteerjee, Nationalist Thought and the Colonial World: A Derivative Discourse? London, Zed Books, 1986. 35 The reference here is to the fantasy world of Narnia, created by C.S. Lewis in his seven-volume series, The Chronicles of Narnia, London, Lions, 1980, first published between 1950 and 1956. To reach this fantasy world, one had go through a portal represented by a wardrobe.

Bibliography Asif, Manan Ahmed, The Loss of Hindustan, The Invention of India, Cambridge, Harvard University Press, 2020. Berman, Marshal, All That Is Solid Melts in the Air, New York, Simon and Schuster, 1982. Bernstein, Carl and Woodward, Bob, All the President’s Men, New York, Simon & Schuster, 2014, first published, 1974.

50  Harjot Oberoi Bhangu, Rattan Singh, Prachin Panth Prakash, ed., Bhai Vir Singh, New Delhi, Bhai Vir Singh Sahitya Sadan, 2008, first published, 1914, pp. 34–78. Bhattacharya, Neeladri, “Predicaments of Secular Histories,” Public Culture, Vol. 20, 2008, pp. 57–73. Boraine, Alex, A Country Unmasked, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2001. Chakrabarty, Dipesh, “The Public Life of History: An Argument out of India,” Postcolonial Studies, Vol. 11, 2008, pp. 169–190. Chatterjee, Partha, Nationalist Thought and The Colonial World: A Derivative Discourse? London, Zed Books, 1986. Dard, Hira Singh ed., S. Karam Singh Historian di Itihasik Khoj, Amritsar, Sikh Itihasik Research Board, 1964. Giani, Bachittar Singh ed., Planned Attack on Aad Sri Guru Granth Sahib: Academics or Blasphemy, Chandigarh, International Centre for Sikh Studies, 1994. Grewal, Jagtar Singh, The Sikhs of the Punjab, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1990. Grover, Bhupinder Singh, Karam Singh Historian, Patiala, Punjabi University, 1986. https://www.1947partitionarchive.org/about, accessed April 23, 2021. Jeffery, Robin, “Grappling with History: Sikh Politicians and the Past,” Pacific Affairs, Vol. 60, 1987, pp. 59–72. Lewis, Clive Staples, The Chronicles of Narnia, London, Lions, 1980, seven-­ volumes, first published between 1950 and 1956. Mann, Jasbir Singh, Sodhi, Surinder Singh, and Singh, Gurbaksh eds., Invasion of Religious Boundaries, Vancouver, Canadian Sikh Study and Teaching Society, 1995. Popper, Karl, The Open Society and Its Enemies, London, Routledge, 2011, first published 1945. Reitter, Paul and Wellmon, Chad eds., Charisma and Disenchantment, The Vocation Lectures, New York, New York Review of Books, 2020. Schwarz, Bill, “Subaltern Histories,” History Workshop Journal, Vol. 89, 2020, pp. 90–107. Singh, Gurdev ed., Perspectives on Sikh Tradition, Patiala, Siddharth Publications, 1986. Singh, Hari ed., Parchian Sewa Das, Patiala, Bhasha Vibhag, 1961. Singh, Karam, Bahu Mule Itihasik Lekh (A Probe into Sikh History), Amritsar, Singh Brothers, 1963. Singh, Karam, Banda Bhahadur, Amritsar, Chief Khalsa Diwan, Amritsar, 1907. Singh, Karam, Kattak ki Visakh, Ludhiana, Lahore Book Shop, 1979, first published, Amritsar, 1913. Singh, Karam, Ala Singh, Ludhiana, Lahore Book Shop, 1979, first published, Tarantaran, 1918. Taylor, Charles, Modern Social Imaginaries, Durham, Duke University Press, 2004. Tolstoy, Leo, War and Peace, New York, The Modern Library, 2002, pp. 1344– 1386. First published 1869.

2 The Construction of Authority within the Sikh Panth and Its Challenges Pashaura Singh

Introduction The purpose of this study is to locate the sites of authority within the global Sikh community (Panth). In this exploration, we will address certain fundamental questions: What is the notion of authority within the Sikh Panth? How is it constructed and what mechanism is used to transfer it to successive generations? How has its nature changed from its early inception during the period of the human Gurus to modern times? How can we understand the subtle relations between authority and the various challenges to the exercise of its power in different historical periods? In our analysis, we will take into account Max Weber’s tripartite schema of charismatic, traditional and legal-rational authority. We will argue that authority is not an entity but an effect of the fundamental message of Guru Nanak (1469–1539) and his successors. More precisely, it is an effect (and the perceived capacity to produce an effect) that depends for its power on the combination of institutional structures, and the community of believers historically and culturally conditioned to judge what is right in all the various instances and to respond with trust, respect and even reverence (Lincoln 1994: 116–117). We will further look at the challenges offered by dissidents during the period of the Gurus and later on by the sectarian tendencies within the Panth. The diversity of the Panth is closely linked with different interpretations of the notion of authority. We shall conclude this essay by addressing the question of whether authority in the modern and postmodern world differs from its pre-modern counterpart. Originally, the construction of authority is closely linked with the sovereign experience of Guru Nanak, the founder of the Sikh tradition. Here, the term “sovereignty” refers not only to the ability but also the right to freely express one’s lifeworld with the “power to authorize” one’s own speech. In his dialogue with the followers of the Nath tradition, Guru Nanak was asked: “Who is your Guru, by whom you have been authorized?” The Guru responded: “The divine Word (shabad) is my Guru, I am a disciple of the state of consciousness (surti) that arises from its ever-resounding vibration” (GGS: 943). Thus, the state of consciousness, whose essential mark is

DOI: 10.4324/9781003281849-4

51

52  Pashaura Singh the equipoise between ego and ego-loss, became the foundation for Guru Nanak’s power of self-authorization. The original context of this dialogue indicates that Guru Nanak conveyed the notion of authority to the Nath yogis through the use of their own mystical terminology of sacred sound and inner consciousness. The universality of his teachings involved drawing upon a wide range of available linguistic resources. He rightly understood that his audiences would comprehend his message more clearly if put into the language of their own religious heritage. In his autobiographical stanza in Vār Mājh (GGS: 150), Guru Nanak addressed the general audience of Panjabi Hindus and Muslims in the central area of Panjab about his personal transforming experience. His Master (khasam) was the Sovereign of Sovereigns with whom he had established a direct and personal relationship and who gave him the authority to disseminate the divine Word. This illuminating hymn metaphorically reflects the moment of coronation of which the “robe of honor” was the emblem through which Nanak was endowed with the authority to teach his audience as a “Guru”. It marks the beginning of his spiritual reign to preach the message of the divine Name. W.H. McLeod described this transforming event as “an authentic tradition concerning a personally decisive and perhaps ecstatic experience, a climactic culmination of years of searching in illumination and in the conviction that he had been called upon to proclaim divine truth to the world” (McLeod 1968: 107). Guru Nanak was then 30 years of age, had been married to Sulakhani for more than a decade, and was the father of two young sons, Sri Chand and Lakhmi Das. Yet he left his family behind to set out on a series of journeys to both Hindu and Muslim places of pilgrimage in India and abroad (GGS: 156). During his travels, he visited the whole of India, Sri Lanka, the Central Asia and the Middle East. He reminisced later that his foreign travels took place in accordance with the divine will (GGS: 145). On his journeys, Guru Nanak encountered the leaders of different religious persuasions and tested the veracity of his own ideas through dialogue with them. His travels exposed him to diverse cultures and societies that helped him evolve his unique lifeworld. The authenticity and power of Guru Nanak’s spiritual message ultimately derived not from his relationship with the received forms of tradition but rather from his direct access to Divine Reality through personal experience. Such direct access was the ultimate source of his message and provided him with a perspective on life by which he could fully understand, interpret and adjudicate the various elements of existing traditions. He conceived of his work as divinely commissioned, and he required that his followers must obey the divine command (hukam) as an ethical duty. The question of authority became crucial in Guru Nanak’s observation of contemporary Sufi practices. Although he appreciated the Sufi path of love, he did not give Sufi sheikhs his unqualified approval. He emphatically condemned the dependence of the Sufis upon government grants. Many a sheikh subsisted on revenue-free land (madad-i-ma’āsh) granted by the

The Construction of Authority within the Sikh Panth  53 earthly rulers (Grewal 1972: 24–26), collecting ripened crops during the spring and autumn harvesting seasons. There is a direct reference in Guru Nanak’s Malār salok where he ridicules a common practice among the contemporary sheikhs of authorizing their disciples to initiate others into the Sufi path. Indeed, presuming to be sure of his own place of honor with God the sheikh gave assurance to others as well by distributing caps (kulahān) among them. Such a sheikh is likened to the mouse that cannot enter its hole with a winnowing basket tied to its tail (GGS: 1286). This is in contrast to Guru Nanak’s complete dependence upon the “True Name” which he has received from the Divine Court. The key term used in this context is mahadūdu (Persian/Arabic, mahdūd) that refers to “an official document, setting a limit to revenue assessment” (Shackle 1981: 230) during the harvesting seasons in the Panjab. For Guru Nanak, the source of his authority lies in the divine Name: “The spring harvest is the Name of the One Lord; the harvest of autumn is the True Name. I have received an official document (mahadūdu) from my Lord and Master (khasam) when I reached his Court” (GGS: 1286). Here, Guru Nanak addressed the contemporary Sufis on the issue of the source of legitimate authority in their own terminology. Guru Nanak himself was not content to leave the ethical principles that he expounded in his life as merely theoretical constructs, but instead sought to institutionalize them during the last two decades of his life at Kartarpur. His decision to construct a new village where he could establish a new religious community of his followers had far-reaching significance. It will be naïve to view the congregation (sangat) at Kartarpur as an incidental gathering of like-minded disciples around a typical Master (Guru) in Indian setting. There is an urgent need to view his efforts to establish a community upon ethical ideals he had been propagating as the natural extension of a mission to reorganize society according to a unique set of ideological and cosmological postulations that were in accord with the divine command (hukam). It is no wonder that Guru Nanak named his village as Kartarpur or “Creator’s abode” to highlight the point that its residents were committed to restructure their lives according to a new rational model of normative behavior based upon divine authority. The congregation assembled at the Guru’s house at Kartarpur symbolized the establishment of divine sovereignty on earth. As Guru, Nanak’s authority in Kartarpur was evident by the fact he “used to sit on a raised platform made from pieces of bricks on which was spread a mat of dry grass”, while a rabāb-player would sing devotional songs (kīrtan) and the sangat sat nearby (Grewal 2006: 538). There, Guru Nanak lived for the rest of his life as the “spiritual guide” of a newly emerging religious community. His attractive personality and teachings won him many disciples, who received his message of liberation through religious hymns of unique genius and notable beauty. He was the central authority for the early Sikh community and the definer of tradition for his age. He placed explicit emphasis on the ideal of moderate living in the world in which spiritual development

54  Pashaura Singh and social engagement could not be mutually exclusive. In sum, service (seva), self-respect (pati), truthful living (sach achār), humility, sweetness of the spoken word and taking no more than one’s rightful share (haq) were among the virtues most highly prized in the Kartarpur community.

Transference of Authority within the Sikh Panth The legitimacy of passage of authority in the Sikh tradition derives from the personal charisma of Guru Nanak becoming transferrable through the “office” of the Guru. In fact, Max Weber’s observation on the transfer of charisma fits the particular Sikh scenario: “The concept that charisma may be transmitted by ritual means from one bearer to another … involves a dissociation of charisma from a particular individual, making it an objective transferrable entity. In particular, it may become the charisma of office” (Weber 1968: 54, 57). In choosing a successor, Guru Nanak created an aura of legitimacy around Guru Angad via the imprimatur of the office of the Guru. His disciple became Guru through designation. This process was continued in the three earlier successions before Guru Arjan assumed the office of the Guru. In fact, the mainstream Sikh Panth had always recognized the legitimate line of Gurus as being charged with the spiritual authority of Guru Nanak. At the same time, the elder sons of the Gurus had strongly asserted their right to the office by invoking the customary law of primogeniture, giving rise to dissensions in the early Sikh Panth (Khalsa 1997: 34). In light of this theoretical background, let us examine Max Weber’s claim whether “charisma” could be “an objective transferrable entity” or it was more an “effect” of the founder’s spiritual message. Guru Nanak had a vision of an enduring and organized religious community, which he established at Kartarpur in the last two decades of his life. He made provisions for its continuing effective leadership before he passed away in 1539. For this purpose, he created the institution of the Guru, an institution that was to function as the central authority in community life. Thus, he designated his disciple Lehna as his successor by renaming him Angad (“My Own Limb”). Guru Nanak’s decision to designate a successor was the most significant step in the development of early Sikh community. According to the testimony of Sattā and Balvaṇḍ, two contemporary Sikh bards, Guru Nanak decided to promote Angad to the status of “Guru” within his own lifetime, and he bowed before his own successor, highlighting the fact that it was necessary for the charismatic authority to become radically transformed. In fact, Guru Nanak made Angad more than his successor; he made him equal to himself by transferring his own light onto him (GGS: 966). The bards have employed royal terminology to describe Guru Nanak’s establishment of a divine “kingdom” (rāj) at Kartarpur on the solid foundation of Truth. Having installed a royal canopy over Lehna’s head, the Guru applied the ceremonial mark to his forehead and bestowed on him the patrimony of the sword of spiritual knowledge,

The Construction of Authority within the Sikh Panth  55 power and heroism to provide effective leadership to the growing Sikh community. The most astonishing act of Guru Nanak in this ceremony of “royal coronation” was to bow before his disciple while he was still alive. In this act of humility, and with his assumption of the role of “disciple”, Guru Nanak was making a clear statement of the primacy of the message over the messenger. He thereby asserted the objective independence of the power behind divine revelation, thus establishing the idea that the Guru is “one”, even if its expression takes several forms. Indeed, a theory of spiritual succession was advanced in the form of “unity of the office of the Guru”, in which there was no difference between the founder and the successors. They all represented the same light, as a single flame ignites a series of torches. The idea that the revealed word (shabad) is to be assumed as an objective abstract in the form of the light of divine wisdom – in no way a personal effect – had far-reaching implications in the development of the Sikh tradition, in terms of both the consolidation of authority and the evolving scriptural tradition (P. Singh 2006: 183). As part of the succession ceremony, Guru Nanak tied a turban on Lehna’s head (dastārbandī) and placed a volume (pothī) of scriptural text in his hands, marking the actual passing of authority from the Guru to his successor. Thus, Guru Nanak transferred his authority to Guru Angad through the imprimatur of the bāṇī (“inspired utterances”) and institutionalized the office of the Guru to ensure its survival and permanence. Before he passed away in 1539, Guru Nanak recited the concluding salok of Japjī (GGS: 8) while giving final instructions to Guru Angad, who repeated it in the form of a vāk or commandment to the congregation. Unsurprisingly, it is written under his distinctive symbol in Vār Mājh with minor variations (GGS: 146), stressing the continuity and unity of the office of the Guru. During his spiritual reign, Guru Angad (r. 1539–1552) composed only 62 saloks, which throw considerable light on the historical situation of the Sikh Panth. He consolidated the nascent Sikh Panth in the face of the challenge offered by Guru Nanak’s eldest son, Sri Chand (c.1494–1629), who was a lifelong celibate and the founder of the monastic Udasi tradition. To rebuff his claims based on the law of primogeniture, Guru Angad boldly took recourse to the principle that the gift of the office of the Guru could be received only from the master and not by nominating oneself (GGS: 474–475). Nevertheless, Sri Chand and his brother, Lakhmi Das, had made the legal claim as rightful heirs of their father’s properties at Kartarpur, and were supported initially by some prominent Sikhs of Guru Nanak like Ajita Randhawa. The early Sikh community was thus divided in terms of its loyalty towards Guru Angad, who had to establish a new Sikh center at his native village of Khadur. It confirmed an organizational principle – that the communal establishment at Kartarpur should not be considered a unique institution, but rather a model that could be cloned and imitated elsewhere. The contemporary bard, Rāi Balvaṇḍ, played a significant role in bolstering the authority of Guru Angad through his “Ballad of Coronation” (Ṭikke

56  Pashaura Singh dī Vār) in the Rāmkalī mode (GGS: 967). For the first time, this striking text has illuminated Sikh doctrine of unity and continuity of charismatic authority of the Guru. Here, Guru Angad is portrayed as someone noted for his unquestioning obedience to his master, Baba Nanak, who bypassed either of his sons for their defiance in designating Lehna as his successor, preferring spiritual merit as the sole criterion of selection to any familial connection. The challenge to the authority of the “Guru”, however, became an ongoing feature in the Sikh tradition. It is no wonder that the sons of Guru Angad inherited the establishment at Khadur, forcing his successor, Guru Amar Das, to move to Goindval (“City of Govind”, an epithet of God) on the right bank of the Beas River, where the three regions of Panjab (Majha, Doaba and Malwa) meet. The geographical location of this new Sikh center was on the main route from Lahore to Delhi. It soon developed into a flourishing town. This may help account for the spread of Panth’s influence in all three regions of Panjab. A major institutional development took place during the reign of Guru Amar Das (r. 1552–1574), who introduced fresh measures to provide greater cohesion and unity to the ever-­ growing Sikh Panth. Delegating his authority, he organized the Sikhs into 22 administrative units (mañjīs, “seats of authority”) for attracting new followers, each headed by men and women of good standing. Married couples were frequently appointed to these positions. The Mahimā Prākāsh Vārtak (1741–1773) relates to the appointment of Matho (wife) and Murari (husband) by the third Guru (iāh matho murārī kī mañjī kī bakhas hoī, Bajwa 2004: 90). Mai Sevan and Bibi Bhago were two independent female mañjī-holders who preached Sikhī (“Sikh practice”) in Kabul and Kashmir respectively. Further, Guru Amar Das provided distinctive ceremonies for birth and death; designated Vaisākhī and Divālī as Sikh festivals on which Sikhs were summoned annually to appear before the Guru in the town of Goindval; and constructed a sacred well (bāolī) with 84 steps to reach water to bathe while reciting Guru Nanak’s Japjī, thereby establishing the first pilgrimage center for Sikhs at Goindval. From his personal experience, the third Guru recognized the power of pilgrimage centers for socialization and attracting new followers. He undertook the task of collecting the sacred works of his own compositions and of the previous Gurus, in addition to selections from compositions of some of the medieval poet-saints (Bhagats). In extending the precedent set by Guru Nanak at Kartarpur he prepared the so-called Goindval Pothis, the two copies of which are still extant with the descendants of the third Guru. He contributed 907 compositions to this early Sikh scriptural tradition. In the social arena, Guru Amar Das abolished the wearing of the veil and the practice of satī (self-immolation of wives on the funeral pyre of their dead husbands), permitted widows to remarry, approved women’s appointment to position of authority (mañjīs) and gave them rights equal to those of men to conduct prayers and other congregational ceremonies (P. Singh 2017: 22–23).

The Construction of Authority within the Sikh Panth  57 Guru Amar Das made the decision to bequeath his spiritual leadership to his devoted son-in-law Ram Das, passing over his own two sons. Whereas Mohri accepted his father’s decision and fell at the feet of Guru Ram Das (GGS: 924), Mohan established his own parallel seat of authority at Goindval, by challenging the fourth Guru by invoking the customary law of primogeniture. Notably, the office of Guru established by Guru Nanak was not hereditary in the first three successions. The hereditary pattern was asserted after Guru Ram Das. Nevertheless, succession in each case went to the most suitable candidate, not automatically from father to eldest son. Moreover, it was always the decision of the reigning Guru to designate his successor. Under the circumstances, Guru Amar Das had already instructed his successor to create a new Sikh center. This was done in anticipation of opposition from his sons, who could lay a legal claim on the establishment at Goindval for themselves (Vārān Bhāī Gurdās/VBG 26: 33). Therefore, Guru Ram Das moved to Ramdaspur along with his family in 1574, and his loyal disciples followed him. According to Sundar’s eyewitness account in his dirge (Saddu), Guru Amar Das “blessed Sodhi Ram Das with the ceremonial mark, the insignia of the True Word” (GGS: 923). Again, the third Guru transferred his spiritual authority by means of the following salok as the final instruction: “The Perfect Guru has implanted the divine Name within me, dispelling my doubts from within…” (GGS: 86–87). Remarkably, this verse is repeated under the symbol of Guru Ram Das as salok 28 with minor linguistic variations in Salok Vārān te Vadhīk (GGS: 1424). Proclaiming it as a commandment (vāk) to the congregation, the fourth Guru made it the principal source of inspiration while performing kīrtan during his spiritual reign. He contributed 679 hymns and expanded the range of available musical modes (rāgs) by adding 11 new ones, which were not used by the earlier Gurus. He was an accomplished musician who used to perform in classical rāgs. In particular, the musicality and emotional appeal of his hymns had tremendous impact on his audience. From his works, it is quite evident that his “sense of melody and rhythm place him high according to the exalted standards of the Adi Granth, a feature of considerable importance” (McLeod 1997: 27). The founding of the city of Ramdaspur and the excavation of the large pool point toward mobilization of considerable resources by the fourth Guru. These projects required considerable financial and logistical mobilization for which the appointment of “deputies” (masands) became necessary to deal with increasingly complex administrative demands. By now, the Sikh Panth was equal to such an endeavor, confirming the point that the appeal of Guru Nanak’s message had gained wider support and validation. Guru Ram Das had actually delegated his authority to his deputies (masands) who were required to collect voluntary offerings and other contributions from loyal Sikhs scattered throughout India and Afghanistan. Additionally, they played comprehensive roles in leading congregational

58  Pashaura Singh worship, providing doctrinal guidance to their constituents, bringing new people to the Sikh fold, as well as serving as links between local congregations and the center of the Sikh community. They enjoyed an honored place among the Sikhs who trusted them because of their ideal Sikh behavior (P. Singh 2017: 25). Notably, the possibility of a disputed succession was real by the time of the fourth Guru. In order to minimize this dispute, the third Guru had chosen his son-in-law. In this context, Bhai Gurdas (ca. 1558–1636) specifically mentions that at the time of Guru Ram Das’s succession, Bibi Bhani had made this firm resolve: “I will not allow it [i.e. the gift of the office of the Guru] to depart from the Soḍhī clan because no one else can endure the unendurable burden of responsibility” (VBG 1: 47). Thereafter, a convention was established that the succession should be limited to the direct descendants of Guru Ram Das, choosing the most suitable person within the Guru’s family of Soḍhī Khatrīs. Judging his younger son, Arjan, fit to inherit Guru Nanak’s mantle, Guru Ram Das pronounced him his successor. However, this did not go down well with his eldest son, Prithi Chand, who had heated argument with his father. This may be seen in the Sāraṅg hymn: “My son, why do you quarrel with your father? It is a sin to quarrel with the one who brought you to birth and raised you…” (GGS: 1200). The original context of this hymn was the occasion when Prithi Chand started quarreling with his father because he had designated Guru Arjan as his successor on August 30, 1581. This hymn also points to the probability that Prithi Chand had charge of the Guru’s treasury, conducting the various financial transactions of the Sikh court. He had a good working relationship with the deputies (masands) of the Guru, thereby providing him with considerable economic power in the Sikh court (P. Singh 2006: 71). Guru Ram Das introduced the principle of familial succession not to replace the principle of designation, but in addition to that principle. The two principles in combination undermined the claim of heredity, which had been invoked by the heirs of Guru Nanak, Guru Angad and Guru Amar Das (Grewal 1996: 41). This explanation, however, needs to be further qualified by the favorable status enjoyed by the younger son traditionally in Panjabi culture. Arjan had always been the favorite of his parents because of his disarming humility and deeply religious temperament. Guru Ram Das transferred his spiritual authority to his youngest son through the imprimatur of an illuminating stanza (#12) from his Vār Gauṛī, which Guru Arjan repeated with a slight variation (#31) under his distinctive symbol in the same text as Pauṛī Mahallā 5 (“Stanza by Guru Arjan” GGS: 316– 317). The early occurrence of this stanza (GGS: 306) is ascribed to Guru Ram Das, since the actual ballad belongs to him. Here, one may raise the following questions: Why would Guru Arjan use his father’s composition under his own signatures? What is so significant about this stanza that he repeated it? At the succession ceremony of Guru Arjan his father gave him the piece of advice on how to deal with the detractors. After assuming the

The Construction of Authority within the Sikh Panth  59 office of the Guru, the fifth Guru proclaimed it in the form of a vāk or commandment. The dominant theme of this stanza is certainly related, first, to the proclamation of the divine Word by the saintly people, and second, to the condemnation of those who do not accept their authority. The last line in particular provides a warning against the threat to the central authority (P. Singh 2000: 160–161). The very beginning of Guru Arjan’s spiritual reign was marked by the determined enmity of his eldest brother who openly challenged his right to succeed their father. Unsurprisingly, Prithi Chand laid siege (nākābandī) around Ramdaspur to receive the offerings of the unsuspecting Sikh pilgrims, with the help of some masands, thereby sowing the seeds of factionalism within the Panth. Paradoxically, this factionalism became the main impetus behind creative developments within the Panth. For Guru Arjan, it was the defining moment in his chartering of a future course of both accommodation and competition. The first strategy he adopted to consolidate his position was to focus attention on the poetics of humility. His hymns in the Guru Granth Sahib breathe the spirit of utmost humility, which became his most powerful weapon against his detractors (GGS: 628). The second strategy was successful resistance of the challenge posed by Prithi Chand’s followers, invoking heightened loyalty from those who adhered to the mainline Sikh tradition. Prithi Chand approached the local Mughal administrators of Lahore for support but had to remain content for a while with a share in the income from Ramdaspur. Eventually he moved to his in-law’s village Hehar to build a vast complex to counter his brother’s authority. The location at Hehar was strategic as it was en-route to Amritsar from Lahore; so Prithi Chand reached out to several masands and began lobbying for himself as the rightful successor. In effect, he established a parallel seat of authority at Hehar, giving Guru Arjan tough competition (Khalid 2017: 4–5). He submitted a petition (mahzar) signed by a number of detractors to the local Muslim jurist (qāzī) against the Guru. It turned out to be false and the author of this falsehood met an ignominious end (GGS: 199). There is clear evidence in the compositions of Guru Arjan that a series of complaints were made against him to the functionaries of the Mughal state, which gave them an excuse to watch the activities of the Sikhs. In response to such complaints, Sulhi Khan came to attack the Guru’s establishment, but he was killed by his “bolting horse” before his evil intentions materialized (GGS: 825). The Mughal interference in Sikh affairs became an ongoing challenge to the central authority through the machinations of Prithi Chand. The situation was fraught with danger. The sudden death of Sulhi Khan and his nephew created a stir among the Mughal officials, who became apprehensive of the growing Sikh movement. Emperor Akbar wanted to investigate the real situation of the Sikh establishment firsthand. He had heard all kinds of reports about Guru Arjan’s activities, particularly his philanthropic work in Lahore during famine and the frequent complaints from

60  Pashaura Singh Prithi Chand together with his claims to the leadership of the Panth. According to the Akbar-nāmā, on November 4, 1598, Emperor Akbar visited Goindval at the request of Guru Arjan. He listened to the devotional singing in the congregation and was greatly impressed by “the recitation of the Hindi verses that had been composed by Baba Nanak for expounding the knowledge of God”. As a matter of courtesy to Sikh hospitality, Akbar and his entourage shared food in the Guru’s community kitchen. The emperor was highly pleased with Guru Arjan’s “great store of spiritual love” and the selfless service of the Sikhs. At the Guru’s instance, he remitted the annual revenue of the peasants of the district, who had been hit hard by the failure of the monsoon. As a result of the tax remission, Guru Arjan’s popularity skyrocketed amongst the rural peasantry of Panjab (P. Singh 2006: 81–82). To a large extent, the discourse of religious pluralism during Emperor Akbar’s reign provided the overall context for the peaceful evolution of the Sikh Panth. Even if his liberal policy provided a shelter to Guru Arjan and his followers for a time, it could not remove the nefarious designs of the Guru’s enemies for good. Unsurprisingly, within eight months of Akbar’s death in October 1605, Guru Arjan was executed on Friday, May 30, 1606, by the orders of the new emperor, Jahangir (r. 1605–1628). This was the end of the career of the most energetic Sikh Guru, whose death was perceived to be the “supreme sacrifice” by the Sikh community. Undoubtedly, Guru Arjan’s martyrdom was of crucial significance in Sikh history, contributing at a fundamental level to the growth of the Sikh community’s self-consciousness, separatism and militancy (Smith 1981: 191). It became the single most decisive factor in the crystallization of the Sikh Panth. In fact, this most horrific execution not only signaled the end of Akbar’s policy of religious pluralism, but also marked the beginning of a transformation in the religious and cultural landscape of Mughal India (P. Singh 2006: 83). The end of Guru Arjan’s life was not really the end; his death empowered his followers to stand more boldly for the ideals of truth, justice and fearlessness. A radical reshaping of the Sikh Panth took place after his martyrdom. His only son and successor, Guru Hargobind (1595–1644), signaled the formal process when he donned two swords symbolizing the spiritual (pīrī) and the temporal (mīrī) investiture. The inscriptions on these two swords preserved at the Toshākhānā at Amritsar are instructive: the phrase pātashāhī chhevīn pīrī (“Spiritual authority of the sixth King”) appear on the sword of spiritual authority (pīrī tegh); while the wording amale-pātashāh-mīrī (“Temporal authority of the sovereign King”) appear on the sword of temporal authority (mīrī tegh). Also, the Guru built the Akal Takht (“Eternal Throne”) facing the Darbar Sahib (present-day Golden Temple), representing the newly assumed role of temporal authority. Under his direct leadership, the Sikh Panth took up arms to protect itself from Mughal hostility. According to Bhai Gurdas, this new martial response was like “hedging the orchard of the Sikh faith with the hardy and thorny

The Construction of Authority within the Sikh Panth  61 kikar tree” (VBG 25: 25). It was meant to achieve a balance between temporal and spiritual concerns as propagated by Guru Nanak. After four skirmishes with Mughal troops, Guru Hargobind strategically withdrew with his retinue to Kiratpur in 1634 at the edge of Shivalik Hills in the Hindur territory of a vassal beyond the jurisdiction of Mughal Empire. Amritsar fell into the hands of the Mīṇās (descendants of Prithi Chand), who established a parallel seat of authority with the support of Mughal officials (P. Singh 2019: 9). Guru Hargobind designated his grandson Har Rai (1630–1661), Baba Gurdita’s younger son, as his successor before he passed away on 3 March 1644 at Kiratpur. This was intentionally done in response to Mughal interference in Sikh affairs because Dhir Mal, Baba Gurdita’s elder son, had already established a parallel seat of authority at Kartarpur in Jalandhar District with the help of a revenue-free grant given to him by Emperor Shah Jahan on 29 November 1643 (P. Singh 2006: 77). With the original Kartarpur Pothi (1604) in his possession, Dhir Mal laid claim to the office of the Guru on the basis of the law of primogeniture. The Mughal emperor had thought of bringing the Sikhs under control by supporting the claims of Dhir Mal and his followers. To rebuff the Mughal challenge Guru Hargobind deliberately bypassed his remaining two sons and transferred his spiritual authority to his successor by means of Guru Arjan’s salok as the final instruction: “Keep your hope of succor focused only on the One Divine, my soul, and discard all other hope. Meditate, Nanak, on the divine Name and all your tasks will be accomplished” (GGS: 257). Guru Har Rai inscribed these words on a piece of paper and issued a commandment (vāk) to the congregation. Fortunately, this important historical information is preserved in a manuscript of the Adi Granth completed in 1667 CE by Jograj. The piece of information given on folio 3b is said to be a copy of Guru Har Rai’s writing: Saloku// dhar jīare ikk tek tūn lāhe bidānī ās// nānak nāmu dhiāīai kāraju āvai rāsi//1//. These words were proclaimed in writing by the Guru at the time of succession to the throne [of Guru Nanak] in the morning hours of Tuesday, in the month of the last days of poh [December/January], at Thapul Dera in Sirmor. He who reflects on these words will be blessed. His cycle of birth and death will be broken. This is the Guru’s vāk (commandment). (P. Singh 2000: 71) This note refers to an important moment in Sikh history when Guru Har Rai went to Thapul in Sirmor (Nahan) soon after his succession to the throne of Guru Nanak and proclaimed his first teaching in the form of a vāk (commandment). It also throws a considerable light on the well-­established tradition of receiving a vāk from the reigning Guru. Jograj seems to have felt the need to record this for posterity in his volume of the Adi Granth.

62  Pashaura Singh Moreover, this note corroborates the testimony of the contemporary Persian chronicle Dabistān-i-Mazāhib: In the year one thousand and fifty-five (Hijri), when Najabat Khan, son of Shah Rukh Mirza, having mobilized an army, under the orders of Shah Jahan, invaded the territories of Tara Chand and made the Raja a prisoner, Guru Har Rai went to Thapul in the territories of Raja Karam Chand near Sirhind. (G. Singh 1967: 67–68) Evidently, the seventh Guru did not want to “embroil himself in an armed conflict between the chief of Hindur (Nalagarh) and the Mughal commandants who invaded his territories” (Grewal 1990: 67). During the time of the seventh Guru, the emphasis on armed conflict with the Mughals receded, but Guru Har Rai held court and kept a regular force of Sikh horsemen. He had favorable relations with Dara Shikoh (eldest son of Emperor Shah Jahan and heir apparent to the Mughal throne), who sought the Guru’s help while he was fleeing in front of the army of his younger brother Aurangzeb, after his defeat in the battle of Samugrah on May 29, 1658. According to Mahimā Prakāsh Vārtak, Guru Har Rai deployed his own troops at the ferry at Goindval to delay Aurangzeb’s army, which was pursuing Dara Shikoh at his heels (Bajwa 2004: 161). When the Mughal courtiers reported to Aurangzeb that Guru Har Rai had helped the fugitive prince Dara Shikoh, Aurangzeb asked Raja Jai Singh of Amber to have the Guru summoned to Delhi. The Guru sent instead his elder son, Ram Rai, along with his minister Dargah Mall, who escorted him. In the Mughal court, Ram Rai deliberately misread one of the lines from the Adi Granth and strayed away from the teachings of the Gurus against the performance of miracles. When Guru Har Rai came to know about his elder son’s moral lapse, he immediately designated his youngest son, Har Krishan (1656–1664), as his successor before he passed away at Kiratpur on October 6, 1661 CE. This was a direct challenge to Aurangzeb who had kept Ram Rai as hostage in Delhi on the assumption that Ram Rai would be the heir apparent of Guru Har Rai and could be manipulated into bringing the Sikhs under control. Again, the emperor summoned Guru Har Krishan to Delhi through Raja Jai Singh who hosted the young Guru in his bungalow. Anticipating that the emperor would insist that he demonstrate miraculous feats, the Guru refused to meet him in person. Meanwhile, an epidemic of smallpox was raging in the city of Delhi, and the Guru came out of Raja Jai Singh’s bungalow to tend the sick. During the service of healing the sick Guru Har Krishan was himself afflicted with the disease of smallpox, which ravaged his body. He made the pronouncement of designating his successor as “Baba Bakale”, meaning that the next Guru would be found in the town of Bakala. He was specifically referring to his great-uncle, Tegh Bahadur

The Construction of Authority within the Sikh Panth  63 (youngest son of Guru Hargobind), who lived at the town of Bakala at that time. His sagacious decision once again frustrated Aurangzeb’s attempts to bring the mainstream Sikh community under control. Guru Har Krishan passed away on March 30, 1664. During the period of the ninth Guru, Tegh Bahadur (1621–1675), the increasing strength of the Sikh movement in the rural areas of the Malwa region of the Panjab once again attracted the hostility of Mughal authorities. The Guru encouraged his followers to be fearless in their pursuit of a just society: “One who holds none in fear, nor is afraid of anyone, is acknowledged as a person of true wisdom” (GGS: 1427). In doing so, Guru Tegh Bahadur posed a direct challenge to Emperor Aurangzeb who had imposed Islamic laws and taxes on non-Muslims. When a group of Hindu pandits (“scholars”) from Kashmir asked for the Guru’s help against Aurangzeb’s oppressive measures, he agreed to do whatever was necessary to defend their rights to wear their “sacred threads and frontal marks” (DG: 70). A message was sent to the emperor saying that if Guru Tegh Bahadur could be persuaded to accept Islam, the Hindus would convert as well. Accordingly, the Guru was summoned to Delhi, and when he refused to abandon his faith he was publicly executed on 11 November 1675. Before leaving for Delhi Guru Tegh Bahadur transferred his spiritual authority to his nine-year-old son, Gobind Das, by means of the following couplet (doharā) providing instructions with an optimistic note: “The strength is restored, and the shackles are broken, All the strategies are now doable. O Nanak! Everything is in your hands, Divine Sovereign. You are my helper and support” (Salok 54, GGS: 1429). The tenth Guru issued this couplet as a commandment (vāk) to his audience, resolving to empower the Sikh Panth. Unsurprisingly, this couplet was recorded in some early manuscripts of the Adi Granth under the distinctive symbol of “Mahallā 10” (P. 2000: 73). Originally, this couplet was Guru Tegh Bahadur’s response to the existential crisis in which the elite group of Brahmins found themselves under the threat of conversion to Islam, seeking the Guru’s help by invoking the story of the elephant from Hindu mythology (Gajendra Mokśa) in their plea: “The strength is exhausted, and we are in captivity. Nothing is going to work at all. Says Nanak, the Divine Sovereign is the only support now. May he come to our rescue as he did the elephant” (Salok 53, GGS: 1429). Tradition holds that the Sikhs who were present at the scene of Guru Tegh Bahadur’s execution shrank from recognition, concealing their identity for fear they might suffer a similar fate. In order to respond to this new situation, the tenth Guru, Gobind Singh (1666–1708), resolved to impose on his followers an outward form that would make them instantly recognizable. He restructured the Sikh Panth and instituted the Khalsa (“pure ones” under the direct jurisdiction of the divine Sovereign), an order of loyal Sikhs bound by common identity and discipline. On Vaisakhi Day 1699 at Anandpur, Guru Gobind Singh initiated the first “Cherished Five” (panj pyare), who formed the nucleus of the new order of the Khalsa. These

64  Pashaura Singh five volunteers who responded to the Guru’s call for loyalty, received the initiation through a ceremony that involved sweetened water (amrit) stirred with a two-edged sword and sanctified by the recitation of five liturgical prayers. Guru Gobind Singh symbolically transferred his spiritual authority to the Cherished Five when he himself received the nectar of the double-edged sword from their hands and thus became a part of the Khalsa Panth and subject to its collective will. In this way, he not only paved the way for the termination of a “single person” holding the office of Guru but also abolished the institution of the elite-appointed masands, who were becoming increasingly disruptive. Several masands had refused to forward collections to the Guru, creating factionalism in the Sikh Panth. In addition, Guru Gobind Singh removed the threat posed by competing seats of authority when he declared that the Khalsa should have no dealings with the followers of Prithi Chand (Mīṇās), Dhir Mal (Guru Har Rai’s elder brother, who established his seat at Kartarpur, Jalandhar) and Ram Rai (Guru Har Krishan’s elder brother, who established his seat at Dehra Dun) (Singh 2017: 75). With the creation of the Khalsa, the Guru infused a new spirit among his warrior-saints, who were ready to fight against injustice and tyranny. Thus, in transforming Sikhs into a self-governing warrior group, the tenth Guru set in motion a profound change in the political and cultural fabric of the Mughal province of Panjab (Dhavan 2011: 3). Most instructively, his army was never to wage war for power, for gain or for personal rancor: “The Khalsa was resolutely to uphold justice and to oppose only that which is evil” (McLeod 1997: 105). Before he passed away in 1708, Guru Gobind Singh placed the spiritual and temporal authority (jāmā) within the collective body of the Khalsa, emphasizing the corporate sovereignty of the Sikh Panth. He also closed the Sikh canon by adding a collection of the works of his father, Guru Tegh Bahadur, to the original compilation of the Adi Granth. Most significantly, he terminated the line of personal Gurus, and installed the Adi Granth as the eternal Guru for Sikhs. Thereafter, the authority of the Guru was invested both in the scripture (Guru Granth) and in the corporate community (Guru Panth).

Dynamics of the Doctrines of Guru-Granth and Guru-Panth The transition from charismatic authority to traditional authority is highlighted in the earliest text of Kavi Sainapati’s Sri Gur Sobhā (1701–1711 CE), specifically mentioning that Guru Gobind Singh designated the Khalsa as the collective embodiment of his divine mandate: Upon the Khalsa which I have created I shall bestow the succession. The Khalsa is my physical form and I am one with the Khalsa. To all

The Construction of Authority within the Sikh Panth  65 eternity I am manifest in the Khalsa. Those whose hearts are purged of falsehood will be known as the true Khalsa; and the Khalsa, freed from error and illusion, will be my true Guru. (McLeod 1989: 52) Sainapati envisioned a Sikh Panth in which the new Khalsa code of conduct (rahit) was normative for all Sikhs. He was explicit in rejecting caste hierarchies within the Panth. As Purnima Dhavan remarks, “The Khalsa mission for Sainapati, thus, is not the narrow political aggrandizement of one individual or lineage, but greater spiritual quest in which the spiritual autonomy of the community is prioritized” (Dhavan 2007: 115). In addition to the “spiritual autonomy” of the community, however, the popular slogan – Raj karega Khalsa (“The Khalsa shall Rule”) – infused the spirit of “political sovereignty” among the Khalsa Sikhs simultaneously (P. Singh 2014: 640). There is some evidence that urban Khatri Sikhs among the Nanakpanthis extended the line of Gurus to include Banda, Mata Sundari, Mata Sahib Devan and Mata Sundari’s adopted son and grandson, Ajit Singh and Hathi Singh. Jeevan Deol has cited Rai Chaturman’s Chahar Gulshan (AH 1173/1760–1761 CE) to claim that Ajit Singh was placed on sajjada (“prayer carpet”) with imperial permission, a move that implies a significant participation by Khatris having influence at court. When Ajit Singh grew older, he was encouraged to set up his own court and dispossessed Mata Sundari, who in turn set up her own sajjada during the reign of Farrukhsiyar (Deol 2001: 28). Unsurprisingly, Mughal interference was still at work within the urban Sikh community. There is, however, no evidence in Sikh sources that either of the Matas assumed the status of Guru, although their letters of command (hukam-nāmās) to various congregations in Patna, Benares and Panjab are extant (G. Singh 1967: 196–231). In this context, the letter of Mata Sundari in the possession of Bhai Chet Singh, of the village of Bhai Rupa, addressed to his ancestors, is quite revealing. Note the following relevant excerpts from this letter: …Waheguru’s Khalsa must always be alert, be possessed of discriminating wisdom. The Khalsa must believe in none other than the Timeless One. There have been only Ten Masters in human form; to believe in eleventh, twelfth, Banda Chaubanda, Ajita [Ajit Singh, adopted son of Mata Sundariji], etc., is a mortal sin. Every other sin can be had forgiven by repeating the Guru’s name, but this sin of believing in human form will not be remitted. “The faces turned away from the Guru are faces perverted.” Khalsaji, you must believe in none other except the Timeless one. Go only to the Ten Gurus in search of the Word…. (H. Singh 1988: 11–13) The followers of Banda Singh or Ajit Singh, who called their leaders “Gurus”, were committing a mortal sin in the eyes of Mata Sundari. This letter

66  Pashaura Singh explicitly repudiates the claim made by the author of Chahar Gulshan that Mata Sundari had set up her own sajada during the reign of Farrukhsiyar. As a matter of fact, Mata Sundari played a central role in providing leadership to the scattered Sikh community without claiming the status of “Guru” for herself. Of course, she was greatly respected along with Mata Sahib Devan as the “mothers” of the Khalsa. It should, however, be emphasized that the challenge from heterodox sects to the twin doctrines of Guru-Granth and Guru-Panth in the eighteenth century was somewhat subdued because of the rising dominance of the Khalsa in the Panjab. As Hardip Singh Syan aptly remarks that “the more the Mughals were seen as failures the more politically legitimate the Khalsa became” (Syan 2013: 215). When the Khalsa took control of Amritsar in the early years of eighteenth century, the Mina sect became extinct since there was no Mughal support to sustain it. If the movement had internal strength it would have attracted followers. Even their establishment at Har Sahai survived only because they were able to work out some kind of reconciliation with the Khalsa in the middle of the eighteenth century. Again, Sarup Das Bhalla, the author of Mahimā Prakāsh (1776), represented the interests of all the descendants of the Gurus because of their distinguished origins. He was prompted by the urgency of the new situation in which the discourse of power politics was at work. The Khalsa was rapidly gaining political ascendency in the context of the late eighteenth-century Panjab. For him, it was the need of the hour to start a process of renegotiation in power relationship within the Panth. His narrative reflected the combined strategies of different groups of the Gurus’ descendants, deliberately adopted to express their particular interests. During the eighteenth century, the twin doctrines of Guru-Granth and Guru-Panth successfully provided cohesiveness within the Sikh tradition. The compound term Sarbat Khalsa (“Entire Khalsa”) originated in this period to describe the temporary unity accomplished by the linking of different misls (“confederacies”) for some shared purpose, such as campaigns against the armies of Mughals and Afghan invaders. There developed the practice of holding biannual assemblies of the Sarbat Khalsa before the Akal Takhat in Amritsar. These meetings were held in the presence of the Guru Granth Sahib and a formal decision reached after debate by the leaders of the misls was called a gurmata (“Guru’s intention”), representing the will of the eternal Guru and as such binding on the whole Sikh community. A refusal to accept any such resolution constituted rebellion against the Guru himself (McLeod 1989: 55). However, to consolidate his power Maharaja Ranjit Singh (1780–1839) abolished political gurmatas in 1809 and downplayed the doctrine of Guru-Panth to reconcile the growing social inequalities in the Panth. Thus, the process was set in motion by which the doctrine of Guru-Granth came to the fore in place of the doctrine of Guru-Panth. It gained further momentum during the Singh Sabha period (P. Singh 2000: 179).

The Construction of Authority within the Sikh Panth  67 Further, four decades of Maharaja Ranjit Singh’s reign (r.1799–1839) provided the Sikh community with more settled political conditions, and with territorial expansion as far as Peshawar in the west, people of different cultural and religious backgrounds were attracted to the fold of Sikhism. The appearance of the Golden Temple today owes a great deal to the generous patronage of the Maharaja. Although the Maharaja himself was a Khalsa Sikh, his rule was marked by religious diversity within the Sikh Panth. He forged an internal alliance with the Sahajdharis: Sikhs who lived as Nanakpanthis but did not accept the Khalsa code of conduct. The Khalsa conceded the religious culture of the Sahajdharis to be legitimate even though, in keeping with the inclusive approach of their sovereign, the latter revered Hindu scriptures as well as the Guru Granth Sahib and the Dasam Granth. After the death of Maharaja Ranjit Singh in 1839, his successors could not withstand the pressure exerted by the advancing British forces. After two Anglo-Sikh wars in 1846 and 1849, the Sikh kingdom was annexed to the British Empire (P. Singh 2014: 27–28). Finally, in the early decades of the twentieth century, the Tat Khalsa reformers also contributed to two important legal changes. First, in 1909, they obtained legal recognition of the distinctive Sikh wedding ritual in the Anand Marriage Act (1909). Second, in the 1920s they helped to re-­ establish direct Khalsa control of the major historical gurdwaras, many of which had fallen into the hands of corrupt Mahants (“custodians”) supported by the British. The Akali movement began in 1920 as a non-violent agitation. This is sometimes described as the “Third Sikh War” of 1920– 1925, although it is better known as the Gurdwara Reform Movement. It was finally terminated by the drafting and passing of the Sikh Gurdwaras Act of 1925, under which control of all gurdwaras passed to the Shiromani Gurdwara Parbandhak Committee (SGPC; “Chief Management Committee of Sikh Shrines”). Control of the gurdwaras gave the SGPC enormous political and economic influence, making it the “authoritative voice” of the Sikhs from a legal perspective. As a democratic institution, it has always represented the majority opinion, claiming to represent the authority of the “Guru-Panth”, although it has been frequently challenged by Sikhs living outside the Panjab. Having established itself as the central authority on all questions of religious discipline the SGPC published the standard manual of the “Sikh Code of Conduct” known as Sikh Rehat Maryada in 1950. This manual has ever since been regarded as the authoritative guide to orthodox Sikh doctrine and behavior.

Current Challenges to the Authority within the Global Panth Much like the challenges offered by the dissidents during the period of the personal Gurus, the current situation of the global Panth is full of its own complexities. Both external and internal forces are at work to test the

68  Pashaura Singh resilience of the Panth within the intersection of religion and politics. In the absence of any organized religious hierarchy like the Catholic Church, Sikhs living in different parts of the world look towards the unassailable authority of the Guru Granth Sahib. In this context, W.H. McLeod made an important observation: Sikhs normally find it by returning to the Guru Granth Sahib and accepting it alone as the supreme and absolute authority. Through the scripture the Guru speaks. Those who are not Sikhs may question its sufficiency, but they are bound to acknowledge that Sikhs have a better record of harmony and accord than other religious systems can claim. Sectarian divisions and controversies must be acknowledged, yet what other religion is without these? By maintaining their trust in the Guru, which is the Granth, the Sikh people uphold a belief that stands them in abundantly good stead. (McLeod 1997: 266) Here, McLeod provided an objective assessment of the role of the “scriptural Guru” as the source of ultimate authority within the Sikh Panth. Unsurprisingly, the place and function of the Adi Granth as Guru has inspired the Sikhs throughout their history in personal piety, liturgy, ceremonies and communal solidarity. It has given them a sacred focus on which to reflect and in the process discover the meaning of life as Sikhs. It has provided a framework for shaping of the Sikh Panth and, hence, it has been a decisive factor for shaping distinctive Sikh identity. Therefore, the ultimate authority within the Sikh tradition for a wide range of personal and public conduct lies in the Guru Granth Sahib. In a judgment entitled Shiromani Gurdwara Parbandhak Committee (SGPC) Amritsar v. Som Nath Dass and others delivered on March 29, 2000, the Supreme Court of India has held that Sri Guru Granth Sahib is a “juristic person” (AIR 2000 SC 1421). This is indeed a historic judgment of far-reaching consequences for the Sikh Panth. The SGPC came into being during the colonial period as an elected body to maintain Sikh shrines in the Panjab. As a democratic institution, it eventually became an authoritative “voice” of the Sikh community in doctrinal and praxis matters. To maintain its control over larger Sikh community, it invokes the authority of the Akal Takht (“Throne of the Immortal”). Functionally, the Akal Takht may issue edicts (hukam-namas) that provide guidance or clarification on any aspect of Sikh doctrine or practice referred to it. It may admonish any person charged with violation of religious discipline or with any activity “prejudicial” to Sikh interests and unity, or place on record individuals who have performed outstanding services or made sacrifices for the Sikh cause (MGS 1992: 56). The institution of the Akal Takht, however, cannot be compared with any quasi-judicial system. Rather, it is essentially a religious institution that reflects the political balance within

The Construction of Authority within the Sikh Panth  69 the Sikh community. To break an impasse within the Panth in a particular situation, it may function in its own unique way without following set procedures, implying that it is still in the process of evolving. Finally, the colorful diversity within the Panth may be seen from the numerous deras (“camps”) established by saintly figures known as Babas (“Sikh Sants”), Bibis (“Female Sants”), Nihangs (“Khalsa Warriors”), Udasis (“ascetics”), Nirmalas (“Traditional Scholars”), Sevapanthis (“Volunteers”) and so on (Nesbitt 2014: 360–371 and Judge 2014: 372–381). They are known for their piety and understanding of the teachings of the Sikh Gurus (Gurmat). However, there are some sectarian groups such as Namdharis, Nriankaris, Valmikis and Ravidasis, who pose a direct challenge to the Panth by establishing their own guru-lineages (Takhar 2014: 350–359). These religious leaders can exert a great deal of authority over the lives of their followers, both in India and in overseas communities (Jakobsh 2012: 70). They have established their own gurdwaras where they have the final say in the day-to-day running of their affairs without the need of any elected committees. These postmodern sect formations are not different from their premodern counterparts.

Conclusion In Sikh usage, the figure of the “Guru” encompasses four types of authority: the eternal Guru (Satguru), the personal Guru, Guru-Granth and Guru-­Panth. First, Guru Nanak uses the term “Guru” to refer to Akal Purakh himself, to the voice of Akal Purakh and to the Word, the Truth of Akal Purakh. To experience the eternal Guru is to experience divine guidance. Second, the personal Guru is the channel through which the voice of Akal Purakh becomes audible. Nanak became the embodiment of the eternal Guru only when he received the divine Word and conveyed it to his disciples. The Sikhs believe that the same voice spoke through each of his successors. Third, Sikhs refer to the Sikh scripture as the Guru Granth Sahib. Thus, they acknowledge their faith in it as the successor to Guru Gobind Singh, with the same status, authority and functions as any of the ten human Gurus. Fourth, the phrase Guru-Panth refers to the idea that the Guru is mystically present in the corporate body of the Sikh community. In the Sikh lexicon, therefore, the term “Guru” is significantly different from that of Hindus and the controversial use of the term for the heads of some Sikh-related sectarian movements. It takes on religious-political connotations that go well beyond its meaning and application in the broader South Asian context, where it is limited to a teacher of worldly knowledge or a conveyer of spiritual insights (Mandair 2014: 310–311). In this study, we have seen that Guru Nanak’s own preceptor was not a human Guru, but an impersonal principle of the divine Word (shabad) which Guru Nanak also calls Satguru (lit. “the true authority”), a term that implies a personal relation to the Word. Thus, personal or impersonal, only the Word speaks

70  Pashaura Singh truly about the nature of existence (ibid., 311). This analysis has explicitly shown that the divine Word (shabad) became the imprimatur through which the authority of the “Guru” was transferred to successive Gurus who pronounced it as a divine commandment (vāk) to their respective audiences. The installation of the Adi Granth as Guru was the natural extension of the process that began with Guru Nanak. In sum, the diversity of Sikh life is now visible in a global context, and webmasters have become the “new authorities” speaking on behalf of Sikhism, eroding the power of institutional structures within the Sikh Panth. Of course, Sikhism is not the only tradition in which institutional authority is eroding; in an increasingly secular, globalized world, all religions are facing similar challenges. The response of the global Panth has been to put the Sikh institutions on guard by constant questioning and seeking transparency on each aspect of their functioning. With the emergence of new technological advancements, the scriptural authority of the Guru Granth Sahib will remain intact, while the authority of the institutional structures of the SGPC, the Akal Takhat and other Sikh organizations throughout the world will come under extreme scrutiny. Thus, the twenty-first century promises to be both challenging and rewarding for the Sikhs.

References All the references from the Guru Granth Sahib (GGS) are from the standard 1,430page text. For instance, ‘GGS: 150’ implies that the reference is on page 150. Bajwa, Kulwinder Singh (ed.). 2004. Mahimā Prakāsh (Vārtak). Amritsar: Singh Brothers. Deol, Jeevan. 2014 [2001]. Eighteenth Century Khalsa Identity: Discourse, Praxis, and Narrative. In Sikh Religion, Culture and Ethnicity. Edited by Christopher Shackle, Gurharpal Singh and Arvind-Pal Mandair. London and New York: Routledge Taylor & Francis Group, pp. 25–46. Dhavan, Purnima. 2007. Redemptive Past and Imperiled Future: The Writing of a Sikh History. Sikh Formations 3/2: 111–124. ———. 2011. When Sparrows Became Hawks: The Making of the Sikh Warrior Tradition, 1699–1799. New York: Oxford University Press. Grewal, Jagtar Singh 1972. From Guru Nanak to Maharaja Ranjit Singh. Amritsar: Guru Nanak Dev University. ———. 1990. The New Cambridge History of India: The Sikhs of the Punjab. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ———. 1996. Sikh Ideology, Polity, and Social Order. New Delhi: Manohar Publications. ———. 2006. The Gurdwara. In Religious Movements and Institutions in Medieval India. Edited by J.S. Grewal. Vol. vii, Part 2 of History Science, Philosophy and Culture in Indian Civilization. New Delhi: Oxford University Press, pp. 533–547. Jakobsh, Doris R. 2012. Sikhism: Dimensions of Asian Spirituality. Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press.

The Construction of Authority within the Sikh Panth  71 Judge, Paramjit Singh. 2014. Taksals, Akharas, and Nihang Deras. In The Oxford Handbook of Sikh Studies. Edited by Pashaura Singh and Louis E. Fenech. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, pp. 372–381. Khalid, Haroon. 2017. Intrigue, manipulation, deception: How Guru Arjan’s brother put up a serious challenge against him. Scroll.in (Published June 09, 2017. 05:30 pm): https://scroll.in/article/print/840061 Khalsa, Gurudharam Singh. 1997. Guru Ram Das in Sikh Tradition. New Delhi: Harman Publishing House. Lincoln, Bruce. 1994. Authority: Construction and Corrosion. Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press. Mandair, Arvind-Pal. 2014. Sikh Philosophy. In The Oxford Handbook of Sikh Studies. Edited by Pashaura Singh and Louis E. Fenech. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, pp. 298–314. McLeod, W. Hew. 1968. Guru Nanak and the Sikh Religion. Oxford: Clarendon Press. McLeod, W. Hew. 1989. Who Is a Sikh? The Problem of Sikh Identity. Oxford: Clarendon Press. McLeod, Hew. 1997. Sikhism. London: Penguin Books. Nesbitt, Eleanor. 2014. Sikh Sants and their Establishments in India and Abroad. In The Oxford Handbook of Sikh Studies. Edited by Pashaura Singh and Louis E. Fenech. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, pp. 360–371. SGPC Amritsar v. Som Nath Dass AIR 2000, SC 1421. Shackle, Christopher. 1981. A Guru Nanak Glossary. London: SOAS, University of London. Singh, Ganda. 1967. Hukamnāme: Gurū Sahibān, Mātā Sahibān, Bandā Siṅgh ate Khālsā Jī De. Patiala: Punjabi University. ——— (ed.). 1967. Nanak-Panthis. The Panjab Past and Present, Vol. 1, No. 1 (April 1967): 47–71. Singh, Harbans. 1988. Sri Guru Granth Sahib: Guru Eternal for the Sikhs. Patiala: Academy of Sikh Religion and Culture. Singh, Kashmir. 2004 ‘Sri Guru Granth Sahib – A Juristic Person’, http://www. globalsikhstudies.net/ articles/ Singh, Major Gurmukh (MGS). 1992. Akāl Takht. In The Encyclopaedia of Sikhism, Vol. I. Edited by Harbans Singh. Patiala: Punjabi University, pp. 56–60. Singh, Pashaura. 2000. The Guru Granth Sahib: Canon, Meaning and Authority. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. ———. 2006. Life and Work of Guru Arjan: History, Memory and Biography In the Sikh Tradition. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. ———. 2014. An Overview of Sikh History. In The Oxford Handbook of Sikh Studies. Edited by Pashaura Singh and Louis E. Fenech. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, pp. 19–34. ———. 2017. The Sikh Gurus: Works of Art in the Kapany Collection. In Sikh Art from the Kapany Collection. Edited by Paul Michael Taylor and Sonia Dhami. Palo Alto, CA: The Sikh Foundation International, in association with the Asian Cultural History Program Smithsonian Institution, pp. 50–77. ———. 2019. How Avoiding the Religion-Politics Divide Plays out in Sikh Politics. Religions, 10, 296: 1–24.

72  Pashaura Singh Smith, Wilfred Cantwell. 1981. The Crystallization of Religious Communities in Mughal India. In Understanding Islam: Selected Studies. The Hague, The Netherlands: Mouton Publishers, pp. 177–196. Syan, Hardeep Singh. 2013. Sikh Militancy in the Seventeenth Century: Religious Violence in Mughal and Early Modern India. London and New York: I.B. Tauris. Takhar, Opinderjit Kaur. 2014. Sikh Sects. In The Oxford Handbook of Sikh Studies. Edited by Pashaura Singh and Louis E. Fenech. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, pp. 350–359. Weber, Max. 1968. On Charisma and Institution Building. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press.

3 Guru Gobind Singh and the Khalsa Louis Fenech

Introduction The reasons that are often articulated for the Khalsa’s inauguration are very well known. These include its creation as a more robust martial response to growing Mughal hostility in the wake of the execution of Guru Tegh Bahadur in 1675 as well as the need to tie the India-wide community of Sikhs ever more firmly to Guru Gobind Singh. Recently more nuanced interpretations of the Khalsa’s founding have emerged analysing the multiple evolving variables in its formation, features including the peasant and martial communities that roamed the Indian countryside during the eighteenth century who were bound by multiple overlapping loyalties, and the evolving nature of the Sikh Rahit in response to the multifaceted situation that confronted Sikh soldiers and peasants and the cultural, religious, and political forces that worked upon them. In many ways what appears in the following pages has these insightfully textured studies very much in the background.1 The need to return to this inauguration is exacerbated by the fact that Purnima Dhavan’s analysis in particular, situates the focus predominantly in the post-Guru-Gobind-Singh period. This shift of focus is necessary in order to return agency to the Sikh peasants, soldiers, and leaders who are denuded of this by the relatively straightforward and triumphalist narrative of the Khalsa, which lays agency squarely at the door of the Guru and his instructions. I would like to expand her focus back to the period of Guru Gobind Singh. At the heart of the traditional narrative of the Khalsa’s foundation is a story that is very much suggestive of the mimetic embrace of sacred kingship and sainthood that lies at the heart of Azfar Moin’s study of Mughal, Safavid, and Timurid imaginaries. 2 Such a clasp may be relatively new to the historiographical study of Mughal and Safavid polities. It is, however, nothing novel to the study of Sikh history with its common trope (at least since the early nineteenth century) of mīrī-pīrī, the combination of the involvement in filial, courtly, martial, political, and other affairs that marks the courtier and the spirituality that is the hallmark of the saint. This idea

DOI: 10.4324/9781003281849-5

73

74  Louis Fenech was, according to tradition, first articulated by the Sixth Sikh Guru, Guru Hargobind (1595–1644 CE), and materialised concretely with his construction of the Akal Takht. We can never know what transpired on that fateful day in 1699 as both J.S. Grewal and Hew McLeod have noted over the years. 3 That it would become a seminal event in Sikh history was beyond doubt since it is mentioned and memorialised in every post-1708 Sikh account of the Tenth Guru’s life and symbolically recreated every time a Sikh noviciate is initiated into the Khalsa. This significance would not have been lost on contemporary Sikhs outside of Anandpur and throughout India. While the early hukam-nāmās of Guru Gobind Singh refer to his Sikhs collectively as sangats and call upon these respective communities to send specific goods and monies to the Guru, the Tenth Master’s later written instructions refer to his disciples as Khalsa, often requesting that they make their way to Anandpur with weapons girded and disregard those who had previously represented the Guru, thus indicating more than simply a change in nomenclature.4 Within these instructions of Guru Gobind Singh, moreover, we can also trace the beginning evolution of the term khālsā. It evolves from its initial designation as those groups of Sikhs that had a direct relationship with the Tenth Guru, a designation which nicely aligns with the more instrumental usage of the term under the Mughals (historically referring to those lands or other things and individuals producing revenue directly for the Mughal emperor and the central treasury); to the Khalsa of Vahigurū in later hukam-namas. Although we discover both a more and less restricted sense to the term khālsā in the hukam-nāmās issued by both Banda in the 1710s and the widows of the Tenth Guru in the 1720s, the implication of the Khalsa’s spread worldwide that we detect in the Guru’s final hukam-namas becomes explicit within a hukam-nama dated 1759. In this last hukam-nama the word khālsā indicates the entire Sikh community. 5 This was an occurrence which may be interpreted as the culmination of Guru Gobind Singh’s life and teachings, perhaps underscored by the fact that just a month before the traditional date of the Khalsa’s inauguration, Guru Gobind Singh and his wife named their new-born son Fateh Singh, fateh of course being the Panjabi word for victory. This understanding of the Khalsa is one which we discover for example in the earliest source to narrate the creation of the Khalsa, Sainapati’s Srī Gur-Sobhā. By comparison with later descriptions of the birth of the Khalsa, Sainapati’s narrative is quite a meagre one. The lion’s share of Sainapati’s account of the Khalsa’s birth occurs in Chapter 5. Here the majority of the text is largely devoted to explicating certain parts of what would become the Rahit (although there is no reference within to the rahit-namas), particularly the commands that Sikhs after the Khalsa’s foundation disassociate with the masands, end the performance of bhaddar or tonsure, and keep clear of the five reprobate groups, the pañch kusaṅgat. Of these groups, a number, the Minas and Ram Raiyas in particular, had established parallel

Guru Gobind Singh and the Khalsa  75 Sikh guru lineages which occasionally troubled the most standard line of Sikh Gurus.6 Interspaced between these injunctions are brief descriptions of the sangat’s reaction to the Guru’s proclamations—the disturbances it engenders especially in Delhi, the effulgence the world witnessed by the creation of the Khalsa, and too, pithy descriptions of that order’s initial inauguration, a representative example of the latter of which occurs at 5:33: The Lord and Creator dispensed the sanctified nectar of the double-­ edged sword and [by so doing] inaugurated the Khalsa throughout the world. Like the Khalsa there is no other (avar na koi)7. This is all we hear of the Khalsa’s creation, although it is repeated with slight modifications elsewhere (5:4–5, 34). Yet even in this paltry offering here Sainapati tacitly indicates the equation between Guru and Khalsa through the phrase avar na koi, or ‘there is no other.’ This expression is one of the more common descriptives we discover peppered throughout the Guru Granth Sahib, attempting to express the ineffable nature of the Eternal Guru. That Sainapati appropriates this language is quite demonstrative of his opinion about the Khalsa as the Guru, a judgement to which he makes us consistently privy throughout Chapters 5 and 6 of Srī Gur-Sobhā. Furthermore, even these brief descriptions speak to the spectacle-like character of the event, the performance of which occurs on the stage that is Anandpur in front of a large public audience: I would now like to discuss [those matters which] Guru Gobind Singh initiated at the town of Anandpur, surrounded as it is by limitless mountains and located on the bank of the River Satluj. The month of Chet had passed and the great melā held at Anandpur began. There, on the festival of Baisakhi, the True Guru provided his darshan and reflected [on the world’s condition and its cure].8 Its remedy as we discover is the Khalsa: Why do you mourn? The Khalsa, unbounded, the support of the world, has come into the light!9 As we can note here the transformation of this seminal inauguration is well suited to the performative nature of both kingship and sainthood in the person of the sovereign in late seventeenth-century northern India and Iran. And although the famous (or infamous) narrative dealing with the decapitation of goats and the ultimate emotionally charged exposure of the Panj Pyare/Khalsa is absent in Sainapati, the dramatic build-up to a stark revelation is nevertheless implied:

76  Louis Fenech Gobind Singh delighted the congregation of Sikhs and blessed them. He then revealed the Khalsa, [the appearance of which] severed the many snares [of māiā].10 Sainapati’s profound emotional and aesthetic investment in the Khalsa speaks not only to his fondness for the institution and for the Tenth Guru, its founder, but also projects these desires into the community’s future, allowing us to assume that Sainapati’s intended audience of Sikhs and Khalsa Sikhs is always close to our author’s mind. In this regard, therefore, one can claim that Sainapati’s text not only describes a performance but is itself a performative text. In this light, therefore, it is both instructive and edifying: a didactic text demonstrating and thus giving an immediacy regarding the requisite courage that will be required in the days ahead, those days without the physical presence of Guru Gobind Singh, if the Sikhs are to once again secure Anandpur. This was a text which, when uttered, was prepared to do something in the world rather than simply report an event.11 The town of Anandpur, associated as it was with the Tenth Guru was, like the Khalsa itself, the legacy of Guru Gobind Singh. Its retrieval would have therefore served the spiritual and emotional well-being of the Khalsa. It is no surprise in this light that Sainapati ends his text with an appeal to retrieve the City of Bliss.12 Srī Gur Sobhā is thus as much prescriptive as it is descriptive. I am aware that these claims may be overstating the point since Sainapati demonstrates no overt attempt to figure political dominion into the Khalsa’s calculus. Sainapati highlights the sole purpose for the order’s creation in the following way, not to rule, but claiming rather that The Khalsa was made to destroy demons, to demolish the wicked, and to alleviate suffering.13 The Khalsa was created, in other words, to do those very same things for which the Sikh Gurus were commissioned by the Eternal Guru in Sikh hagiography. But the claim I make above does not in fact overly embellish the narrative we find in Srī Gur-Sobhā, the latter’s poetic character notwithstanding, since more profanely temporal sovereign elements are covertly indicated in this initial account. These cues would not have been missed by Sainapati’s earliest audiences, made up largely one may assume of the devotees of Guru Gobind Singh. That these political overtones are detectable in Srī Gur-Sobhā makes sense intertextually since Sainapati is the poet to whom is ascribed one of the more important of the texts interpreted within the Tenth Guru’s darbar, the work of the legendary Brahman statesman, Chanakya, better known as Kautilya.14 Sainapati, for example, consistently describes Guru Gobind Singh in glowing metaphors: he is the kartār or creator, prabhu the Lord, parameshvār the Highest Lord and so on. Among these lofty descriptions, we also discover many which are derived from imperial precedent. The Tenth Sikh

Guru Gobind Singh and the Khalsa  77 Master is rāj rājā dhirājam (king of the king of kings), pātiśāh (emperor), shāh shāhan/shāhan shāh (king of kings), and gharīb nivās (protector of the poor) among others, terms we also discover in Guru Nanak’s own descriptions of the divine, making it quite clear that for Sainapati and his audiences Guru Gobind Singh is both a spiritual figure and a world ruler. Later Sikh sources will catch hold of this sentiment and weave together a profound tapestry demonstrating the sovereignty of the Khalsa, the nature of which is delineated in such texts as the Sarabloh Granth and the vār attributed to one Bhai Gurdas Singh, which is often appended to the text of Bhai Gurdas’ Bhalla’s vārān as the forty-first in that collection. Throughout Sainapati’s narrative, the Tenth Guru is suffused with that very kingly/saintly light of the divine of which we hear in both Quranic and Persianate accounts. It is through the amrit that the light or joti of the divine is imparted to the Khalsa, which in turn shines brightly throughout the spiritual domain of the Tenth Guru, the Sikh version of wilāyat, and ultimately throughout the world, bathing it in light. What Sainapati implies is that this divine effulgence emanating from the Khalsa contributes to a Khalsa Sikh digvijaya, the ‘conquest of the space’ covered by the four cardinal directions of the world: [Guru Gobind Singh] imparted the light (joti) [to the Khalsa] and this suffused the four [cardinal directions (chahū)], a light [so grand] that both sun and moon [paled as these] were shamed in comparison. The sacred sight engendered by this light caused wicked thoughts to be altogether eradicated. And with sins destroyed, one became free from all fetters [binding one to the transmigratory wheel]. Success lies in the Khalsa’s service. The gods entire serve the Khalsa.15 This last implication in Sainapati’s quotation above, furthermore, is a logical extension of the doctrine of Guru Panth, first articulated by our poet, proclaiming the identification of the Khalsa with the Guru (6:12). The equation seems clear, and although undeclared by Sainapati, what is taking place in Chapter 5 is not only the performance which will be regularly re-enacted as the basis of the ritual of ammrit sanskār (lit ‘refinement through the nectar of immortality’), but a tacit coronation ceremony in which the Khalsa is ‘crowned’ by the Guru—in much the same way that Guru Nanak ‘crowns’ Guru Angad in the hymn by Satta and Balwand (two musicians whose hymns are included in the Guru Granth Sahib)—and its body both individual and collective cast into the mould of the world’s saviour.16 In Srī Gur-Sobhā the Tenth Guru transforms his Sikhs into Khalsa in his capacity as both the Guru and the pātiśāh, drawing upon a language from the imperial domain in the close alliance that also sees emperors do the inverse, express their sovereignty in ‘the manner of Sufi saints and holy saviours.’17 And this is despite the fact that the Guru’s order is referred to as the khālsā, derived from the imperial Persian term khālsah designating

78  Louis Fenech the land and its yield or those immediate persons over which and whom the king has direct authority. It should be further noted that what we see in Sainapati is a ceremony in which, unlike the inaugurations or coronations of the rāṇās or ‘kings’ in the nearby Pahari kingdoms, Brahmans play no officiating role—­ unsurprisingly since Sainapati rebukes them and their fondness for tonsure in the lines following the inauguration of the Khalsa in Chapters 5 and 6 of Srī Gur-Sobhā. This effectively eliminates their significance in the power dynamics of Pahari polities, at least within that of Anandpur. This absence appears to have struck many later Sikh writers as odd, as their relatively clumsy attempts to write Brahmans into the story of the Khalsa’s inauguration (and in most cases ultimately dismiss them) appears to suggest. The fact that later writers would so diligently refer to these representatives of high-caste Hindu traditions is suggestive of the latter’s prominence in the ritual life of seventeenth- and eighteenth-century Panjab. Indeed, in Srī Gur Sobhā the ridicule to which the Hindu tonsure ceremony performed by Brahmans is subjected appears to be a further, though veiled critique of their ritual role in seventeenth-century Panjab. The space given to this ritual is of course indicative of its prevalence among certain sections of the Sikh Panth. Here in the condemnation of tonsure we too may see an implied ritual and symbolic inversion that comes to mark the Khalsa tradition of Guru Gobind Singh.18 While the symbolic equation between a coronation and the first (and subsequent) Khalsa inauguration ceremony is a point that Sikhs have made many times, there is another widely visible element in Sainapati that elevates this ceremony to the level of the unique. Here what we see, symbolically, is the Tenth Guru crowning the Khalsa through the amrit ceremony, an inversion of all previous coronation ceremonies. Such a reversal is along the same lines as those we note in the vārān of Bhai Gurdas in which the sangat drinks the footwash of the initiate upon the latter’s entrance into the Panth’s fold. But unlike the ceremony described in the vārān within the khaṇḍe dī pāhul ritual, we see the effortless intersection of the sacred and profane. Here in Sainapati it is the king who elevates his subjects to his level while simultaneously it is the pīr, shaykh or guru who exalts disciples, the sikkh, chele, and murīdān, situating them on a footing equal to that of the Master—again, an extension of earlier Sikh traditions which note that when Guru Nanak passed the guruship onto the disciple, Lehna became Guru Angad and Guru Nanak became the former’s Sikh.19 Perhaps it is in the light of this tradition in which Guru Nanak is no longer Guru (which appears in Bhai Gurdas’ first var) that later gur-bilās and rahit writers saw a need to pass guruship back to Guru Gobind Singh through his initiation into the Khalsa, effectively cementing the idea articulated by the second Bhai Gurdas that Guru Gobind Singh was āpai gur chelā, both Guru and disciple, and that he was both simultaneously. 20 Here in Sainapati we see that the Tenth Guru is defusing the hierarchies which were so prevalent

Guru Gobind Singh and the Khalsa  79 within Indo-Islamic Panjab, hierarchies we discover not only within Hindu traditions and amongst Hindu castes, but also those within Indian Islam, and indeed those within the darbar of earthly monarchs such as the Mughals, with the radical proposition that the community is the Guru and the seasoned disciple the master. And this is underscored at the same time, once the elevation to royalty implied here takes place. For once this occurs, royalty is effectively eliminated by transforming everyone into royalty—in other words, converting to monarchs all those who seek and are granted admission into the Khalsa. That this idea had some traction among Sikhs of the eighteenth century is certainly implied in the observations of certain Persian chroniclers, 21 although how effectively it was integrated into the quotidian life of Khalsa Sikhs can only be conjectured. It is however clear from the eighteenth-century rahit-namas that the Khalsa Sikh was elevated above all others. 22 It is only approaching the end of the text that Sainapati makes this dissolution of royalty from an individual to the collective ­community—tacit in Chapter 5—explicit: At that moment the Tenth Guru replied: “The Khalsa, which I love, is my embodiment. I have given the Khalsa my cloak of authority (jāmā).”23 The inversion of the veiled coronation ritual, which I find strongly implied in Sainapati, is brought into brighter light in later accounts of the gur-bilās genre, when the Panj Piare returns the favour by bringing Guru Gobind Singh into the Khalsa’s embrace through administering to him the sacred elixir.

Jathāsakti: To the Best of My Ability That Sainapati does not explicitly demonstrate a more overtly imperial dimension in his description of the inauguration in Srī Gur-Sobhā, my comments above notwithstanding, is nevertheless quite surprising given the fact that in other chapters of his text Sainapati relies on the Tenth Guru’s Bachitar Nāṭak in the construction of his narrative. The execution of Guru Tegh Bahadur for example, and too his description of the many battles in which the Guru engages against the hill chieftains, are clearly drawn from the Wonderful Performance we find in today’s Dasam Granth. 24 Why this is unexpected is that within this earlier account of the Tenth Guru’s life there are claims to political power, quite forceful ones in fact, which demonstrate that embrace of kingship and sainthood, about which Moin so persistently speaks. Even claims less forceful appear. One may recognise this concern with the political and kingly power that Sainapati ignores in regard to the creation of the Khalsa within other compositions attributed both to him (the Chānākā Rajnītī for example) and those included within the Dasam Granth. The Guru’s poetic musings on the goddess which account for a

80  Louis Fenech good deal of the Tenth Master’s text today (as well as some of the poems which were not incorporated into the Dasam Granth) may be here cited, keeping in mind, of course, that goddesses were long associated with the acquisition of power, and in the subsequent preservation and protection of the kingdom acquired. 25 Take for example the beginning of the extraordinary eighth dhiāi or ‘chapter’ which is titled rāj sāj kathan, The Story of Ruling (also The Tale of the Ornament of Rule), a title which attests to at least one dimension of the complex sovereignty that appears to be advocated and apparently embodied by Guru Gobind Singh: When the task of rule came to me I spread dharam to the best of my ability. 26 The wording here is quite intriguing. The ‘undertaking of rule’ or rāj sāj ‘comes’ (āyo) to the Guru (ham par) at a particular time (jab), it is not pursued nor is it grasped or desired through his own agency in any of the traditional ways articulated, for example, in early Common Era composite Indic texts concerned with kingship and the duties of a king—with which the Tenth Master, like the Mughals, would have been well versed given the literary interests he pursues in the Dasam Granth. There is, moreover, no task accomplished to prove his mettle for the mantle of rule. Guru Gobind Singh is, put simply, gifted with the prospect by the Eternal Guru by virtue of his descent within the Sodhi line (or so we assume) a lineage to which we are made privy in the fourth and fifth chapters of the Bachitar Nāṭak, a bequest often pointed out by the author (and also noted in the Ẓafar-nāmah), and when so singled out the account states it ‘comes to’ him. Perhaps in this line Guru Gobind Singh has the words of Guru Nanak in mind, in which the First Master makes it clear that rāj is one of the gifts of the divine but in no way divine itself, an understanding followed up by the notion that the embrace of rāj is ‘no better than any other earthly pursuit or possession.’ 27 The Tenth Guru then uses this gift as an opportunity to ‘spread dharam’ (dharamu chalāyo) ‘according to his own power’ (jathā śakti). Although the specifics of dharam are left unsaid at this point (as too are those of rāj) we, like the Tenth Guru’s general eighteenth-century audience, may assume that what is likely meant is something vaguely akin to ensuring that truth, justice, and righteousness remain steadfast, that cosmic order remains intact. Those opposed to such principles one may furthermore infer should be destroyed. After all, the fifth dhiāi of the Bachitar Nāṭak notes that it was for this generally understood dharam that Guru Tegh Bahadur was martyred. It notes as well that it is for the spread of such dharam that Guru Gobind Singh was commissioned by the Eternal Guru (6:29) rather than the more restrictive sense of Khalsa dharam that would not fully emerge until a few years after this text was written, refined for example in the succeeding Rahit literature and Srī Gur-Sobhā. 28

Guru Gobind Singh and the Khalsa  81 This is a powerful claim given the examples of rāj with which Guru Gobind Singh would have been familiar at this point in his life (late seventeenth century), examples far from dharmic as the activities of both his Pahari Rajput neighbours as well as those of the Mughal emperor Aurangzeb would indicate. 29 In fact, the Tenth Guru writes about these very things, noting initially, for example, the capricious nature of rulers like Fateh Shah whose baffling and hostile behaviour towards the Sikhs is here singled out, just a few lines after the Guru arrives at Paonta Sahib in 1685, and later attesting to Aurangzeb’s indiscretions within the Ẓafar-nāmah. It becomes quite clear from this point forward that the dharam of which the Tenth Guru writes included within its range force and violence. The Tenth Guru’s residence in Paonta Sahib, at least insofar as the Bachitar Nāṭak is concerned, is the arena in which Guru Gobind Singh can develop his ideas of dharam. Since Guru Gobind Singh spends the vast bulk of his Bachitar Nāṭak from this point onwards relating his use of force when, apparently ‘all other means had failed’, it seems safe to say that within the orbit of his dharam was also yudh or war. Dharamyudh was an undertaking not only required to confront the hostility of the Guru’s neighbours, but to also align the political fabric with the spiritual values of the Sikh Gurus.30 Indeed, Guru Gobind Singh or one of his darbari poets makes this point clearly within an oft-quoted passage at the end of the celebrated Kriṣanāvtār: I have [here] completed the tenth chapter of the Bhagavata Purana in the common language. O Lord, my purpose was solely to engender that knowledge which leads to righteous battle.31 In this regard, the narrative of the Battle of Bhangani in the eighth chapter forms the template for the Tenth Guru’s descriptions of the subsequent battles in which he engages. Narratives of his later battles offer very little that is innovative in regard to the dharam to which we are introduced in the Bhangani narrative. Here we discover a Sikh dharam which contests more traditional Indic interpretations of dharma, with the latter’s focus on caste and hierarchy. Let us ensure to make no mistake about the Tenth Master’s intentions: Guru Gobind Singh is here in Bachitar Nāṭak 8:1 reiterating and effectively reinvigorating a claim made just under two centuries earlier in rāg sūhī by Guru Nanak: The path of true yoga is trodden by living truthfully in a world walking away from truth (literally: ‘remaining pure [nirañjani] while immersed in lampblack [añjanu]’). 32 Guru Gobind Singh renovates the understanding of Guru Nanak in response to the new situations in which the Sikhs of Guru Nanak find themselves:

82  Louis Fenech Guru Nanak’s añjanu becomes the Tenth Master’s ‘ornament of rule’ (lit., rāj sāj), which Sainapati’s text implies, is as dark as charcoal dust and thus potentially venal, while the purity or nirañjani of the First Guru becomes the dharamu of Guru Gobind Singh. The remainder of the Bachitar Nāṭak may be taken as further extending this idea: the balance effected in Guru Nanak’s composition is tilted towards dharam in Guru Gobind Singh’s, towards the righteous. From this point forward, Guru Gobind Singh will effectively attempt to transform rāj or the dark into dharam, the light thus reasserting and re-establishing in the light of his Dasam Granth compositions (and indeed the output of his kavi darbar), the golden ages of Indic times past, the rām rajya of the Ramayana and the glorious reign of the Pandavas after the Kurukshetra war noted in the denouement of the Mahabharata. This is perhaps why the Tenth Guru’s compositions meditate on these two epics throughout the Dasam Granth. But as many scholars have noted, 33 Guru Gobind Singh’s rāj will differ from those about which we read in this deep mythic Indic past, as even kings as great as Rama and Yudhishthira, and even gods like Shiva and Brahma, the Guru cautions, were eventually bound by conceit, fell prey to pride, and lost their way. The lineage of Guru Gobind Singh hopefully will not, or so the Bachitar Nāṭak intones.34 Could the claim as to the embrace of kingship and sainthood be any more straightforward? And within a single line of poetry? Here in the person and the actions of the Tenth Guru, the two are effortlessly and effectively managed. That the spread of dharma about which the Tenth Guru speaks came to include the creation of the Khalsa, an extension of himself and the sacred given the Guru-Panth doctrine (and Mughal precedent), and so the transformation of his personal rule or rāj to the rule of the collective organisation, seems quite clear.35 The inauguration of the Khalsa may also speak to the Tenth Guru’s perspicacity aware as he was of the changing nature of the Mughal state in the last decade or so of Aurangzeb’s life, as perhaps a way to confront the boastful claims of his Pahari neighbours by investing authority in the collective Khalsa. For Sainapati and his audience, to return to Srī Gur-Sobhā, such an understanding was so commonplace as to be taken for granted and thus, I would like to offer, required no overt statement of purpose. One can assume that Sainapati’s Srī Gur-Sobhā was recited with these or similar understandings of the Bachitar Nāṭak in the background. The rule of the Guru in Sainapati thus becomes the rule of the Khalsa. Perhaps one may conjecture that here Guru Gobind Singh (assuming that Sainapati was a relatively accurate reporter), well aware of the potential for adharam when rāj is invested in the rule of one person, rulers such as for example Bhim Chand, Fateh Shah, and indeed Aurangzeb, was relieving himself of this rare temptation by divesting himself of such rule and investing it into his Khalsa. Yet again let us ensure not to overstate our claims. Both the Bachitar Nāṭak and Srī Gur-Sobhā recount Sikh history in the traditional genres

Guru Gobind Singh and the Khalsa  83 in which accounts of the past were generally conveyed in northern India (à la Rao, Shulman, and Subrahmanyam). 36 These are poetic accounts the purposes of which, among many others, were not only to communicate events of the past but to enthral audiences and engender within their members various rasas or poetic sentiments in the hope perhaps of enhancing their reverence for the Sikh Gurus, the collective Khalsa, and for Sikhi ­itself—and, as Anne Murphy has pointed out in regard to Sainapati’s text, to work through the Panth’s relationship with the Guru given the circumstances during which the work was produced, the early eighteenth century.37 Through the cadence and sound of their poetic measures and their recitation the experience of these works would likely have been a visceral one. Indeed, it still is. The domain of sovereignty—which in this case is the equivalent of rule (rāj)—that is elaborated in the Bachitar Nāṭak and Srī Gur-Sobhā, vague as this sphere may be in the poems, does not require specific elaboration given the vehicle in which it is conveyed. Within both texts, this occupied one may hazard a guess about the level of trope in much the same way that victory is tropic in the Ẓafar-nāmah which snatches a symbolic triumph out of the jaws of what was surely a military defeat. Eighteenth-century Sikhs who were the Tenth Guru’s contemporaries could most assuredly believe that the Tenth Sikh Master was sovereign as both divine Guru and temporal king of the world (and thus in the possession of supreme authority throughout the world), an understanding which likely inspired Khalsa Sikhs for generations afterwards as we may discern in texts such as the apocryphal Sarabloh Granth, 38 but this did not mean that one could disregard the Mughal state or its functionaries at the level of the everyday: brute reality would certainly intervene as it did in Anandpur in the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries and during the Banda and post-Banda periods of Sikh history, constantly reminding Sikhs and all Panjabis alike of ‘the Mughal dynasty’s centrality to order in everyday life and thence its authority to rule.’39 The idea of rule in the Bachitar Nāṭak does well move into the worldly, thus emphasising that tension between the ideal of mystical renunciation and the pursuit of temporal power which, often occupied the imaginations of successive Mughal emperors and their courtiers – Guru Gobind Singh does in fact distinguish the dunīpatti or the ‘protector of the world’ the profane domain of the emperor from that of the dīnśāh or the king of ­religion40 —and is interpreted in later periods as attempts to contest the claims to monarchy embodied within the Mughal emperor as well as ultimately transfer that worldly sovereignty or supreme authority to the Guru and the Khalsa themselves. However, such understandings tend to ignore the context in which the Tenth Guru is operating in the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries (and pay little heed to the writings attributed to Guru Gobind Singh), highlighting desires which have animated Sikhs since the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries and even today. Indeed, by the

84  Louis Fenech time of Koer Singh’s gur-bilās, the mid eighteenth century, ‘there are clearly state-oriented articulations of the meaning of sovereignty.’41 Certainly Koer Singh’s description of the euphoria Sikhs experience after their victory at the Battle of Bhangani, their further territorial ambitions in its light, and the Tenth Guru’s request for patience in regard to these aspirations, makes the claim to statist sovereignty quite unequivocally.42 The simple fact is that the Tenth Guru’s implicit and explicit criticism of the emperor and present-day rule that we discover peppered throughout the works attributed to him, as well as the occasional praise of the Indo-Timurids we also witness in the Dasam Granth must be tempered by the reality that when in the new Mughal emperor Bahadur Shah’s presence on 4 August 1707 the Tenth Guru offered the emperor the gift of 100 gold coins as tribute.43 Although one can certainly argue that this was simply an act along the lines of courtly protocol and meant very little—Sikh tradition notes for example that the only reason that Guru Gobind Singh entered the imperial presence was at the explicit request of Prince Muazzam/Bahadur Shah himself who required the Guru’s help to secure his position as Mughal emperor against his brothers,44 and although this is a request that aligns quite well with the networks and relationships diligently fostered and tended by imperial claimants to the throne45 there is no evidence to substantiate the claim of Bahadur Shah’s apparent request—it nevertheless indicates either submission to the Mughal darbar or a demonstration of loyalty or both. As Kumkum Chatterjee reminds us in her study of Bengal’s tradition of history writing: ‘Mughal chronicles concerned with issues of governance gave preeminent importance to this issue, for revenue or tribute symbolized loyalty to a political superior and denoted the basic resource without which a political system could not function.’46 At the very least in the Tenth Guru’s case the gift of tribute appears to reveal a recognition of the legitimate sovereignty of the Indo-Timurid line which it is worth reiterating is the only form of rule with which all of the Sikh Gurus were materially familiar. This is a (perhaps token) recognition incidentally which is conspicuously absent in later Sikh accounts detailing the meeting between the emperor and the Guru, but it is noted in Mughal chronicles. Let me hasten to add that I say ‘token’ in parentheses above in the light of the fact that, as far as I am aware, there is no explicit admission of fealty to the Mughal crown in any of the writings attributed to the Tenth Guru or the poets of his darbar, a point which later Sikh tradition has implicitly argued as resistive to Mughal authority. It is quite clear, moreover, that Guru Gobind Singh never met the emperor Aurangzeb but only the latter’s son. Tradition claims that this latter meeting took place even earlier than during the period of the Mughal succession crisis of 1707–1708, just a few months after Bahadur Shah (then Prince Muazzam) was released from house arrest by his father Aurangzeb in 1695, an incarceration which began in 1687.

Guru Gobind Singh and the Khalsa  85 Such a deficiency notwithstanding, in the end, it appears most likely that Guru Gobind Singh seeks the intercession of the Mughal emperor Aurangzeb in the Tenth Master’s attempts to regain Anandpur out of which he had been cast by a combined Mughal-Pahari force in late 1705 through (for lack of a better word) diplomacy—and this diplomacy as we know from the Tenth Guru’s hukam-nāmās was successful since he writes to the sangat of Dhaul in late 1707 to soon expect his return to Anandpur/Makhowal.47 The apparent success of the Tenth Guru’s venture in securing the intervention of Emperor Aurangzeb and afterwards that of his successor Bahadur Shah (a success we may infer from Mughal sources) is itself indicative of the claim that, and to put it quite bluntly, Guru Gobind Singh had faith in the Mughal emperor, in him and his office, and in the Mughal darbar as a dispenser of justice, fairness, and equitability (the Tenth Guru alludes to these characteristics in his Ẓafar-nāmah for instance although he also points to their lack) despite the Tenth Guru’s past experience with, and later Sikh memories of, the empire and its denizens. And both of these attitudes towards the Mughal darbar and its occupants could be expressed simultaneously (such as within the Ẓafar-nāmah) within a single court, indeed within a single individual, and were not particularly atypical of the period during which the Tenth Guru lived as we can see for example in the tenuous relations between Mughal emperors and their Rajput courtiers.48 It is worth noting that the values noted above, of justice and fairness and so on, were the bedrock of Mughal ideology, principles of much-­valued akhlāqī (moral and political wisdom), and some of the most important characteristics for which an emperor’s rule was praised or condemned, often far more significant than merely military might. These values were regularly revisited in Persian chronicles and within the writings of the many Muslim and non-Muslim scribes and poets of the Mughal court such as the notable Hindu munshi of Aurangzeb’s reign, Nik Rai, and as well the famed Chandar Bhan Brahman whose Chahār Chaman (Four Gardens) offers us a rare glimpse into both the ideological underpinnings of the courts of both Shah Jahan and Aurangzeb and the daily routines and dispositions of the Mughal emperors.49 Men like Chandar Bhan and other non-Muslim courtly agents saw Mughal rulers like Aurangzeb and Shah Jahan not as Muslim emperors, but rather (and to paraphrase Rajiv Kinra) as emperors who just happened to be Muslim. 50 It is no surprise in this light that Mughal chronicles strongly imply that Aurangzeb had agreed to meet with Guru Gobind Singh likely to discuss the issue of the Tenth Master’s patrimony, the emperor here apparently exercising a concern with the Guru’s petition well in line with those similar concerns employed by Aurangzeb’s predecessors, Jahangir and Shah Jahan; but that the former’s death had prevented such a meeting taking place. As recent studies of Mughal imperium have demonstrated, contemporary evidence makes clear that all of Akbar’s successors, Jahangir, Shah Jahan, as too Aurangzeb alike, continued to pursue their great ancestor’s policy of ṣulḥulkul, ‘hospitality and civility to all,’ a

86  Louis Fenech phrase which collapses the akhlāqī values noted above in a single statement; and the Mughal pursuit of this policy well into the eighteenth century is much contrary to the scathing caricatures of Aurangzeb, Bahadur Shah, and Farrukh Siyar that later Sikh tradition has erected alongside the blistering conclusions of the last three great Mughal emperors in general South Asian historiography. After all many contemporary Mughal records are rather effusive of their praise of the emperor Alamgir especially committed, it appears, to aligning him near perfectly with the aforementioned values of Mughal civility. Indeed, even later regional accounts will in some instances situate Aurangzeb within a Hindu mythical sphere, comparing him to none other than the Hindu god Ram. 51 Of course, the vast majority of these records are written by interested parties and must be read carefully and critically. 52 Furthermore, our understanding of the Mughal practice of ṣulḥulkul should in no way suggest that Aurangzeb and his ancestors and successors did not ignore the policy of civility to all in regard to rebels and even more significantly towards their own family, especially their brothers and other apparent contenders to the throne, relations between which were always deadly after the accession of Prince Salim/Jahangir.53 Nor does this general claim to ṣulḥulkul indicate that the Mughal emperors did not occasionally intervene in Sikh affairs, sometimes harshly, and contribute to the enduring image of the last great Mughal emperor as a ruthless zealot, an image the cultivation of which began in his lifetime, 54 but was near reified twenty years after his death in February–March 1707 (and which continues in India’s current political climate). In Aurangzeb’s case there can be little doubt for example that Guru Tegh Bahadur was executed, if not under the direct orders of the emperor, then certainly with the emperor’s approval, put to death as he was in front of the imperial edifice of the Lal Qila or Red Fort in Shahjahanabad, an enduring symbol of the military and cultural might of the Mughal empire. This act in and of itself alone excuses the general antipathy of Sikh authors towards Alamgir. But the Tenth Guru was clearly aware of such Mughal values of civility, and Sikh tradition itself suggests this in a number of ways, including the Tenth Master’s familiarity with the conventions of Persian mystical poetry and the focus it places on the figure of the Guru’s most esteemed Persian poet, Nand Lal Goya, the narrative of whom places him prior to his arrival in Anandpur, at the Mughal court. Indeed, the Tenth Guru’s use of diplomacy and his understanding of its benefits is one of the most important lessons we acknowledge within his Ẓafar-nāmah some of the more essential morals of which are drawn and adapted from (and indeed echo) Shaikh Sadi’s Persian masterpieces, the Būstan and Gulistān two of the more prominent texts which contributed to a Mughal self-­fashioning. Here in the final years of Guru Gobind Singh, we see those lessons put to the test. 55 The future arrival at Anandpur of which we read in the Tenth Guru’s hukam-nāmās noted above would never occur since Guru Gobind Singh

Guru Gobind Singh and the Khalsa  87 would accompany Bahadur Shah in his bid to Mughal rule and die almost a year to the day of issuing these written instructions. But it nevertheless demonstrates an important point: it was in the domain of Anandpur to which the Tenth Guru’s earthly sovereignty or rule was limited, and he sought to secure and safeguard this patrimony by appealing to the Mughal emperor. It suggests of course a territorial sovereignty and a link perhaps between Sikh identity and territory. 56 The sovereignty he exercised here though, obviously a sub-imperial one (and thus at least in part, political), 57 was thus contingent on the recognition of the Mughal state. It was moreover a sovereignty along lines that were neither modern nor therefore statist, but certainly aligned with activities and values we tend to associate with the Mughal darbar, the Mughal state, and the Mughal emperor: although the Tenth Guru may not have exercised the same type of authoritarian assertions as those instituted by the Mughals such khutbah o sikkah or the issuing of proclamations and the casting of coins, the Guru hunted, sought advice from his courtiers and likely nearby rulers, patronised poets and litterateurs, wrote his own poetry, was sensitive to the concerns of those who did not identify as Sikh, gave donations to shrines, collected monies, engaged in diplomatic correspondence, dispensed justice, fought with both neighbours and Mughal forces when the situation demanded this type of diplomacy, was sometimes the object of Mughal scrutiny as Aurangzeb’s 1693 and 1700 orders makes clear, at other times the scrutiniser as the episode with Rostam Khan demonstrates (Bachitar Nāṭak 10), and the Tenth Guru also built five forts around Anandpur for the protection of the town, its residents, and his Khalsa. 58 These acts may be understood as the culmination of the knowledge on statecraft that the Tenth Guru had fostered since the early days of the Anandpur darbar. 59 These are courtly characteristics of the darbar that tradition supplements with claims that the Guru also treated everyone with fairness, equanimity, and generosity. And it was a limited sovereignty, as I have stated in other places, that despite the Tenth Guru’s statements in Bachitar Nāṭak 8, struggled to accommodate dharam with rāj, a delicate balancing act which witnessed Guru Gobind Singh sometimes siding with Pahari rajas and at other times against them, sometimes censuring Mughal rulers and at others praising the heirs of Timur.60 It appears highly likely, moreover, that dharam occasionally lost out to the more brute contingencies of the day that rāj demanded as we note in the multiple raids led by Sikhs in the closing years of the seventeenth century and the opening ones of the eighteenth against villages like, for example, Alsun (which was ransacked after the Battle of Nadaun)61 within the Pahari kingdoms adjoining Anandpur, something about which Srī Gur-Sobhā also speaks though in a highly sanitised manner.62 Perhaps it is for reasons such as these that Guru Gobind Singh evokes a sense of humility in Bachitar Nāṭak 8:1 noting his acceptance of rāj; after all he is spinning the wheel of dharam as best he can, ‘according to his own ability’, a faculty that is all-too-human, and such words

88  Louis Fenech as these taken within the context of the entire Dasam Granth suggest that the Guru is fully aware of the fact that despite one’s best efforts exigencies sometimes see rulers and their subjects appropriate means that may fall out of dharam’s immediate purview, once again ‘when all other means have failed,’ an understanding for example which may have served as the subject of one of the parchīān attributed to the Udasi Sikh Sewa Das.63 Ultimately, although rāj may well be God’s gift as Guru Nanak implies in Japji 7, Guru Gobind Singh was well aware of the fact that it is nevertheless humanity which attempts to align that gift with the godly through their own agency. At the same time however Guru Gobind Singh’s wilāyat or Sikh spiritual territory if one will, was not restricted to Anandpur as it was believed to have spread throughout the world by virtue of the light of guruship, which after 1699 was held to brightly shine within the Khalsa. With Khalsa Sikhs spread all over northern India during the time it may have well appeared that the Guru’s spiritual power was worldwide. Sainapati lovingly extends this spiritual domain into the temporal placing words to this effect within the mouths of the Tenth Guru’s own antagonists.64 What a close reading of the Bachitar Nāṭak suggests is that when the Tenth Guru speaks of rāj however, he is talking of his presence in the situation of his patrimony Anandpur or areas nearby such as Paonta, and not rāj karegā khālsā or the future rule of the Khalsa, a powerful but altogether vague statement. Those implicit references to his wilāyat, however, are unlimited as this is the very light of the divine present everywhere. This type of ‘spiritual’ rāj is a variety which too must have animated the thoughts of both Guru Gobind Singh and later Sikh poets as it is perhaps most notably articulated in the famous vār of Rais Satta and Balwand: Nanak set the kingdom in motion. He built its fortress, truth, on strong foundations.65 There seems little doubt that despite the apparently proclaimed spiritual base of such power it was nevertheless looked upon suspiciously by the Guru’s neighbours reflecting the rather ambivalent relationship that existed between pirs and padishahs or sultans and shaikhs especially when it was likely understood that those pirs were attempting to become padishahs, and this probably played a role in heightening Pahari concerns with the activities of the Tenth Guru and his Khalsa after its inauguration which one may gather also possessed this otherworldly/worldly authority. These concerns were not altogether new ones of course as Aurangzeb’s order of 1693 CE to prohibit large gatherings of Sikhs at Anandpur and his subsequent order of April 1700 to chastise ‘Gobind son of Tegh Bahadur’ indicates, the former an order which was likely prompted by hill-raja petitions to the provincial authority and imperial court.66 It is later writers who will often conflate this Anandpur-specific temporal sovereignty with those of spiritual dominion (both forms of rāj) to pursue their own understandings and aspirations

Guru Gobind Singh and the Khalsa  89 for future Khalsa Sikh rule, an interpretation for which they can be forgiven in the light of the Tenth Guru’s epithet as Master of Past, Present, and Future.

Notes 1 See both Purnima Dhavan, When Sparrows Became Hawks: The Making of the Sikh Warrior Tradition, 1699–1799 (New York: Oxford University Press, 2011) and Jeevan Singh Deol, ‘Sikh Discourses of Community and Sovereignty in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries’ (unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, Cambridge University, 2000), pp. 49–145. 2 Afzar Moin, The Millennial Sovereign: Sacred Kingship and Sainthood in ­Islam (New York: Columbia University Press, 2012), p. 5. 3 Jagtar Singh Grewal and Sarjit Singh Bal, Guru Gobind Singh (A Biographical Study) (Chandigarh: Panjab University Department of History, 1967), p. 127. 4 Ganda Singh (ed.), Hukam-nāme: Gurū Sāhibān, Mātā Sāhibān, Bandā Siṅgh ate Khālsā jī de (Patiala: Panjabi University Publication Bureau, 1985), pp. 152–153. 5 Ganda Singh (ed.), Hukam-nāme. 6 Deol, ‘Sikh Discourses of Community and Sovereignty,’ pp. 113–114. 7 Ganda Singh (ed.), Kavī Saināpati Rachit Srī Gur-Sobhā 5:33 (Patiala: Punjabi University Publication Bureau, 1988), p. 79. 8 Srī Gur-Sobhā 5:1–2, p. 78. 9 Srī Gur-Sobhā 5:72, p. 87. 10 Srī Gur-Sobhā 5:4, p. 78. 11 Dwight Conquergood, ‘Beyond the Text: Toward a Performative Cultural Politics,’ in E. Patrick Johnson (ed.), Cultural Struggles: Performance, Ethnography, Praxis (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2013), pp. 47–64. 12 Srī Gur-Sobhā 19, pp. 173–174. 13 Srī Gur-Sobhā 5:14, p. 79. 14 The Darbar of the Sikh Gurus: The Court of God in the World of Men (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2008), pp. 136–137. 15 Ganda Singh (ed.), Srī Gur-Sobhā 5:28, pp. 80–81. 16 Ganda Singh (ed.), Srī Gur-Sobhā 19:5, p. 173. 17 A. Afzar Moin, The Millennial Sovereign, p. 1. 18 Ganda Singh (ed.), Srī Gur Sobhā 5:23, p. 80. 19 Adi Granth, pp. 966–968. 20 BG 41:1–20, pp. 636–645. 21 J.S. Grewal and Irfan Habib, Sikh History from Persian Sources: Translations of Major Texts (New Delhi: Tulika, 2000). 22 Indu Banga, Agrarian System of the Sikhs (Delhi: Manohar, 1978), p. 34, n. 94. 23 Ganda Singh (ed.), Srī Gur-Sobhā 18:41, p. 170. 24 The Dasam Granth today appears as a 1428-page text with an additional eight pages appended as extra canonical. 25 Kumkum Chatterjee, ‘Goddess Encounters: Mughals, Monsters and the Goddess in Bengal,’ in Modern Asian Studies 47:5 (2013), pp. 1435–1487, esp. pp. 1445–1449. 26 Bachitar Nāṭak 8:1, Dasam Granth, p. 60. 27 Guru Nanak, Japjī 33, AG, p. 7. Also J.S. Grewal, Guru Nanak in History, p. 150. 28 For the complex issues involved in interpreting dharam within the passage in question (Bachitar Nāṭak 5:13–14, Dasam Granth, p. 54) see Dhavan, Sparrows, pp. 36–37.

90  Louis Fenech 9 Grewal and Bal, Guru Gobind Singh. 2 30 Fenech, The Sikh Ẓafar-nāmah of Guru Gobind Singh, pp. 55–59. 31 Kriṣanavtār 2491, Dasam Granth, p. 1133. 32 Guru Nanak, Sūhi rāg gharu 7, Adi Granth, p. 730. 33 Grewal and Bal, Guru Gobind Singh. 34 Dhavan, Sparrows, pp. 35–36. 35 Dhavan, Sparrows, pp. 33–40. 36 Rao, Shulman, Subrahmanyam, Textures of Time: Writing History in South India 1600–1800 (New York: Other Press, 2003). 37 Anne Murphy, ‘History in the Sikh Past,’ in History and Theory 46 (October 2007), pp. 345–365. 38 Santa Singh (ed.), Sampūran Saṭīk Sarabloh Granth jī (Srī Mangalā Charan jī) Srī Mukh Vāk Pā: 10 Bhāg Dūjā (Bathinda: Buddha Dal Panjvan Takht Printing Press, 2000), pp. 489–497. 39 Munis D. Faruqui, The Princes of the Mughal Empire, 1504–1719 (paperback edition. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012, 2015), p. 272. 40 Bachitar Nāṭak 13:9, Dasam Granth, p. 71. 41 Anne Murphy, ‘An Idea of Religion: Identity, Difference, and Comparison in the Gurbilās,’ in Anshu Malhotra and Farina Mir (eds.), Panjab Reconsidered: History, Culture, and Practice (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2012), pp. 93–115, quote on pp. 100–101. Also see her, ‘Thinking Beyond Aurangzeb and the Mughal State in a Late Eighteenth-Century Panjabi Braj Source,’ in The Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society 28:3 (2018), pp. 537–554. 42 Ashok (ed.), Gur-bilās Pātiśāhī Dasvīn krit Kuir Siṅgh 6:71–78, pp. 98–99. 43 Ganda Singh (ed.), Maākhiz-i Tavārīkh-i Sikhān jild avval: Ahd-i Gurū Sāḥibān (Amritsar: Sikh History Society, 1949), p. 82. Hukam-nāmā 63 in Ganda Singh (ed.), Hukamnāme, pp. 186–187. 4 4 Kharak Singh and Gurtej Singh (ed.), Episodes from Lives of the Gurus—­ Parchian Sewadas—English Translation and Commentary sakhi 36 (Chandigarh: Institute of Sikh Studies, 1995), pp. 135–136. 45 Faruqui, The Princes of the Mughal Empire, pp. 134–180. 46 Kumkum Chatterjee, ‘The Persianization of Itihasa: Performance Narratives and Mughal Political Culture in Eighteenth-Century Bengal,’ in the Journal of Asian Studies 67:2 (2008), pp. 513–543, esp. p. 527. 47 The hukam-nāmās in question are both dated the first of Katak sammat 1764 (2 October 1707). Ganda Singh (ed.), Hukamnāme, pp. 186–189. 48 Deol, ‘Sikh Discourses on Community and Sovereignty,’ pp. 88 ff. 49 Muzaffar Alam and Sanjay Subrahmanyam, ‘The Making of a Munshi,’ in Writing the Mughal World: Studies on Culture and Politics (New York: Columbia University Press, 2011), pp. 311–338 and Rajiv Kinra, Writing Self, Writing Empire. 50 Kinra, Writing Self, Writing Empire, pp. 98, 293. 51 Kumkum Chatterjee, ‘Goddess Encounters: Mughals, Monsters and the Goddess in Bengal,’ p. 1479. 52 Most-welcome revisionist studies of Aurangzeb in regard to the chroniclers and scribes at his court include the works of Rajiv Kinra, Audrey Truschke, A. Afzar Moin, and Munis Faruqui noted in this book. 53 Munis D. Faruqui, The Princes of the Mughal Empire, 1504–1719, quote on p. 2. 54 Kulke, Tilmann, ‘A Mughal Munšī at Work: Conflicts and Emotions in Mustaúidd Ḫān’s Maùāsir-i úĀlamgīrī a Narratological Investigation,’ (Unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, Department of History and Civilization, European University Institute, Florence, 2016), p. 24. 55 Fenech, The Sikh Ẓafar-nāmah, pp. 64–65.

Guru Gobind Singh and the Khalsa  91 56 Deol suggests the pattern here could be emulating those we see, once again, in Mughal-Rajput relations, in which the Tenth Guru is like many Rajput courtiers attempting ‘to retain a firm footing in his vatan.’ Deol, ‘Sikh Discourses of Community and Sovereignty,’ p. 98. 57 For rumination of sovereignties expressed in Anandpur in the late seventeenth century see Murphy, ‘History in the Sikh Past,’ pp. 358–359; her Materiality of the Past, Chapter Three; and her ‘Thinking Beyond Aurangzeb,’ p. 543. 58 Ami Shah, ‘In Praise of the Guru: A Translation and Study of Sainapati’s Sri Gursobha,’ pp. 66–67. 59 I am thankful to Satnam Singh for this line of thinking. 60 Dirk Kolff describes something similar in regard to the dynamic relationship between Bundela Rajputs and the Mughal emperor. Kolff, Naukar, Rajput, and Sepoy, p. 124. 61 As noted in Bachitar Nāṭak 9:24, Dasam Granth, p. 64. 62 Ganda Singh (ed.), Srī Gur-Sobhā 11:6, p. 116. 63 Kharak Singh and Gurtej Singh (ed.), Episodes from Lives of the Gurus—­ Parchian Sewadas—English Translation and Commentary sākhī 31 (Chandigarh: Institute of Sikh Studies, 1995), pp. 63 (English), 147 (Panjabi). 64 Ganda Singh (ed.), Srī Gur-Sobhā 11:6, p. 116. The hill rajas became very wretched as a result. “We have ruled uselessly,” they claimed, “for the True Guru’s reign is recognised everywhere.” 5 Satta and Balwand, Vār rāmkalī 1, Adi Granth, p. 966. 6 66 For the April 1700 order (43rd royal year on the 25th of Shavval) see Chetan Singh, Region and Empire: Panjab in the Seventeenth Century (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1991), pp. 274; 300–301, n. 129.

References Afzar Moin, The Millennial Sovereign: Sacred Kingship and Sainthood in Islam (New York: Columbia University Press, 2012). Alam, Muzaffar and Sanjay Subrahmanyam, ‘The Making of a Munshi,’ in Writing the Mughal World: Studies on Culture and Politics (New York: Columbia University Press, 2011), pp. 311–338. Banga, Indu, Agrarian System of the Sikhs (Delhi: Manohar, 1978). Chatterjee, Kumkum, ‘The Persianization of Itihasa: Performance Narratives and Mughal Political Culture in Eighteenth-Century Bengal,’ in The Journal of Asian Studies 67:2 (2008), pp. 513–543. Chatterjee, Kumkum, ‘Goddess Encounters: Mughals, Monsters and the Goddess in Bengal,’ in Modern Asian Studies 47:5 (2013), pp. 1435–1487. Conquergood, Dwight, ‘Beyond the Text: Toward a Performative Cultural Politics,’ in E. Patrick Johnson (ed.), Cultural Struggles: Performance, Ethnography, Praxis (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2013), pp. 47–64. Deol, Jeevan Singh, ‘Sikh Discourses of Community and Sovereignty in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries’ (unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, Cambridge University, 2000), pp. 49–145. Dhavan, Purnima, When Sparrows Became Hawks: The Making of the Sikh Warrior Tradition, 1699–1799 (New York: Oxford University Press, 2011). Faruqui, Munis D., The Princes of the Mughal Empire, 1504–1719 (paperback edition. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012, 2015).

92  Louis Fenech Fenech, Louis E., The Darbar of the Sikh Gurus: The Court of God in the World of Men. New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2008. Fenech, Louis E., The Sikh Ẓafar-nāmah of Guru Gobind Singh: A Discursive Blade in the Heart of the Mughal Empire (New York: Oxford University Press, 2013). Grewal, Jagtar Singh and Irfan Habib, Sikh History from Persian Sources: Translations of Major Texts (New Delhi: Tulika, 2000). Kulke, Tilmann, ‘A Mughal Munšī at Work: Conflicts and Emotions in Musta ǀidd Ḫān’s Ma’asir-i ‘Alamgiri a Narratological Investigation.’ Unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, Department of History and Civilization, European University Institute, Florence, 2016. Murphy, Anne, ‘History in the Sikh Past,’ in History and Theory 46 (October 2007), pp. 345–365. Murphy, Anne, ‘An Idea of Religion: Identity, Difference, and Comparison in the Gurbilās,’ in Anshu Malhotra and Farina Mir (eds.), Panjab Reconsidered: History, Culture, and Practice (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2012), pp. 93–115. Murphy, Anne, ‘Thinking Beyond Aurangzeb and the Mughal State in a Late Eighteenth-Century Panjabi Braj Source,’ in The Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society 28:3 (2018), pp. 537–554. Rao, Shulman, Subrahmanyam, Textures of Time: Writing History in South India 1600–1800 (New York: Other Press, 2003). Singh, Chetan, Region and Empire: Panjab in the Seventeenth Century (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1991). Singh, Ganda (ed.), Maākhiz-i Tavārīkh-i Sikhān jild avval: Ahd-i Gurū Sāḥibān. Amritsar: Sikh History Society, 1949. Singh, Ganda (ed.), Kavī Saināpati Rachit Srī Gur-Sobhā. Patiala: Punjabi University Publication Bureau, 1988. Singh, Ganda (ed.), Hukam-nāme: Gurū Sāhibān, Mātā Sāhibān, Bandā Siṅgh ate Khālsā jī de (Patiala: Panjabi University Publication Bureau, 1985). Singh, Kharak and Gurtej Singh (ed.), Episodes from Lives of the Gurus—­Parchian Sewadas—English Translation and Commentary sākhī (Chandigarh: Institute of Sikh Studies, 1995). Singh, Santa (ed.), Sampūran Saṭīk Sarabloh Granth jī (Srī Mangalā Charan jī) Srī Mukh Vāk Pā: 10 Bhāg Dūjā (Bathinda: Buddha Dal Panjvan Takht Printing Press, 2000).

4 Guru Granth Sahib in the Writings of Western Women* Eleanor Nesbitt

Introduction In 1969, the 500th anniversary of Guru Nanak’s birth, Dr Ganda Singh of Punjabi University, Patiala, produced a Special Guru Nanak Number of the journal Panjab Past and Present (Singh 1969). Guru Nanak’s birth quincentenary volume was entitled ‘Sources of the Life and Teachings of Guru Nanak’ and comprised extracts from works in English, Persian and Urdu sources. In date, the authors ranged from Guru Nanak himself through to the 1960s. Only one of the nearly one hundred contributions was by a woman. She was Dorothy Field (1884–1968), and with her monograph, The Religion of the Sikhs (Field 1914), my quest began – first for Field herself and then for any other missing female commentators on Guru Nanak and on Sikhs more generally. The results, from the output of over one hundred European and North American women, with illustrations by some twenty female artists and photographers, and including many observations about the Guru Granth Sahib, is Nesbitt (forthcoming (2023)). Tributes to the Gurus’ teachings (especially ‘monotheism’) and to the Guru Granth Sahib, the volume of scripture that embodies them, shine out in several women’s accounts. While some devoted time to discovering its content, for many more the Granth was a spectacularly honoured physical presence in gurdwaras that they visited or at weddings that they attended. Most of these women had only a hazy idea of the contents and did not realise that the enthroned volume not only contains compositions by six of their ten Gurus and a number of like-minded north Indian saints but is also believed by Sikhs to itself be the living Guru. Most did not realise that it was for this reason that the scripture was honoured in the same way that an eminent living spiritual teacher would be, with detailed veneration that included ensuring that the volume reposed on cushions under a canopy while being fanned by an attendant and that it was ceremonially laid to rest in another place at night. * An earlier version of this chapter was published as Nesbitt, Eleanor. 2020. “Guru Granth Sahib in the Writings of Western Women”. Postscripts: The Journal of Sacred Texts, Cultural Histories, and Contemporary Contexts 11 (1):35–54. https://doi.org/10.1558/ post.12296, with permission.

DOI: 10.4324/9781003281849-6

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94  Eleanor Nesbitt Certainly, the western women who encountered Sikhs and their religious tradition in the nineteenth century were generally unaware of the Guru Granth Sahib, let alone its distinctive status. Indeed, when Emily and Frances Eden, the sisters of Lord George Auckland, the newly appointed Governor General, visited Takht Sri Harmandir Sahib in Patna on 6 November 1837, on their way to Panjab from Kolkata, Emily noted: ‘The priest read a little bit of their Bible (not the Koran), very much to our edification’ (Eden [1866] 1997: 14). Similarly, the vicereine, Lady Charlotte Canning’s, explanatory commentary on the revered volume of Guru Granth Sahib that she saw in February 1860 in the ‘Palace of the Sikh Gooroo at Kartarpur’ includes: I am not well up in these particulars & can only tell that it is a sort of collection of moral precepts taken down of the sayings of the founder of the Seiks Nanuk who lived much about the same time as Luther & was just the same kind of reformer only of Hindoostan. (Canning 1860: ff31rv) She and her husband, Lord George Canning, had in fact enjoyed the rare privilege of being invited to see one of the oldest copies of the Guru Granth Sahib (and possibly the very volume that Guru Arjan had installed in the Harmandir in 1604). It is known as the kartarpurvālῑ bῑr as it is the bῑr (volume) that is housed in the city of Kartarpur in the home of the Sodhi family, descendants of Guru Hargobind’s grandson, Dhir Mal.

Earliest Mentions Charlotte Canning’s watercolour of ‘Seik Goroo reading the Grunth at Hussein [Hassan] Abdal’ (in West Panjab), 3 March 1860, is the women’s earliest visual representation of the Guru Granth Sahib (Nesbitt forthcoming (2023)). However, publishing as early as 1814, the travel writer and artist, Maria Graham (1785–1842), who became Lady Maria Callcott, had been the first European woman to publish on the Sikhs, although she did not visit Panjab. She rightly referred to their scripture as ‘Adi Granth’. She had also come across another volume revered by Sikhs, namely the compilation (attributed to the tenth Guru, Gobind Singh) that is now generally known as Dasam Granth. So, in her Letters on India (1814), Graham wrote: The sacred books of the Sikhs contain both their history and their laws. The first or Adi Granth was composed by Nanac and his four immediate successors. The other is the Dasama Padshah ka granth or book of the tenth ruler, written by Guru Govind. These books are read in the religious assemblies of the people, who on meeting eat together, and then proceed to their devotions. (Graham 1814: 375–376)

Guru Granth Sahib in the Writings of Western Women  95 Mrs. Hervey (born 1825) was an unconventional, solo traveller in Panjab. On the topic of Sikhs her 1853 publication similarly informed her readers: ‘They possess two sacred books, called the ‘Grunt’h,’ the first written by their founder Nânuk, and the second by Govindoo Singh, the tenth of the Gōōroos’ (Hervey 1853 vol. 1: 423).

Late Twentieth and Early Twenty-First Century Over a century later, another British traveller, Sarah Lloyd (born 1947) explained that ‘[a]t his death Guru Gobind Singh conferred guruship on the Sikh holy book’ (Lloyd 2008: 93) and she continued: From then on the Granth, composed by six of the Gurus and other Sikh, Hindu and Muslim mystics, was respected as the visible form of the invisible Guru. It is written with exceptional economy of words in a poetic and powerful style, and consists mainly of songs in praise of God. It also describes the way for the Sikh to cross the world ocean, as the Gurus called it, to obtain salvation and merge with Him on the far side. (Lloyd 2008: 93) Lloyd set out and translated the Mūl Mantar, literally the ‘root formula’, the fundamental expression and encapsulation of Sikh faith with which the Guru Granth Sahib begins. She outlined how her partner, Pritam Singh (‘Jungli’), ‘spent many hours each day reciting God’s Name and the Mul Mantra, the Guru’s description of God’ (Lloyd 2008: 94). She explained that Jungli repeated these words ‘a thousand times daily, counting by an ingenious method using the tips of his thumbs and the joints of his fingers in blocks of fifteen, the position of his hands automatically recording the number he had reached’ (Lloyd 2008: 94). Thirty years later, the British novelist, J. K. Rowling, depicted Dr Parminder Jawanda, an imagined Sikh medical practitioner in an English village, turning to scripture for comfort: She jumped up again, strode back into the sitting room and took down, from the top shelf, one volume of the Sainchis, her brand-new holy book. Opening it at random, she read, with no surprise, but rather a sense of looking at her own devastated face in a mirror. O mind, the world is a deep, dark pit. On every side, Death casts forward his net. (Rowling 2012: 40) Like many Sikhs, the fictional Parminder kept portions (sanchῑ) of the scripture, rather than the full volume, at home. It was kept on a top shelf (as a mark of respect) as nothing should be placed above the words of the Guru. The words she read are a rendering of one of the medieval saint-poet Kaī’s verses, to Kabir’s be found on page 654 of the Guru Granth Sahib. Rowling

96  Eleanor Nesbitt also portrayed Parminder turning to the Guru Granth Sahib’s teaching and intoning the Kirtan Sohilā, Guru Nanak’s composition on pages 12 and 13 of the Guru Granth Sahib: There was a terrible weight on Parminder’s chest, but did not the Guru Granth Sahib exhort friends and relatives of the dead not to show grief, but to celebrate their loved one’s reunion with God? In an effort to keep traitorous tears at bay, Parminder silently intoned the night-time prayer, the kirtan sohila. My friend, I urge you that this is the opportune time to serve the saints. Earn divine profit in this world and live in peace and comfort in the next. Life is shortening day and night. O mind, meet the Guru and set right your affairs… (Rowling 2012: 144) The way in which both these contemporary writers, Lloyd and Rowling, presented Sikhs in their publications indicates their respectful receptivity, their awareness of the relationship of Sikhs with their Guru scripture, and also their own prior engagement with translations of the Guru Granth Sahib and with other available literature on the Sikh religious tradition.

Guru Granth Sahib as Physical Presence By contrast, some of Lloyd’s and Rowling’s mid-nineteenth-century predecessors commented without any such sensitivity or background knowledge on their own encounters with the Guru Granth Sahib. Westerners reported seeing the Granth on their visits to gurdwaras, especially the ‘Golden Temple’. Emily Eden referred to the ‘oracle’ that Maharaja Singh consulted (Eden [1866] 1997: 215). She did not explain the procedure, but her nephew, William Osborne, described Ranjit Singh’s ‘very simple method of solving his doubts, by placing between the leaves of the Grunth two slips of paper, on one of which is written the object of his wishes, and on the other the reverse’ (Osborne 1840: 122). He explained that one of Ranjit’s ‘Gooroos or priests’ would then pick one, without looking at it, and on this basis, he would either undertake an expedition very confidently or would abandon it forthwith. Eden described seeing ‘a large collection of priests, sitting in a circle, with the Grooht [i.e. Granth], their holy book, in the centre, under a canopy of gold cloth, quite stiff with pearls and small emeralds’ (Eden [1866] 1997: 216). ‘The canopy,’ she wrote, ‘cost 10,000l’ (i.e. 10,000 pounds sterling, Eden [1866] 1997: 216). Successive observers mentioned the volume’s special coverings, the offerings that devotees placed in front of it, and the way in which it was fanned

Guru Granth Sahib in the Writings of Western Women  97 by an attendant with a chaurī, although most did not use the word. Here is Charlotte Canning’s description of her encounter with the bīr in Kartarpur: A row of chairs had been brought & we were begged to wait a few minutes till the holy book could be shown. I believe it was merely to unlock the door, showing it is a great favour done & only on great occasions. The book lay on a cushion on a carpet on the floor of a small room, shawls, coverlets, sheets, over it. It looked comfortably in bed. A pattern of half-faded flower leaves in little heaps made a sort of border round the floor. It was thick quarto sized book, written in a peculiar character & language which few people can read. (Canning 1860: ff31rv) In December 1850 Mrs. Hervey, too, had been inside the palace at Kartarpur, though without being accorded a visit to the sacred volume. Based on her travels, she however described what one would more generally see inside a gurdwara: Before the altar is a throne, sometimes of silver, and near it is a sort of desk on which is placed the holy ‘Grunt’h’, bound in a large folio size. The book is covered with a cloth, sometimes of velvet, sometimes of gold or silver tissue, very costly. (Hervey 1853 vol. 1: 424–425) She went on to outline liturgical procedure: The congregation seat themselves on the carpet. The Gōōroo, who is generally an old man with a reverend white beard, then reads aloud passages from the sacred volume, kneeling down before the desk, with his face towards the altar. By his side is placed a performer on the drum and cymbals, and to the noise of these instruments the aged priest chants the service, the congregation joining in the chorus. The hymn is followed by prayers, and on the conclusion of the religious ceremonies, sweetmeats are handed round to every member of the congregation. (Hervey 1853 vol. 1: 425) Also in the 1850s, a woman artist known only as ‘a lady, the wife of a British officer’, visited Harmandir Sahib and provided the following details of the Granth’s daily routine: The Grunt’h, or Holy Book of the Sikh faith, is kept through the day in this temple; but every night it is carried to the Akalee Temple [i.e. Akal Takht] adjoining, and placed under the care of the Akalees, a religious sect sworn to defend it with their lives. Each morning they bring it back in procession; and through the day a Grunt’hee, or priest, reads out of

98  Eleanor Nesbitt it aloud at certain times, and keeps it perpetually fanned to prevent flies or dust settling on it. (‘A lady’ 1854: no page number) Her publisher added: ‘We looked in,’ says the artist in a private letter, ‘during one of these readings, and every eye, Grunt’hee included, turned to look at us; but we stayed only a few seconds, not wishing to disturb the service. I saw the Grunt’h lying on a velvet cushion under a crimson canopy, and all the congregation kneeling round – some bending their foreheads to the ground, others stringing necklaces of jessamine, fastened with a yellow marigold as a clasp, one of which garlands was given me.’ (‘A lady’ 1854: no page number) In, or before, 1865 another anonymous woman, a missionary, recorded that a garlanded, white-bearded ‘priest’ was seated behind the ‘gruntha’ (i.e. Granth) which was ‘reverently covered with a richly embroidered cloth, on which reposed garlands of flowers’: In a monotonous strain he repeated passages from the holy volume, to which a choir of minstrels and singers chanted responses. Meanwhile worshippers came and went, each bringing and casting down before the book, on a white sheet – spread in the centre of the floor, their offerings of rice, cowries, flowers, sugar or small coins, doing reverence, and retreating. (Anon 1865: no page number) In 1903, at the start of a village wedding, another missionary, Agnes Hillhouse of the Church Missionary Society, described how ‘this large book was placed on a stool in a pink case covered with embroidered silk, and a man sat on the bed fanning the flies away from it, though just then there happened to be none’ (Hilhouse 1903: 222). Two novelists, Rosita Forbes and Maud Diver, who visited Maharaja Jagatjit Singh in 1938 and 1942 respectively, described readings of the Guru Granth Sahib on the back of an elephant in procession. To quote Diver: It is Kapurthala, a Sikh State, where at certain times processions of enormous elephants still carry the Sacred Granth Sahib and a holy one, who intones its noble phrases high above the heads of the people, while they acclaim their Maharaj. (Diver 1942: 241) Akhand Pāth Forty years later, Sarah Lloyd described the Sikh practice of the akhand pāth or continuous reading of the 1430-page Guru Granth Sahib, over a 48-hour period, from cover to cover.

Guru Granth Sahib in the Writings of Western Women  99 Akhandpath, the non-stop readings of the Sikh holy book, ran most of the time, normally two days out of three. The third day was a so-called holiday…. (Lloyd 2008: 144) In the setting of a particular religious community one senses Lloyd’s uneasiness about the way in which its dubious leader, known as ‘Santji’, was deploying the honoured tradition of akhand path: Each complete two-day reading of the Granth was for a particular purpose, usually the curing of an illness, and was paid for by the recipient. Really he was at Santji’s mercy, for he might be told (told, not advised) that four, six or eight readings would be necessary for a complete recovery, each costing four hundred rupees (twenty-five pounds). Once to my knowledge, and maybe there were other times, the number of readings deemed necessary was seventeen. The patient was a girl with bad arthritis, Panjabi but living in California, and fortunately her father was rich… (Lloyd 2008: 144) Faced with illness or other troubles, Sikhs have sought healing via a number of devotional practices, including hosting or paying for an akhand path. There is, however, no mention of akhand path in the nineteenth-century women’s accounts. It is likely that the practice only became popular in the twentieth century. Nonetheless, Mrs Hervey mentioned one Sikh’s reading (presumably with some breaks) that had lasted for five years. She was in Sialkot (in present-day Pakistan) on 23rd April 1851, and, more specifically, she was at Gurdwara Babe di Ber which marks the spot where Guru Nanak once rested under a ber [jujube] tree.1 Her diary conjures up a sylvan outdoor scene not far from ‘Guru Nanak ka Ber’: ‘After we had seen this temple, we walked down a pretty, wooded lane, and visited some Mussulman tombs’ (Hervey 1853 vol. 2: 46). She continued: In the lane I saw a Sikh sitting on the ground, with the Grunth before him. He was reciting passages of it, in a monotonous tone, and on our stopping to ask the aged devotee how long he had steadily read the Grunth in the same spot, he told us, ‘five years,’ and without adding a word, the old man recommenced his recitations, totally heedless of the presence of strangers. (Hervey 1853 vol. 2: 46) Similarly, an American traveller, Sophie Poe, some 90 years later, described how, in the Golden Temple, ‘One priest reads aloud for an hour, then another takes his place and never throughout the days or nights, months or years is there ever a surcease of this reading’ (Poe 1942: 127). In 1878, the

100  Eleanor Nesbitt missionary Beatrice Batty’s description of the centrality of the Guru Granth Sahib to the Golden Temple emphasised both the importance of reading it and the fact that it was the reading, rather than any resultant ‘edification’, that mattered: In the temple are a number of priests whose daily duty it is to read the Granth, the religious book of the Sikhs. This great relic takes the place of an idol. Wrapped in a silk handkerchief, it is carefully locked up in a costly casket. The Sikh bows before it, and will never approach it with shoes on his feet. Every morning some eight or twelve priests, with long white beards, seat themselves each before his copy, and monotone loudly. Instruction and edification are not aimed at: the Granth must simply be read, for reading it is meritorious. ([Batty] 1878: 20)

Idolatry For some Christian observers the Sikhs’ behaviour towards their scripture was profoundly troubling. On her visit to Harmandir Sahib in the 1870s, the Scottish artist, Constance Gordon Cumming, reacted strongly to how devotees idolatrously – in her view – worshipped the Granth: Not only are divine honours paid to the Guru, but also the sacred Scriptures – the Granth, as they are commonly called – and which are deemed visible representatives of Hari alias Vishnu. Notwithstanding the prohibition of idol worship, this sacred book is treated with exactly the same childish reverence as any other Vishnuvite idol. It is daily dressed in oft-changed precious coverings of costly brocade, and is laid open upon a rich throne beneath a jewelled canopy, while attendants wait around it waving chowries. Each night it is carried in state to its sleeping quarters in another temple on the bank of the sacred tank, where it is laid to rest in a golden shrine! (Gordon Cumming 1876: 500) Another staunch Christian, Edith Baring-Gould (whose father was secretary of the Church Missionary Society) was even more distressed: One’s heart ached at the thought of those people worshipping that book as a god, which can give no help or comfort to the many sad hearts who go there. May I ask all who read this to remember in their prayers those worshippers at the Golden Temple, and to ask that some of them, and some even of those poor ignorant fakirs, may indeed learn to know the true ‘waters of immortality,’ even the blood of Jesus Christ? (Baring-Gould 1901: 41)

Guru Granth Sahib in the Writings of Western Women  101 She grieved especially for the children: Perhaps nothing was so sad to see as the tiny children. I saw a mother making her little one bow down before the book…. Oh! How one longed that they should know of the Saviour who said, ‘Suffer the little children to come unto me.’ (Baring-Gould 1901: 42.)

Life Cycle Rites In 1908, five years after the wedding that Agnes Hillhouse attended, a Spanish flamenco dancer, Anita Delgado Briones, carefully noted details of her own marriage, in Kapurthala, to the Sikh maharaja, Jagatjit Singh. She mentioned ‘an old book covered with rich fabrics’ (Vázquez de Gey 2002: 83), and proceeded to describe how: ‘The priests started their prayers, which lasted around one hour, following the pages of the big book with such reverence that I had the impression it was a bible or something like that’ (Vázquez de Gey 2002: 83–84). As part of the ‘curious rites of marriage’ the couple ‘circled round the sacred book twice’ (Vázquez de Gey 2002: 85). As Anita was not a Sikh, she was (unusually) given a new name during her wedding ceremony. As she recalled: Amid canticles and congratulations we went up to the sacred book and the maharaja told me: ‘Open the book carefully three times in a row, I will open it a fourth time.’ This I did, not knowing very well why, and I saw the joy on my husbands’ [sic] countenance as he explained to me: This is the Indian name that belongs to you…. (Vázquez de Gey 2002: 84–85) More usually, naming would occur in a Sikh’s early infancy, as described by two twentieth-century British women, novelist Helen Griffiths, whose young hero had a Sikh father, and schoolteacher Rachel Scott, whose UK pupils included Sikh children. Hari, Griffiths’ hero in Hari’s Pigeon, recalled the hallowed Sikh custom which Scott had described: The Indian children born in towns, and they were comparatively few, had, however been named with due formality according to Sikh custom and taken to the temple when they were a few days old. There, in the presence of parents and relatives, the religious leader had opened the Granth Sahib, the holy book of the Sikhs, at random and read out the first word on the page thus revealed. The child was then given a name beginning with the same letter. (Scott 1971: 55)

102  Eleanor Nesbitt However, none of the women witnessed any ‘rituals that aim to … celebrate different stages of [the Guru Granth Sahib’s] worldly life’ (Myrvold 2010: 201). Indeed, this would only have been possible in recent decades as, like the akhand path, these rituals (e.g., surrounding the ‘death’ of a volume) were to evolve during the twentieth century.

Access to Text: Field and Besant For western women’s earliest published responses to the content of Guru Granth Sahib, albeit in translation, we turn to just four women: the author Dorothy Field; the Theosophist and Home Rule campaigner Annie Besant; the missionary Charlotte Tucker; and the Nobel prize-winning novelist Pearl S. Buck. In Dorothy Field’s monograph, her section on ‘the doctrines of the Sikhs’ leads into a reproduction of selected translations of ‘Hymns from the Granth Sahib, and from the Granth of the Tenth Guru’ (Field 1914: 50). These were translated by Max Arthur Macauliffe, the acclaimed author on Sikhism, and had been checked and approved by Sikh scholars. Annie Besant followed the same pattern in her 1901 ‘convention lecture’, though drawing not on Macauliffe but on translations prepared by two Sikhs. Field and Besant, two near contemporaries, were two of the very few western women who explored the actual content of the Sikh scripture, admittedly in English translation. They were tenuously linked by Theosophy inasmuch as Dorothy published her four substantial articles on Sikhism in The Theosophist while Besant was its editor. In a footnote to the first article (Field 1912: 350), however, Besant distanced herself from what Field had written, saying ‘Our readers must remember that signed articles are often quite against the Editor’s views, as is the case with much of this … Its patronising tone is offensive, and shows that the writer lacks personal knowledge of Indians.’ However, what she disapproved of was apparently Field’s suggestions that the British government should promote Sikhism as a tool in quelling nationalist unrest, rather than Field’s commentary on Sikh scripture. Both women selected both from the Guru Granth Sahib and from the Dasam Granth and their comments reveal their perspectives. Thus, Field chose ‘selections from the hymns used as special services by the Sikhs’ and so quoted extensively from Japjῑ (repeated in Sikhs’ morning prayer) and other liturgical texts. In her view: Sikhism stands for a great body of religious thought in India, hitherto insufficiently recognized as an inherent factor. Through various nihilistic, pantheistic, or atheistic phases of Hinduism, and despite a vast number of elaborate observances, the ideals of pure monotheism have prevailed; from the time of their foreshadowing in the Vedas, through the work of such men as Rāmānuj and Rāmānand to their final epitome in the Sikh Gurus. (Field 1914: 35)

Guru Granth Sahib in the Writings of Western Women  103 Ramanuja (eleventh-to twelfth-century philosopher) and Ramananda (fourteenth-century poet saint) were eminent proponents of Vaishnavite Hindu tradition. Besant’s selection too illustrates her understanding of Guru Nanak’s continuity with Vedanta. She wrote, ‘You can catch the echo of the Upanishads thrown into more popular language, the deep thought of Hindu philosophy, put into a more popular form’ (Besant 1979: 17). She enlarged: In Guru Nānak there is no denial of all the forms in which the One manifests Himself. In Guru Nānak there is no denial of all the forms in which the Supreme is shown, but he takes the view of the Upanishads that there is one Brahman, supreme over all, of whom the Gods are but the partial manifestations, of whom the highest forms are but reflections of the Beauty. When we are asked what it is he teaches as to creation, we find that the pure Vedāntic teaching, that the creation is but Māyā and by the power of Ῑśvara and Māyā all things come forth. (Besant 1979: 23) However, Field was critical of the idea of God becoming ‘the neuter WorldSoul, immanent in matter’ (Field 1914: 37–38) with no ‘attributes of personality’ (1914: 38). In other words, Sikhism fell short of Christianity (Short 1944: 244–245). Both women’s selections began – like the Granth itself – with the mūl mantar, the passage that Lloyd quoted. Field’s (or rather Macauliffe’s) translation starts ‘There is but one God whose name is true’. By contrast, Besant’s Sikh translator avoided resorting to a form of words that so clearly aligned Sikhism with monotheistic statements of Jewish, Christian and Muslim faith. Instead, the rendering which she endorsed starts with the words ‘One Omkāra, true Name’, so striking a more distinctively Indic note. ‘Omkāra’ (also transliterated as omkār, onkār and oankār) features in earlier (Hindu) texts, and has no English equivalent: it has (in the context of mul mantar) been translated both as ‘God’ and as ‘Being’. As regards their selections: Dorothy Field provided readers with substantial portions of the passages that constitute a devout Sikh’s morning, early evening and late evening prayers, plus excerpts, in chronological order, from Guru Nanak, Guru Angad, Guru Amar Das, Guru Ram Das, Guru Arjan and Guru Teg Bahadur as well as Guru Gobind Singh’s one verse and passages from Kabir, Farid and Mira Bai. These are followed by two pieces from Guru Gobind Singh’s Dasam Granth and the more recent congregational prayer, the Ardās. Annie Besant reproduced shorter snippets from the Gurus’ compositions in the Guru Granth Sahib and from Guru Gobind Singh’s poetry in Dasam Granth, but not in chronological order or indeed in any other evident sequence. Collectively, her selected verses distil the Gurus’ adoration of the one supreme in-dwelling brahman and they illustrate

104  Eleanor Nesbitt the wealth of metaphor: jewels, iron on an anvil, ‘a hundred moons’ and ‘a thousand suns’, the lotus loving the waters, the fish without water and countless sparks flying out of a single fire. Clearly, Besant understood the Sikh scripture as a vernacular expression of the wisdom of the Upanishads, whereas Field was intent on tracing a progression from the Upanishads, and Hindu tradition more generally, to the ‘monotheism’ of the Sikh religion, which she regarded as second only to Christianity on an evolutionary scale (Short 1944: 244–245).

Charlotte Tucker Unusually among the western women, the Christian missionary, Charlotte Tucker (alias A.L.O.E., A Lady of England), studied Gurmukhi and took on the ‘long task of reading the Granth’ (Giberne 1895: 289). This would have been the full Guru Granth Sahib, containing the hymns of the ninth Guru, Guru Teg Bahadur, rather than the shorter Granth as it was at the time of Guru Arjan, the fifth Guru, and as described by Maria Graham. I am reading the Granth, the sacred book of the Sikhs. Like the Koran, it is very long, — I think more than 600 quarto pages, — and with an immense deal of repetition in it. But it leaves on the mind a very different impression from the Koran. As far as I have read, it is wonderfully pure and spiritual. If you could substitute the name ‘Almighty’ for ‘Hari,’ and ‘Lord Jesus’ for ‘Guru,’ it might almost seem the composition of hermits in the early centuries, except that celibacy is not enjoined. Woman seems to be given her proper place. Many exhortations are addressed to women…. (Giberne 1895: 288) Charlotte’s ‘hermits’ were the desert fathers of the early centuries of the Christian church. She clarified her motivation in making this effort: ‘It puts me on vantage-ground when I can tell the Natives that I have read their Scriptures’ (Giberne 1895: 289). However, despite her Christian evangelical motivation, Tucker was deeply moved by what she read. She found the Granth ‘too pure’ to please the Devil and its pervasive longing for union with the Divine resonated with her: One might call the Granth ‘the book of yearning,’ and I feel humiliated that I, with Gospel light, should in spiritual contemplation and longing for closest communion with the Deity come so far behind these poor Sikhs. Unfortunately, the Sikh religion has been so much corrupted that it is almost dying out. I suppose that it was too pure to please the Enemy; he knew that the Granth would offer no strong opposition to the Bible. (Giberne 1895: 288–289)

Guru Granth Sahib in the Writings of Western Women  105 Likewise, the Nobel prize-winning American novelist, Pearl Buck, the daughter of missionary parents, clearly respected the Sikhs’ scripture. In 1962, she was on a visit to India when Dr. Gopal Singh (1917–1990), a distinguished Panjabi poet and critic, presented her with a copy of his translation of the Guru Granth Sahib. Of the dignitaries invited to contribute ‘opinions’ published in the introduction to volume I, Pearl Buck was the only woman. Her response is the most substantial of the ‘opinions’. They include the briefer comments of male readers, such as her fellow novelist, E. M. Forster; the historian, Dr. Arnold Toynbee (who had predicted that, culturally, India ‘will conquer her conquerors’); and the former freedom fighter, Master Tara Singh, the President of the Shiromani Gurdwara Parbandhak Committee, Sikhs’ highest elected religious body, who was leading the agitation for a Panjabi-speaking state to be created. Importantly, Buck sensed that same yearning that had so moved Charlotte Tucker. She wrote: When I was in India in 1962, one of the notable events of my visit was the presentation to me of the English version of Sri Guru-Granth Sahib, translated and annotated by Dr. Gopal Singh. I was deeply grateful to receive this great work, for in the original it was inaccessible to me, and this was a matter of regret, for I have had many Sikh friends, and have always admired their qualities of character. Now that I have had time in my quiet Pennsylvania home to read their scriptures slowly and thoughtfully, I can understand why I have found so much to admire. The religion of a people has a profound and subtle influence upon them as a whole, and this is true whether individuals do or do not profess to be religious. Shri Guru-Granth Sahib is a source book, an expression of man’s loneliness, his aspirations, his longings, his cry to God and his hunger for communication with that Being. I have studied the scriptures of other great religions, but I do not find elsewhere the same power of appeal to the heart and mind as I find here in these volumes. They are compact in spite of their length, and are a revelation of the vast reach of the human heart, varying from the most noble concept of God, to the recognition and indeed the insistence upon the practical needs of the human body. (Buck in Singh 1987) Buck found the Guru Granth Sahib ‘strangely modern’, which puzzled her until she realized that it had been ‘compiled as late as the 16th century, when explorers were beginning to discover that the globe upon which we all live is a single entity divided only by arbitrary lines of our own making’ (Buck in Singh 1987). She continued: Perhaps this sense of unity is the source of power I find in these volumes. They speak to persons of any religion or of none. They speak for the human heart and the searching mind. One wonders what might

106  Eleanor Nesbitt have been produced if the ten founders of the Sikh religion had been acquainted with the findings of modern science. Where would their quest for knowledge have led them had science been their means instead of religion? Perhaps in the same direction, for the most important revelation now being made by scientists is that their knowledge, as it opens one door after another to the many universes in eternal existence, affirms the essential unity of science and religion. It is impressive and significant that in the study of these Sikh scriptures we see this affirmation through the approach of the brilliant minds and deep searching hearts of men who are part of India. Through them we see a Beyond that belongs to us all. The result is a universal revelation. Buck went on to commend the helpful explanations that distinguished scholars had contributed and, while admitting that someone who understood the original text might have been more critical, she praised the quality of the translation for its fresh modern simplicity and directness and concluded: I can only say that as a western reader who nevertheless has some small understanding of the other side of our world, I find in this translation of the Sikh Scriptures a great book. It speaks to me of life and death; of time and eternity; of the temporal human body and its needs; of the mystic human soul and its longing to be fulfilled; of God and the indissoluble bond between them. (Buck in Singh 1987) Perhaps Buck’s reading of the Guru Granth Sahib contributed to the evocation of mystical India in her 1970 novel, Mandala.

Christian Lenses Inevitably, whatever their political and religious worldviews or romantic imagination, the women’s cultural ‘lenses’ were Christian and their commendation of Guru Nanak and Sikhism is based on their image of Jesus and their Christian values, as discussed in Nesbitt (2018). Thus, Charlotte Tucker’s assessment of Guru Nanak drew on his opposition to idolatry, even if ‘Nanak does not appear to have vehemently opposed idolatry’ (Tucker 1878? 69). Field’s efforts, through conversation with Sikhs, to learn more about the Granth’s contents misled her, however, into thinking that Jesus was explicitly mentioned. In one letter she wrote: I said that I had heard that there was something about our Lord in the Granth. The Sikh with whom I was conversing at once gave me the ‘Slok,’ [verse] and translated its difficult antique Panjabi. This is the Slok in English, ‘That cutter of demons’ heads, the world’s revered Jesus’. (Giberne 1985: 470–471)

Guru Granth Sahib in the Writings of Western Women  107 Although Field did not proclaim Christian allegiance, and was extremely critical of Christian missionaries in India (Field 1912), her interpretation and presentation of the Sikh scripture were nonetheless infused by her Christian cultural background. Thus, to stanza 27 of Guru Nanak’s Japjῑ she gave the title ‘Te Deum’, the title of a Christian canticle that was sung each Sunday morning in the Church of England’s matins service. (In the original Latin the canticle’s opening words are ‘te deum laudamus’, ‘we praise thee, O God’.) Clearly, Field felt that Guru Nanak’s hymn of praise to God was akin to the Christian canticle. Moreover, referring to the heart of Christian theology, articulated at the start of St. John’s Gospel, that ‘the Word was God’, she regarded a verse from stanza 21 of Japjῑ as a ‘mysterious allusion to the Logos’ (Field 1914: 50). Logos is ‘the Word’ in the original Greek of the New Testament and, in Johannine theology, ‘the Word became flesh’ i.e. was incarnated as Jesus. It needs to be noted, however, that the basis for her exposition is somewhat tenuous: Macauliffe’s rendering of Guru Nanak’s words ‘suast(i) āth(i) bāņi barmāo’ as ‘From the self-existent proceeded Maya, whence issued a word which produced Brahma and the rest’ lent itself rather better to Field’s interpretation than some other renderings do. These include the alternative that Macauliffe himself offered: ‘“Blessing on Thee!” is said to have been the first salutation that Brahma addressed Thee’ (Macauliffe 1909: 206).

Other Influences ‘Vedanta’ – and hence Guru Nanak’s teaching and the Guru Granth Sahib that embodied it – strongly attracted Annie Besant. Ancient Indian wisdom provided a philosophical inspiration not only for The Theosophical Society, which she headed, but also for the Co-Freemasons. Besant was a founder member of this organisation too, which was aligned with the French group Le Droit Humain. Like Le Droit Humain, the Co-Freemasons arose in response to the male-only Freemasons. Besant broke with le Droit Humain, however, in insisting on a belief in God as a basis. One notable Indian Freemason was Swami Vivekananda (Narendranath Datta), Swami Ramakrishna Paramahansa’s disciple. He came to global notice for bringing Vedanta to the West at the Parliament of Religions held in Chicago in 1893. Here Besant had been enthralled by his ‘striking figure, clad in yellow and orange, shining like the sun of India in the midst of the heavy atmosphere of Chicago’ (Anon no date). Significantly, she warmed to ‘the exquisite beauty of the spiritual message which he had brought, to the sublimity of that matchless truth of the East which is the heart and the life of India, the wondrous teaching of the Self’ (Besant no date). It was not, however, simply a matter of Vedanta influencing Freemasonry and Theosophy but, also, Freemasonry was arguably a formative influence on the ‘neo-vedanta’ of Vivekananda and of Besant herself.

108  Eleanor Nesbitt Besant’s 1901 convention lecture clearly presents the Guru Granth Sahib as an expression of this ‘matchless truth’, whereas for Field, enlightened as the Sikh scripture’s teaching was, it had nonetheless been surpassed by ‘Trinitarianism’ (Short 1944: 244–245).

In Conclusion Taken together, the women’s accounts cumulatively – and with varying degrees of awareness, interest or erudition – convey the many aspects of the Guru Granth Sahib, as a focus for devotees’ physical attentiveness, as a central, indispensable actor in life cycle rites, and also as a body of spiritually uplifting compositions. Thus, even without grasping the Sikh scripture’s status as living Guru, most of the western women who encountered the Guru Granth Sahib reacted to its physical presence: their descriptions feature opulent coverings, an attendant fanning it and devotees making offerings. Fewer recounted the role of the scripture in ‘performative acts that are enacted to transform the social world’ (Myrvold 2010: 201), the life cycle rites of naming and marriage. The Eden sisters noted the holy book’s function as ‘oracle’ and Lloyd reported on an individual Sikh’s daily practice of recitation. Furthermore, she described how devotees resorted to making donations for akhand path for physical healing. Both Lloyd’s and Rowling’s writings (memoir and novel respectively) offer a glimpse of the support that passages of the Granth afford in Sikhs’ daily life and times of crisis. Two of the women (Tucker and Buck) who accessed its content, albeit through translations, sensed the yearning that pervades it. Field presented it with reference to the Christian tradition in which she had grown up and Besant characterised it as a demotic expression of India’s spiritual and philosophical tradition. As such it accorded with the Theosophy and Freemasonry that she had espoused. Like Lloyd and Rowling, all who pondered the Granth in translation acknowledged its spirituality – in Tucker’s case this led her to a favourable comparison with another scripture that she had read in translation, the Qur’an. In the case of Tucker and Field at least, the women’s Christian heritage affected their response to the Granth’s content and, certainly for Gordon Cumming and Baring-Gould, Sikhs’ worship of the Guru Granth Sahib was deeply troubling to their Christian faith and Protestant sensitivities. What emerges undeniably is that attention to two centuries of western women’s responses to their encounters with the Guru Granth Sahib not only complements the commentary of their male contemporaries but also contributes to studies of how the scriptures of ‘world faiths’ are received and interpreted cross-culturally by people of Christian background and varying degrees of religious fervour.

Guru Granth Sahib in the Writings of Western Women  109

Note 1 See https://www.allaboutsikhs.com/gurudwaras-in-india/gurudwaras-­associatedwith-guru-nanak-dev-ji (accessed 1 November 2017).

References Anon. 1865. “Missionary Reminiscences: ‘Our Station,’ and Its Golden Temple.” The Coral Missionary Magazine: A Monthly Record of Missionary Work among the Labouring Classes at Home, and in the Church Missionary Vernacular Schools Abroad. London: James Nisbet & Co, 2–6. Anon. no date. “Annie Besant.” www.swamivivekananda.guru/2017/05/07/ annie-besant/ Baring-Gould, Edith Margaret Emma. 1901. With Notebook and Camera: A Winter Journey in Foreign Lands. London: Church Missionary Society. [Batty, Beatrice Braithwaite]. 1878. “Sketches of the Punjab Mission. Parts 1–9.” The Church Missionary Gleaner (London) 5, 50, 17–20. Besant, Annie. 1979. Sikhism A Convention Lecture. Adyar, Madras: The Theosophical Publishing House. Reprint. Besant, Annie. No date. “Reminiscences of Swami Vivekananda.” www.ramakrishnavivekananda.info/reminiscences/other_03_ab.htm Canning, Charlotte. 1860. Copy Letter Journal. Mss Eur F699/2/2/3/6. Papers of Charles Canning and Charlotte Canning, Earl and Countess Canning (1778– 1908). India office Records and Private Papers, British Library. Diver, Maud. 1942. Royal India. New York: D. Appleton Century Company in association with London: Hodder & Stoughton. Eden, Emily. [1866] 1997. Up the Country: Letters from India (Introduction by Elisabeth Claridge, Notes by Edward Thompson). London: Virago. Field, Dorothy. 1912. “India, Unrest and the Religion of the Sikhs.” The Theosophist 34, 1: 350–365. Field, Dorothy. 1914. The Religion of the Sikhs. London: John Murray. Giberne, Agnes. 1895. A Lady of England: The Life and Letters of Charlotte Maria Tucker. New York: A.C. Armstrong & Son. Gordon Cumming, Constance. 1876. From the Hebrides to the Himalayas vol. 2. London: Sampson Low, Marston, Searle & Rivington. Graham, Maria (= Maria Lady Callcott). 1814. Letters on India. London: Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme and Brown. Griffiths, Helen. 1982. Hari’s Pigeon. London: Hutchinson. Hervey, Mrs. 1853. The Adventures of a Lady in Tartary, Thibet, China, and Kashmir, vols. 1 and 2. London: Hope and Co. Hillhouse, Agnes M. 1903. “A Sikh Marriage Ceremony.” India’s Women and ­C hina’s Daughters 23: 222–223. ‘a lady’. 1854. Original Sketches in the Punjaub. London: Dickinson Brothers. Lloyd, Sarah. 2008. An Indian Attachment. London: Eland. Macauliffe, Max Arthur. [1909] 1963. The Sikh Religion Its Gurus, Sacred Writings and Authors vols 1 and 2. Delhi: S. Chand & Co. Myrvold, Kristina. 2010. “Engaging with the Guru: Sikh Beliefs and Practices of Guru Granth Sahib.” Postscripts the Journal of Sacred Texts and Contemporary Worlds, 6, 1–3: 201–224.

110  Eleanor Nesbitt Nesbitt, Eleanor. 2018. “Reflections on Two Centuries of Western Women’s Writing about Sikhs.” Religions of South Asia, 12, 2, 234–251. https://doi.org/10.1558/ rosa.38807 Nesbitt. 2023 forthcoming. Sikh: Two Centuries of Western Women’s Art and Writing. London: Kashi House. Osborne, William G. 1840. The Court and Camp of Runjeet Sing. London: Henry Colburn. Poe, Sophie A. 1942. Out of a Duffle Bag. San Antonio: The Naylor Company. Rowling, JK 2012. The Casual Vacancy. London: Little, Brown. Scott, Rachel. 1971. A Wedding Man is Nicer than Cats, Miss. Newton Abbot: David and Charles. Short, Dorothy. 1944. “Sikhism.” In The Eleven Religions and their Proverbial Lore, ed. Selwyn Gurney Champion, 257–270. London: George Routledge & Sons. Singh, Ganda. 1969. (ed.) The Panjab Past and Present, vol 3 (Parts 1 and 2) Guru Nanak’s Birth Quincentenary Volume. Sources of the Life and Teachings of Guru Nanak. Patiala: Department of Panjab Historical Studies, Punjabi University. Singh, Gopal. 1987 (7th edn) (transl.) Sri Guru Granth Sahib [English version] vol. 1. New Delhi: World Sikh Centre. Tucker, Charlotte [A Lady of England or a. l. o. e.]. [1878?]. The Mirror and the Bracelet or Little Bullets from Batala. London: Gall & Inglis. Vázquez de Gey, Elisa. 2002. Anita Delgado Maharani of Kapurthala. New Delhi: Hem Kunt. An earlier version of this article appeared in Postscripts: The Journal of Sacred Texts, Cultural Histories, and Contemporary Contexts, 11, 2, 2020, 35–54. A fuller account appears in Nesbitt (2023 forthcoming).

5 India, Pakistan and the Sikhs The Kartarpur Corridor in Its Historical and Political Perspective Gurharpal Singh Introduction In November 2018, the governments of India and Pakistan agreed to open a corridor over the river Ravi linking two important Sikh shrines: Dera Baba Nanak (in India) with Gurdwara Darbar Kartarpur Sahib (in Pakistan). A mere 6.3 kilometres and the river Ravi separates these structures that are closely associated with the life and times of Guru Nanak, the founder of the Sikh tradition. But despite this distance, the international border that was created in 1947 between the new state of Pakistan and India, and the history of rivalry between the two nuclear-armed neighbours, has limited any serious initiatives to make more accessible sacred spaces in East and West Panjab. The political division of the Indian subcontinent in 1947 was, also in some measure, a spiritual division as the new states established complex systems of regulation to control the access of pilgrims from the two countries. Nowhere was this divide more strongly felt than in Panjab in which the multi-religious and multi-ethnic tradition of the province was torn asunder by the creation of an arbitrary boundary drawn ostensibly along ‘religious’ lines. As the religious nationalisms of the Indian National Congress (hereafter the Congress), the Muslim League and the Shiromani Akali Dal (SAD) clashed, some of the key sacred spaces which fell on the ‘wrong’ side of the boundary line, became the sites of alternative narratives that contested the logic of partition. In contrast to the study of the politics and history of the partition of India, which has witnessed major methodological and conceptual advances since the 1980s (Talbot and Singh 2008, ch.1), its religious consequences have been largely overlooked. This chapter critically explores this neglected dimension by locating the debate in the comparative literature on the control of sacred spaces. It then assesses the Sikh case study through three temporal moments. First, the status of Nankana Sahib, the birthplace of Guru Nanak, in the final phase of the transfer of power and how, in the months leading up to 15th August 1947, Nankana Sahib became the source of a bitter dispute between the British government and colonial state and the Sikh leadership. Second, it evaluates how after 1947 both the governments of

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112  Gurharpal Singh India and Pakistan have sought to regulate access by Sikh pilgrims to Nankana Sahib and other sacred sites. Third, the chapter reviews the prospects for a more open access to these sites for Sikhs in Pakistan suggested by the opening of the Kartarpur corridor. In conclusion, it reflects on the importance of the Sikh case study for its wider implications for debates about the control of sacred spaces and contested political and religious sovereignties. The literature on the control of sacred spaces1 falls into two broad categories (Hassner 2003). Most common are contestations as a result of schisms, syncretism, and conquest and real estate disputes. Such examples include the conflict between Jews and Muslims over the Temple on the Mount and the Al-Asqa mosque, and in India, the bitter rivalry since the early 1980s between Hindus and Muslims over the control of the Babri Masjid. These disputes raise the issue of ‘indivisibility’, of zero-sum contestations over rival claims to exclusive ownership of sacred spaces (Ibid., 8). But not unrelated, and equally significant, is the more generic political control closely associated with the nature of church-state relations framed by secularism, nationalism and development which define the ideological limits of the religious (Casanova 1994). In the case of the Sikhs, whose sacred spaces were divided in their homeland, the former category is largely irrelevant, but the latter is much more noteworthy in defining their relationship with the state in India and Pakistan, and as the mainspring of the Congress’s and Muslim League’s nationalisms that prescribes the relationship with religious minorities. Accordingly, the term ‘control’ in this chapter is used in two senses: as a form of physical control of borders, security and institutions; and as an ideological resource to regulate, discipline and naturalise post-1947 nationand state-formation. The state in Pakistan is generally viewed as exercising physical control over Sikh sacred spaces whereas the state in India is commonly associated with a more laissez faire approach of a liberal democracy. However, the central argument of this chapter is that such a distinction is one of degree not kind: both states seek to exercise control over Sikh sacred shrines as means of managing the Sikh community because its conception of religious and political sovereignty disrupts the narratives of nation formation that led to 1947 and after.

Nankana Sahib and the Partition of Panjab On 20 February 1947, Prime Minister Attlee in the House of Commons announced that the British would leave India by June 1948, and that Louis Mountbatten would succeed Wavell as viceroy. This announcement was made against the rising tide of mass communal violence in India and the decision of the Muslim League to withdraw from the protracted constitution-­making process started by the Cabinet Mission Plan in May 1946 (Moore 1983, 221). At this stage, the Labour government’s intention was still to transfer power to a united India that would accommodate the competing claims of the Congress and the Muslim League. But following

Kartarpur Corridor in Its Historical and Political Perspective  113 Mountbatten’s arrival in New Delhi in late March, he soon concluded the British were ‘sitting on the edge of a volcano’ that could erupt any time (Mountbatten 1947). At the epicentre of this tension was Panjab. Here the Muslim League’s campaign to oust the inter-communal coalition Unionist government finally materialised on the 2nd March, and was followed by communal rioting in Rawalpindi, Multan, Lahore, Amritsar, Jalandhar and Attock. As central Panjab became the ‘battle ground for Pakistan’ (Mansergh and Moon 1980, 926), the resort to direct action led to mass violence ‘organised with extreme savagery’, with the massacre of Sikhs and Hindus in Rawalpindi resulting in 5,000 casualties and 35,000 refugees (Ibid., 962). This violence impelled the Sikh political leadership and the Congress to call for the partition of Panjab. But it was a partition on their terms to be defined by cultural, religious and economic factors – not just the head count. If the Muslim League’s pursuit of Pakistan laid claim to the whole of Panjab, then the Sikhs and the Congress would call for a resizing of the province which in turn would turn Pakistan into an empty husk (Mansergh and Moon 1981, 456). In the protracted negotiations between Mountbatten, the Congress, the Muslim League and the Sikh leadership from the end of March and the beginning of June in 1947, the only plan for the transfer of power that the Congress and the Muslim League would agree to was a quick demission of power to the two dominions of India and Pakistan. The division of Panjab and Bengal was the inevitable outcome of this decision. The 3rd of June Plan envisaged the transfer of power to the new states on the 14th and the 15th August, and included a Boundary Commission to demarcate the borders of Pakistan (Moore, ch.4). The agreement, which was aimed at arriving at a settlement between the Congress and the Muslim League, inevitably marginalised Sikh claims that cut across the principle of Muslim and non-Muslim ‘contiguous majority areas’. These claims were based on religious, cultural, historical and economic factors in order to ensure the community’s integrity in face of the majority principle that threatened to divide it equally between India and Pakistan. As Baldev Singh, the defence minister in the Interim Government (1946–1947), and the chief Sikh representative on the Viceroy’s Executive, was to lament: ‘Everything we have in this world is within the border of Panjab. It is our homeland’ (Mansergh and Moon 1981, 655). All strands of Sikh leadership – SAD, the Congress, the Princes, and Baldev Singh ­himself – forthrightly conveyed to Mountbatten and his staff the imperative of keeping Nankana Sahib, which was in a Muslim majority district, within the territory to be allocated to India. At worst, Nankana Sahib’s special place in Sikhism merited the designation of a ‘free city’, controlled by no one, and open to all (Mansergh and Moon 1980, 183–184). Indeed, the principles which underpinned the Sikh claims for Nankana Sahib, and other territories to be excluded from Pakistan, according to Baldev Singh, rested on the assurances given to the Sikhs by the British about the protection of the community.

114  Gurharpal Singh These included the need to disturb as little as possible its homogeneity and integrity, that the division was forced on Sikhs (and Hindus) by the Muslim League, and to avoid future conflict by excluding Muslim areas in areas of high Sikh populations (Mansergh and Moon 1981, 466–469). It was, in essence, the application of the claim for Pakistan in reverse. Mountbatten noted, with some irony, that the Sikhs ‘want – on religious grounds like Muslims – to take over and dominate in areas in which they are a minority’ (Ibid., 470). The British government, in the words of the Secretary of State for India, sought ‘to keep the Sikhs quiet until the transfer of power’ (Ibid., 712) by the device of a Boundary Commission that was tasked with delineating the border between India and Pakistan. 2 In undertaking its work the commission was required to take into account factors other than the simple majority/minority Muslim and non-Muslim areas. Both the Secretary of State for India and Mountbatten believed that the commission would provide a resolution to Sikh claims. The Sikh leaders, in contrast, reluctantly acquiesced to the 3rd June Plan, which made no mention of the Sikh claims, and the terms of reference of the Boundary Commission, but they also made no secret of their intention to redraw the boundary if the outcome seriously impaired their interests (The Times of India, 5 June 1947). In the debate in the House of Commons on the India Independence Act on 14 July 1947, the Under Secretary of State for India, Arthur Henderson, sought to clarify the inclusion of ‘other factors’ in the terms of reference of the Boundary Commission. This addition he insisted had been made by the Prime Minister to enable the Commission to have regard to the special circumstances of the Sikh community in the Panjab where considerations such as location of their religious shrines can be reasonably taken into account up to a point. (Hansard, 14 July, 1947) However, he was at pains to stress that it was ‘for the Commission itself to decide what are the other factors and how much importance should be attached to all or any of them’ (Ibid., emphasis added). But shortly after this statement, Henderson faced a written Parliamentary question on whether the consideration of ‘other factors’, including religion, applied only to Sikhs; and as such, whether minor local variations or substantial inroads into majority areas were contemplated. The response of the Secretary of State for India, Henderson’s superior, was to quickly backtrack from this concession: religious shrines of other communities, he asserted, would receive equal treatment if the Boundary Commission so decided (Mansergh and Moon 1983, 329). The Sikh leadership’s response to these manoeuvres was to organise, mobilise, lobby and argue the community’s case before the Panjab Boundary Commission. After the riots in March, militias were established and

Kartarpur Corridor in Its Historical and Political Perspective  115 arms collected for direct action in the event of the boundary award being unfavourable to the community’s claims. Some have suggested that this amounted to a substantive conspiracy that envisaged the extensive sabotage of Sikh settlements in West Panjab, the assassination of Jinnah, and the involvement of Sikh princely states in the creation of Khalistan comprising the Lahore division (Ibid., 537–538). The precise nature of this conspiracy remains highly contested, but in the weeks before the award, the armed militias were very much in action in ethnically cleansing East Panjab of its Muslim population (Brass 2003). Against the rising tide of communal violence, protests and conferences were organised to air the community’s grievances. During the province-wide protest on 8th July to mark ‘Nankana Sahib Day’, the Reuter’s Indian service reported that India’s 5.7 million Sikhs ‘wore arm bands at the British plans to split their community’. Gurdwara congregations throughout Panjab approved a resolution declaring that ‘any partition that did not secure the integrity and solidarity of the Sikh community would be unacceptable and create a difficult situation’. Sikh leaders openly proclaimed that there would be no peace in Panjab ‘if the Sikhs were dissatisfied with the partition’ (Mansergh and Moon 1983, 17–18). Baldev Singh, at a gathering in Delhi gurdwara, exhorted his congregation to ‘make all sacrifices if the verdict of the Boundary Commission goes against them’ (Ibid., 18) A day after this protest, Giani Kartar Singh, the head of SAD, in a meeting with the Governor of Panjab, issued what the latter described as the nearest thing to a Sikh ultimatum: that they [the Sikhs] must have one canal system; they must have Nankana Sahib; finally, the arrangements must be such as to bring three-quarters or at least third of the Sikh population into East ­Panjab … The Giani asserted that unless it was recognised by HMG, the viceroy and the party leaders that the fate of the Sikhs was a vital issue in proceedings of the transfer of power, there would be trouble. (Ibid., 72–73) To coincide with the sittings of the Panjab Boundary Commission, the Sikh leadership also decided to hold a major conference at Nankana Sahib on 27th July to demand its inclusion in East Panjab. Fearing widespread disorder, Sir Evan Jenkins, the Governor of Panjab, declared the gathering illegal, imposing a strict clamp down on the travel to and from the gurdwara from all areas of the province. A security cordon was established around the city of Nankana Sahib and the surrounding districts by the police and armed troops. Aircrafts dropped leaflets on Sikh areas discouraging them from sending jathas (armed bands) towards Nankana Sahib. In spite of these measure, and open firing on the crowds by the troops, several thousand Sikhs were able to gather for the conference and pass anti-Pakistan

116  Gurharpal Singh resolutions (Ibid., 309–310). The gathering dispersed the following day, but not before the troops had caused confusion and mayhem. The incident was raised at the Viceroy’s Staff Meeting the same day, with Mountbatten questioning the Governor’s wisdom in imposing a ban. Recognising that the issue of Nankana Sahib would continue to evoke a strong feeling among Sikhs, one constitutional advisor at the meeting suggested the city be given a Vatican-like status. Again, however, decisive executive support for the proposal was not forthcoming: it was decided only to raise the issue with the Chairman of the Boundary Commission who could forward this suggestion to the Muslim League, and there appears to be no evidence that the matter was followed through (Ibid., 377). A day before the Nankana Sahib conference, Giani Kartar Singh sent to the private secretary of Mountbatten a small pamphlet outlining the case for the inclusion of the Nankana Sahib tract in India. He drew attention to the importance of Nankana Sahib as one of Sikhs’ most important spiritual centres. ‘This place’, he concluded, is ‘the holiest of the holy and comparable in sanctity only to the Mecca of the Muslims in the Arabian Peninsula.’ It had a flourishing community and an estate of 17,000 acres to support it provided by Maharaja Ranjit Singh. To leave it in Pakistan ‘would be like insulting the heart against the body’ (Singh 1991, 294). In the memorandum presented to the Panjab Boundary Commission, Justice Harnam Singh outlined in detail the religious, economic and geographic ‘other factors’ for consideration of the Sikh community’s case. The principal gurdwaras associated with the life and time of the Gurus, he ­insisted – Janam Asthan Nankana Sahib, Dera Sahib, Darbar Sahib Kartarpur, and Gurdwaras Chomala and Chhevin Padsha – were in West Panjab. Lahore itself was popularly referred to as ‘the Guru’s cradle’ (Ibid., 252). But these were no ordinary shrines of saints and religious leaders as the Muslim League’s submission alleged. Rather, as Justice Teja Singh subsequently made clear in his report to the Boundary Commission: The gurdwaras, the situation of which is sought to be used as factor in the demarcation of the boundaries, are those places of worship which were either founded by the ten Gurus or were established long ago to commemorate particular incidents that happened during their lives and with which they are connected … Now, to the Sikhs the ten Gurus are what Christ is to Christians, Hazrat Mohammad is to Muslims and the principal gods who are believed to be the incarnation of Vishnu are to Hindus … It is a mistake to put them on the same footing as the religious places founded by or associated with saints or other religious men however so prominent or respected they might be. There are hundreds of gurdwaras that were established by Sikh saints or which were built in the memory of Sikh martyrs but none of them enjoys the sacred character that [is] reserved for the class mentioned above, and the only shrines of the Muslims that in respect of sacredness and importance

Kartarpur Corridor in Its Historical and Political Perspective  117 can compare with the gurdwaras of that class are the shrines that stand in Mecca and Medina. (Ibid., 358) The Sikhs, Teja Singh argued, were not laying claim to territories associated with all these gurdwaras, but principal ones like Nankana Sahib which defined their ‘homeland’ and ‘holy land’. As he summarised: Therefore I submit that when you are considering this question [of boundaries] the special features of the Sikh community should be taken into account … for the Sikhs, the city of Amritsar, the city of Nankana Sahib in [the] Sheikhupura district, the city of Kartarpur in Shahargarh tehsil [the] Gurdaspur district, are the Mecca and Medina and their Hardwar and Benares. (Ahmed 2000, 133) Finally, in the run-up to boundary award, there was a flurry of activity to lobby Mountbatten, HMG in London, and the Panjab administration. On 7th August, the Maharaja of Patiala wrote to Mountbatten that on Nankana Sahib ‘Sikh sentiment about this is so strong it would be dangerous to minimise it, as under no circumstances can they [the Sikhs] be persuaded to allow this to go into foreign territory’ (Mansergh and Moon 1983, 564). In early August, Principal Ganga Singh and Meherban Singh Dhupia were sent to London to meet the Secretary of State of India before the Boundary Commission announced the award. Attlee refused to see them. The Secretary of State for India rebuffed them by noting that the ‘matter was out of his hands’, and he was only prepared to meet ‘such distinguished representatives of the great Sikh community … [to] make their acquaintance’ (Ibid., 621). Major Short, who was the main interlocutor between the Viceroy’s staff and the Sikh leadership, was impressed upon to convey Sikh concerns. Responding to apprehension within Mountbatten’s staff that Sikhs were likely to cause trouble if the award went against them, Short counselled that if Nankana Sahib were accorded the status of ‘Vatican municipality of some sort and free entry and visit’, Sikh resentment could be assuaged because ‘their hearts [would] thus be touched, [and] their heads will be cooled’ (Singh 1991, 468). Earlier, Giani Kartar Singh in a meeting with the Panjab Governor had all but repudiated the understanding that the Sikhs would accept the Boundary Commission’s report. Querying the authority of Baldev Singh to accept the outcome without wider consultations within the community, he warned that the Sikhs would not take the outcome ‘lying down’ and retained the right by using direct action to revise any unfavourable outcome. At the end of his meeting, according to Jenkins, Giani Kartar Singh ‘burst into tears’ and implored him to help the community (Mansergh and Moon 1983, 429–431). Jenkins, who was viewed by the Muslim League as pro-Sikh, and had regularly been warning New Delhi of

118  Gurharpal Singh the impending war of communal succession, reassured Giani Kartar Singh that he saw no reason why Sikh access to Nankana Sahib would not continue after August 14/15, but added as an aside that the Sikhs would ‘have to accept the award and have to come into line if the two dominions [of India and Pakistan] were to enforce it’ (Ibid., 430). Jenkins however could not conceal his disdain for the Sikh leadership who he believed had ‘made a great mess of the whole Sikh question’. ‘The real solution’, according to him, ‘was to get rid of the non-Panjabi-speaking districts and to keep the rest of the Panjab in Pakistan. I think the Sikhs appreciate this now; but it is too late to do anything about it’ (Ibid., 430). In the event, the ‘other factors’ on which the Sikh case so vitally depended, played a minimal role in the delimitation of the new international boundary in Panjab. The Panjab Boundary Commission failed to provide an agreed report, leaving Sir Cyril Radcliffe to make the final determination which, with minor adjustments of territory, followed closely the principle of Muslim and non-Muslim ‘contiguous majority areas’. The award was scheduled to be made before the independence of Pakistan (14 August) and India (15 August), but was deliberately delayed lest its consequences reflected poorly on the Raj (Mansergh and Moon 1983, 760). And despite the official commitment which Mountbatten was able to extract from Jinnah, Nehru, Patel and Baldev Singh regarding the rights and safety of religious minorities in India and Pakistan, the reality after the 15th August was mass violence in which millions of people in Panjab became refugees. The intensity of this violence was most acute in East Panjab because the Sikh leadership organised the systematic ethnic cleansing of Muslims to compensate territories forgone in West Panjab (Singh 2013). For Sikhs, an international boundary across their ‘homeland’ and ‘holy land’ would create a deep sense of spiritual loss, a longing that was eventually inscribed into the daily ardas (supplications), which pleads for these shrines to be eventually united with the panth (the Sikh community) in free and unhindered access (Singh and Fair 2000, 256). But after 1947, without the impartial role of the colonial state, access to sacred spaces such as Nankana Sahib would be determined by official policies of India and Pakistan.

Access to Sikh Sacred Spaces in Pakistan Post-1947 Recent research has demonstrated that for individuals the partition was a long, drawn-out process which continued to have implications for refuges for several decades afterwards (Zamindar 2007). For collective groups, on the other hand, the states of India and Pakistan quickly establish new regulatory regimes in which the construction of new national identities rooted in the pre-1947 anti-colonial discourses shaped by the antagonisms between the Congress and the Muslim League played a central role. These differences would eventually crystallise in the armed rivalry that would lead to four wars, the nuclearisation of South Asia, and with Kashmir as

Kartarpur Corridor in Its Historical and Political Perspective  119 the enduring symbol of the divide. Equally important were the efforts to regulate access to, and the religious shrines of, minority religious communities in the new states which become a barometer of Indo-Pakistan relations. For religious minorities like the Sikhs, whose sacred shrines are shared between India and Pakistan, this has posed some unique dilemmas. Since the early 1950s, the formal management of evacuee shrines and pilgrim visits by citizens of India and Pakistan to each other’s countries are regulated by treaties and protocols. The Liaquat-Nehru Pact (1950), agreed after of exodus of the Hindus from East Pakistan in 1950, was a bilateral treaty which offered protection to minority rights and gave the right to refugees to return and dispose of their property (India Treaty Series 1950). Although the text of the treaty refers primarily to East Pakistan, for the Shiromani Gurdwara Parbandhak Committee (SGPC), it justifies its claims to manage gurdwaras in Pakistan (Rana 2014). This understanding appears to have been compromised by a secret agreement between India’s Minister for Home Affairs, Govind Ballabh Pant and Iskander Mirza in 1955, to treat Sikh shrines and property attached to them, including Nankana Sahib, as ‘evacuee property’ to be disposed of as ordinary holdings (Lal 2014). Following the creation of Bangladesh, the Shimla Agreement (1972) committed India and Pakistan to open trade and communications and promote ‘travel facilities for the nationals of the other country’ (Ministry of External Affairs n.d.(a)) The agreement was accompanied by the Protocol on Visits to Religious Shrines (1974) which approved such visits ‘without discrimination to religion or sect’ to a designated list of shrines (Ibid., 18), limiting to a maximum of 20 parties per year from each country, though the numbers of each party can vary. The protocol also required that every ‘effort should continue to be made to ensure that places of religious worship mentioned in the agreed list are properly maintained and their sanctity preserved’ (Ministry of External Affairs n.d. (b)). For Sikh pilgrims in India, such visits are limited to the birth anniversary of Guru Nanak and Vaisakhi, the martyrdom of Guru Arjan and the birth anniversary of Maharaja Ranjit Singh, though the range and number of visits seem to have expanded greatly since (Sikhsangat 2011). In 1999, partially in response to the concerns raised by the Sikh diaspora about the conditions of Sikh gurdwaras in Pakistan, the government of Pakistan formed the Pakistan Sikh Gurdwara Parbandhak Committee (PSGPK) to oversee the work Evacuee Trust Property Board which is formally entrusted with managing Sikh shrines (Khalid 2018, 18); and despite heightened hostility between India and Pakistan after 9/11 and the terrorist attack on the India parliament (2001), which led to a general mobilisation between the two countries, in the ensuing détente several initiatives were taken to improve East/West Panjab dialogue, including preliminary efforts to open up the Kartarpur corridor and a bus service from Amritsar to Nankana Sahib (2006) (Talbot 2010). But these symbolic measures have struggled to overcome bureaucratic, security and diplomatic hurdles. The bus service, for instance, was heavily curtailed following the

120  Gurharpal Singh terrorist attacks in Mumbai (2008); it has struggled in recent years to secure enough passengers to make the journey economic viable (Bassi 2017). In the heightened state of tension between India and Pakistan following the turmoil in Kashmir and the ‘surgical strike’ across the Line of Control (September 2016), pilgrims have once again been limited to ‘special trains’ as the preferred mode of transportation. However, these regimes of control have been increasingly subverted by the emergence of a Sikh diaspora (Tatla 1999). In the mid-1970s, Ganga Singh Dhillon, a Washington-based businessman, with extensive networks in the US political establishment, created the Nankana Sahib Foundation (1974) for the preservation and maintenance of Sikh sacred shrines in Pakistan. The objective was to establish an international organisation run by Sikhs to manage these institutions. Dhillon formed a close friendship with Pakistan’s military leader President Zia-ul-Haq, a refugee from East Panjab, who recognised the importance of providing free access to, and freedom of worship, to Sikhs in India and the diaspora (Badhwar 1981). Following the entry of the Indian army into the Golden Temple in June 1984, the Government of India in its White Paper attributed the militant violence in Panjab to the material and political support provided by Pakistan (Government of India 1984); and in the decade-long insurgency that ensued thereafter, Pakistan was accused not only of supporting the militants but also of manipulating Sikh religious sentiment in fostering Sikh religious separatism. Such encouragement, according to Talbot (2010, 70,73), coincided with the latter’s strategic objective of ‘opening another “front” in its covert conflict with India’. After 1984 most of the leading Sikh militant groups waging an armed struggle for Khalistan had a presence in Pakistan (Pettigrew 1995; Singh 2000; Dhillon 2006). They were supported discreetly by the Pakistan intelligence agencies but kept at arm’s length from the major Sikh shrines that were the subject of agreement between India and Pakistan. Nonetheless, as the human rights violations and counter-insurgency efforts of the Indian state intensified, especially from the mid-1980s to the 1990s, annual religious events became occasions for the mobilisation by the Sikh diaspora. Indian diplomats regularly complained to Pakistani officials that sacred sites such as Nankana Sahib were being used for the promotion of Sikh separatist activities and anti-Indian propaganda (The Times of India, 3 July 1997). Since the 1990s, Sikh shrines in Pakistan have become sites of major organised pilgrim tours. This change is in part reflective of the broader trends in global tourism in which sacred spaces have become the destinations of mass pilgrimage in the age of globalisation and cheap tourism (Timothy and Olsen 2006). It is also the result of sustained private initiatives by local sants (religious leaders) who command sizable congregations, and have started the process of leading the faithful to rediscover a lost heritage (Tatla 1992). Gurdwaras, community groups and families in the

Kartarpur Corridor in Its Historical and Political Perspective  121 diaspora regularly organise such tours to leading shrines on key dates in the Sikh calendar. These tours are publicly advertised in the Panjabi media, and travel agencies based in Pakistan catering for the growing Sikh pilgrim market have proliferated, offering bespoke tours to more general accommodation of large parties.3 This market is likely to expand rapidly as Pakistan has further liberalised travel from the Sikh diaspora with facilities for visa on arrival, by actively promoting its cultural ‘soft power’, and encouraging new interest in Sikh cultural and religious inheritance in Pakistan reflected in such publications as Singh’s Lost Heritage: The Sikh Legacy in Pakistan (2016) and Khalid’s Walking with Nanak (2018). The prospect of largescale pilgrimage tours to Pakistan, which now is being portrayed in some of the pilgrimage tours as the ‘religious home’ of the Sikhs, is likely to be welcomed by the diaspora, and Sikhs in East Panjab. It also however has the potential to raise some unsettling questions about the current regimes for access to, and management of, Sikh religious shrines and create new imaginaries of the Sikh ‘holy land’ and ‘home land’.

The Kartarpur Corridor It is against this broad historical background that current decision of the Pakistani government, and India’s positive response to it, needs to be understood. Officially, the initiative ‘is in line with Islamic principles that advocate respect for all religions and Pakistan’s policy of promoting interfaith harmony and religious tolerance’ (Yousaf 2019). Realistically, however, it is driven by the need for a rapprochement with India following the spike in terrorist incidents in Jammu and Kashmir since 2014, and Pakistan’s increasing domestic financial difficulties, resulting in the military-sponsored election of Imran Khan as prime minister in 2018. Similarly, India’s begrudging engagement with the process, was influenced largely by the potential impact on Sikh voters in the parliamentary elections in Panjab (Sevea 2018). But these short-term considerations apart, the strategic imperatives for both states remain the same: to manage, regulate and control access to Sikh sacred shrines the existence of which radically disrupts the new sacred geographies of post-1947 Indian and Pakistani nationalisms. Unconventionally, the current move to open the Kartarpur corridor was instigated by the maverick ex-cricketer turned politician, Navjot Singh Sidhu, during his visit to Prime Minister Imran Khan’s inauguration on 18 August 2018. At the ceremony, Sidhu was assured by the Pakistan Army Chief, General Qamar Javed Bajwa that serious steps would be taken to open a corridor for the Kartarpur Sahib Gurdwara in Pakistan on the occasion of the 550th birth anniversary of Guru Nanak’s birth. Sidhu, who was universally condemned for his visit in the Indian press for fraternising with the enemy and hugging the Pakistan army chief while Indian soldiers were being killed in Kashmir, remained unrepentant, arguing against his party

122  Gurharpal Singh (Indian Express, 19 August 2018). Weary that the initiative was passing to Pakistan, on 26 November 2018, amid confusion and chaos, Vice President Venkaiah Naidu and Captain Amarinder Singh, Chief Minister of Panjab, laid the foundation stone of the Dera Baba Nanak-Kartarpur Sahib corridor (Dhaliwal 2018a). The sanctity of the occasion however was marred by the political rivalry between the BJP and the Congress as the former’s representative tried to appropriate the event against the all too public protests of the latter (Dhaliwal 2018b). In Pakistan, the ground-breaking ceremony at Kartarpur was attended by Imran Khan, the Pakistan Army Chief, dignitaries, and politicians and officials invited from India. In his speech, Khan observed that the ‘happiness he saw on the faces of the Sikh pilgrims was like Muslims feel when they reach near Makkah or Medina’. While regretting the state of the current affairs between India and Pakistan, he called for a ‘civilised relationship’ between the two states, pleaded for a resolution of the ‘Kashmir problem’, and strong economic ties between the subcontinental neighbours (The News, 28 November, 2018). Interestingly in moving this initiative Khan was adamant that his ‘government, his party, all political parties, the military and all Pakistani institutions were on the same page’ (Sevea 2018, 4). In responding to Khan’s speech, Harsimrat Kaur Badal, a senior stalwart of the SAD, and a Union Cabinet Minister, declared that ‘This is a historic day for our [Sikh] nation. Desires of millions of Sikhs around the world have been fulfilled today.’ She concluded by labelling the initiative as ‘peace corridor’ which could become the basis of a ‘new start between India and Pakistan’ (Ibid., emphasis added). After the ceremonies, the process of creating the corridor has become ensnared in all too familiar hurdles. In India, the Chief Minister in Panjab has vented his frustration at the reluctance of the Centre to sanction the necessary funds for development to start the construction of the infrastructure for the corridor. Vocal voices in the press, too, have raised security concerns about the development, with some sections openly hostile, citing the legacy of Sikh militancy and the on-going insurgency in Jammu and Kashmir (Davar 2019). In Pakistan, no formal opposition has been expressed against the initiative, but the process of building the corridor appears to be reinventing the old security structures which militate against the free movement of pilgrims. In a 59-page document submitted to the Indian officials at the end of December 2018, Pakistan’s officials made 14 recommendations which included: the construction of facilitation and security centres on both sides of the corridor; group visits by pilgrims with a minimum of 15 persons per groups; a maximum of 500 visitors a day; a special permit to be issued to visitors by the Government of Pakistan; the list of visitors to be communicated to Pakistan three days in advance of any visit; all visitors to carry an Indian passport; and all visitors would be required to obtain a security clearance certificate from Indian authorities (The Tribune, 30 December 2018). Surprisingly, no mention has been made

Kartarpur Corridor in Its Historical and Political Perspective  123 of reciprocal travel arrangements on the Indian side if non-Sikhs based in Pakistan wish to visit Dera Baba Nanak. For Capt. Amarinder Singh these impediments run counter to the promise of khula darshan (open access) of Darbar Kartarpur Sahib for all. The idea of ‘hassle free travel’, which is central to connecting the two shrines, according to him, is being gradually undermined at the behest of BJP’s communally-minded politicians like Vijay Sampla, the Minister for State and Social Justice, who he alleged is actively aiming to ‘scuttle [the] Sikh community’s Kartarpur dream’ by insisting that a passport and a visa be mandatory requirements for pilgrims. Sampla’s outlook, Capt. Amarinder Singh insisted, ‘was reflective of the BJP’s anti-minority attitude and the Modi government’s continued attempts to side-line the country’s minorities to further its politically motivated agenda’ (Rozana Spokesman, 17 January 2019). Instead of the central governments coordinating and managing these processes, many of the practical issues could be readily resolved by better coordination between the two Panjab authorities. He has also warned the central government against unnecessary procrastination and delay because such action ‘would cause untold disappointment to the Sikh community based in India as [well] as all over the world’ (Business Standard, 17 January 2019). Capt. Amarinder Singh’s concerns, of course, might well be typical of political rhetoric by a seasoned politician because the two countries are at the beginning of a process of negotiation and bargaining in constructing permanent structures, including a walkway bridge over the Ravi. It is inevitable therefore that there are likely strong disagreements that might be further compounded by the tight time-frame agreed by both sides to open the corridor by November 2019. But, perhaps more importantly, overshadowing the initiative, as previous episodes of India–Pakistan détente have illustrated, is the spectre of unexpected political developments – the impending national elections in India, a sudden change in the polity in Pakistan, and terrorist incidents in India, such as the Pulwama attack (February 2019) which has led to the recent confrontation between the two countries – that might derail the project. The promise of Kartarpur co-exists with the ever-present realities of the Indo–Pakistan relationship. Yet these realities belie how the Kartarpur corridor process is being managed by the two states to assert political sovereignty over access to Sikh sacred spaces. Ostensibly, these claims of sovereignty are evident in the requirement of visas, passports and security clearance – against the desire of the regional Sikh population for open travel. Lurking behind these formalities are the traditional fears of unintended consequences for the 1947 settlement if access to Sikh shrines, and indeed, travel across the borderline, becomes unregulated, or can no longer be managed by India and Pakistan. While the parallels with Eastern European states just before the collapse of the Berlin Wall are probably unwarranted, the post-1947 political elites in India and Pakistan have sedulously avoided unfettered movement across

124  Gurharpal Singh the border line, either in Panjab or Kashmir. The promise of the South Asian Association for Regional Cooperation (SAARC) to create borderless travel in South Asia has remained largely unfulfilled. Thus, whatever the local arrangements are made to make access less burdensome, national governments will maintain the regimes of control of access that they have so heavily invested in since independence. Moreover, the discourses used by the leaders of India and Pakistan in launching the initiative reinforce the conventional narratives of nationhood that led to 1947. For Pakistan, the measure is entirely consistent with its self-image as an ‘Islamic republic’ promoting inter-religious harmony and protecting the rights of religious minorities. An official press note also added, somewhat facetiously, probably as an afterthought, that the proposal was in line ‘line with Quaid’s (Jinnah’s) vision of a peaceful neighbourhood’ (Daily Messenger, 22 January 2019). But as Talbot (2010, 73) has pointed out, the Pakistan state is much more inclined to deal with religious categories than ethnic ones because ‘the emphasis on access to sacred spaces, rather than on, for example, improving cultural exchange’, means that ‘Punjabi ethno-nationalists [can] continue to be marginalised in the region that forms the core component of the Pakistan state’. Designating Sikh issues as religious and essentially of access to sacred spaces controlled and managed by the Pakistan state, denudes them of their shared political and cultural importance that contradicts the official narrative of the two-nation theory. Likewise, the Indian state’s understanding of the initiative, with its emphasis on Sikhs as individual citizens who practice religion within the private realm – not as a corporate religio-political community – is entirely consistent with the post-1947 construction of religious minorities as communities of culture, without any claims on public space or institutions (Kim 2019). But while minority religious communities like the Christians, Muslims and Sikhs have been politically disarmed, the Congress and the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) have actively promoted Hinduism as a form of secularised majoritarianism, an ideal type of civic religion (Embree 1990). This structural imbalance in the nature of Indian state secularism has created a context in which political representatives of religious minorities have to frame their demands in the idiom of the dominant discourses of majoritarianism. Hence the objections of Capt. Amarinder Singh, a Congress politician, to Pakistan’s initial proposal to limit access to Sikhs only. Hence, too, his rather curious explanation why such an exclusive interpretation of Sikh identity by the Pakistan state would be deemed offensive to many Hindus – not necessarily other religions – who have historically viewed Sikhism within the broader Hindu tradition (National Herald, 23 January 2019). While Amarinder Singh’s views reflect the assimilations strands of modern Hindu nationalism in which Sikhs and Sikhism are constructed as the ‘sword arm’ of Hinduism and in which Hindu nationalists see other Indic religions – Buddhism, Jainism and Sikhism – as resting within the overarching embrace of Hinduism, its more overt manifestations are evident

Kartarpur Corridor in Its Historical and Political Perspective  125 in Sampla’s efforts to ‘scuttle’ the initiative by creating unnecessary hurdles and the BJP’s orchestrated attempts to control leading Sikh shrines. This new development has led to open conflict between the BJP and the SAD (The Tribune, 31 January, 2019). The Kartarpur corridor has also begun to reveal the underlying anxieties of governments in India and Pakistan in how to manage the ‘Sikh question’, a question which was the main cause of the division of the province over 1947 and its bloody aftermath. For governments in Pakistan, Sikhs and Sikh issues remain an instrumental object. The narrative of Sikh community as an ‘asset’ is so deeply embedded in the official historiography of Pakistan which, incidentally, regularly portrays the Sikh leadership as having been beguiled by the Congress into demanding the division of the province in 1947 (Hussain 1984; Mirza, Hasnat, and Mahmood 1985; Talbot 2010), that it is difficult to envisage how it can be readily revised to offer a more open, welcoming vision of nationhood in which minorities are tolerated and celebrated. The corridor might be the beginnings of such a process; history cautions us against such an optimistic reading, however. Similar anxieties are evident in how governments in India have framed policies on Sikhs and Sikh issues. The rhetoric that the corridor could ‘become a symbol of love and peace between the two countries’ (Hindustan Times, 26 November 2018), co-exists uneasily with profound misgivings about militant Sikh terrorism, Pakistan’s design, and the loyalty of a community that is traditionally viewed as sentinels on the border (Pandy 2019). The literature on the counterinsurgency in Panjab between 1984 and 1993, for example, is dominated by discourses of how Sikhs were prone to emotional manipulation by Pakistan, denying the community or its individuals any sense of agency over its own affairs (Dhillon 2006). Even after 1947, unsubtle attempts were made by the Congress to communalise the Panjabi Suba movement, conceding the linguistic reorganisation of the province only as a matter of ‘principle’ following the Indo–Pakistan war of 1965. As a non-Hindu majority, peripheral border state, ethnic conflict in Panjab has been managed by ‘hegemonic control’; and when this has broken down, as was the case after 1984, it has been replaced by ‘violent control’ (Singh 2000, 47). More recently, with the rise of Hindu nationalism as the governing ideology of the state, efforts have been made to assimilate the Sikh tradition within the pantheon of Hinduism (Moliner 2011). Whereas the BJP and its Sangh parivar (family of organisations of the Hindu Right) have embarked on a strategy of culturally and politically excluding Christian and Muslim minorities, Indic religious minorities, such as Buddhist, Jains and Sikhs, have been subject to integrationist and assimilative pressures (Kim 2017). Since the formation of BJP-led National Democratic Alliance government in 2014, institutions of religious minorities, including educational institutions, have been subject to strict regulatory controls and infiltration by Hindutva ideologues who have systematically undermined their

126  Gurharpal Singh independence and autonomy. And in the making of what Baru (2014) has called the ‘Second Indian republic’, in which Hindu nationalism is firmly displacing Nehruvian secularism as the governing ideology, the religious terms of trade between Hinduism and Sikhism are now firmly in the former’s favour (Singh and Shani 2021). Whether in the medium-term Sikh religious or political autonomy will survive, or might become part of new imaginaries, that also includes West Panjab, remains to be seen.

Conclusion In the comparative analysis of control of sacred spaces, the Sikh case study offers an unusual example that defies clear classification. It is not a struggle for ‘indivisibility’ against another faith tradition or sect for sole ownership of sacred spaces. Nor does it resemble the case of settler and colonial societies where sacred spaces were reassigned new functions by post-colonial states or indigenous societies. Nor, still, does it have parallels in the consequences which followed the creation of modern authoritarian political systems or the establishment of Communist regimes post-1945, either in Eastern Europe or developing states in the South, where religious practices, especially of minorities, were proscribed. Rather, for Sikhs, including those in the diaspora, access to leading religious shrines of the community has been denied to them since 1947 in what has traditionally been viewed as their ‘homeland’ and ‘holy land’. Because this ‘homeland’ was an integral part of the Congress and Muslim League’s drive for nation statehood, both before and after 1947, the division of Panjab, with the simultaneous division of the Sikh community, and its sacred spaces, was deemed as the necessary consequence of India’s decolonisation by the three principal parties to the process – the British government, the Congress and the Muslim League. This unspoken assumption was made palatable by the device of the Boundary Commission; its consequences were the cataclysmic outcomes of the Commission’s award. The Sikh leaders’ opposition to the division of Panjab was rooted in the community’s spiritual, economic and cultural heritage within the province that did not conform to the principle of Muslim and non-Muslim majority areas. At the heart of this opposition was the prospect of inclusion of leading gurdwaras, like Nankana Sahib, in the new state of Pakistan. These sacred spaces had been critical in the development of a modern Sikh identity in which Sikhs had reimagined themselves as a religiously and politically sovereign, with the SAD and the SGPC emerging as the institutional elements of the ‘Sikh political system’ (Singh and Shani, ch.2; Fox 1985; Oberoi 1994). But because this idea of sovereignty offered a radically different vision of post-colonial Panjab, and indeed India, than contemplated by either the Congress or the Muslim League, it was not seriously entertained by the British who viewed the Sikhs as a ‘nuisance’.4

Kartarpur Corridor in Its Historical and Political Perspective  127 Since 1947, the partition has become the national foundational myth of India and Pakistan (Talbot and Singh, 130–131). In the case of the former, it has led to the creation of a highly centralised secular state in which religious minorities have been de-politicised; in the latter, the failure of democratisation has produced long periods of military rule with the Islamisation of the state. Ironically, despite these prima facie differences, both states have followed remarkably similar policies in managing Sikh issues: whereas in Pakistan the creation of the international border has enabled the state to control and regulate access of Sikhs to sacred spaces in West Panjab, in India, Sikhs’ religious and political freedoms have been heavily circumscribed, culminating in the army’s entry into the Golden Temple. Not unnaturally, therefore, the regimes for managing Sikh sacred spaces in both East and West Panjab are characterised by a high degree of political sensitivities in efforts to control, define and regulate access to, and functions of, Sikh scared spaces. The opening of the Kartarpur corridor offers a beacon of hope in otherwise a conflict-torn Indo-Pakistan relationship. But this initiative needs to be situated in its appropriate historical context: namely, that neither state’s approach marks a new departure from the logic of partition as a necessary evil. For Sikhs, unfettered access to the community’s sacred and cultural spaces in their ‘homeland’ and ‘holy land’ is unlikely to overcome the considerable barriers created by Indian and Pakistani nation-statehood anytime soon. Thus, the Kartarpur corridor might well become a ‘bridge of peace’ between India and Pakistan; it is also however likely to remain ‘a bridge too far’ for the Sikh community because that which is near and dear will continue to remain so elusive.

Postscript On the 30th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall, and a day before the 550th anniversary of the birth of Guru Nanak, the Kartarpur corridor was opened on 10 November 2019 by Imran Khan amidst much fanfare and rhetoric of the peaceful mission of Nanak. The pressure to meet the occasion overcame many of the hurdles between the Indian and Pakistani negotiators discussed above. The opening became a worldwide media event, which included a significant participation by the Sikh diaspora pilgrims who had made their way to Pakistan. On 12 December 2019, the United Nations General Assembly welcomed the corridor as an example of ‘interfaith harmony and peaceful neighbourhood’ (Outlook, 13 December, 2019). But the initial optimism has remained unfulfilled. The number of Sikh pilgrims from India have remained much lower than the official target of 5,000 a day. Many young visitors have been deterred by the fear that security screening would profile them as having visited Pakistan, thereby diminishing their chances of migration to developed countries, in particular

128  Gurharpal Singh the USA. The Indian security establishment remains concerned about the potential the corridor offers for the radicalisation of the Sikhs (The Times of India, 22 February 2020). And the outbreak of the Coronavirus in South Asia in March 2020 has led to the suspension of all visits through the corridor until further notice. It would seem that until there is a major improvement in India-Pakistan relations, the corridor is likely to suffer the same fate as the other measures in the past that have been taken to improve the people-to-people contacts in the two countries.

Notes 1 Sacred spaces, according to Hassner (2003, 5), are characterised by three functions: they are places of communication with divinity through prayer, movement or visual contact with images of the divine; they are places of divine presence, often promising healing, success or salvation, and they provide meaning to the faithful for metaphorically reflecting the underlying order of the world. To be recognised as such these places need to have centrality and exclusivity for the faithful. The major Sikh gurdwaras in West Panjab associated with the gurus, as we shall see, fulfil the definition of sacred spaces and the criterions of centrality and exclusivity. For clarity, we use the terms sacred spaces, shrines and gurdwaras as they pertain to the Sikh community’s case interchangeably, though we recognise the conceptual and institutional differences among them. 2 The terms of reference of the Boundary Commission were agreed by the leaders of the Congress, Muslim League and the Sikhs. Initially, Mountbatten asked each to send him a draft. Nehru wrote to reject the involvement of the UNO, agreed to the principle of continuous majority Muslim and non-Muslim areas, and as a concession to the Sikhs, stipulated that it should ‘take into account other factors’ (Mansergh and Moon 1982, 239). At the Viceroy’s Executive Council meeting held on 13 June 1947 to confirm the terms of reference, Baldev Singh did not speak (Ibid., 382). 3 A simple search on Google of ‘Sikh pilgrimage tours to Pakistan’ generates a large number of sites based in Pakistan. Sikh Tourism, for example, claims Today’s Pakistan is the cradle of the Sikh religion. We proudly claim that Guru Nanak Dev Ji was born in this part of the subcontinent, spent most of his time here…and have more than ninety per cent of the Sikh shrines in Pakistan. See http://www.sikhtourism.com.pk/index.php. Accessed 20 February 2019. 4 For a discussion of the concept of sovereignty within the Sikh tradition, see Mandair (2015).

References Ahmed, Ishtiaq. 2000. “The Partition of Punjab: Arguments Put Forth Before the Punjab Boundary Commission.” In Region and Partition: Bengal, Punjab and the Partition of the Subcontinent, edited by Ian Talbot, and Gurharpal Singh, 116–167. Karachi: Oxford University Press.

Kartarpur Corridor in Its Historical and Political Perspective  129 Badhwar, Inderjit. 1981. “I don’t Need Zia or the CIA to Tell Me What to Do: Ganga Singh Dhillon.” India Today, October 25. Accessed January 27, 2019. https://www.indiatoday.in/magazine/international/story/19811130-i-am-anagent-of-guru-nanak-ganga-singh-dhillon-773466-2013-10-25. Baru, Sanjaya. 2014. The Accidental Prime Minister: The Making and Unmaking of Manmohan Singh. New Delhi: Penguin Books. Bassi, Assem. 2017. “India and Pakistan Buses Struggle to Get Passengers.” Hindustan Times, May 20. Accessed January 27, 2019. ndustantimes.com/punjab/indo-­ pak-busesstruggle-to-get-passengers/story-BWKpYPMhdvIkNoJJOu2pYK. html. Brass, Paul R. 2003. “The Partition of India as Retributive Genocide in the Punjab, 1946–7: Means, Methods, and Purpose.” Journal of Genocide Research 5 (1): 71–101. Business Standard. 2019. “Captain Amarinder Accuses Sampla of Complicating Travel Process to Kartarpur Sahib.” January 17. Accessed January 18, 2019. https://www.business-standard.com/ Casanova, Jose. 1994. Public Religions in the Modern World. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Daily Messenger. 2019. “Pakistan Invites Indian Delegation to Finalise Agreement.” January 22. Accessed January 30, 2019. https://www.pressreader.com/. Davar, Kamal. 2019. “Mischief and Myopia are Imran’s Policy Guidelines.” The Tribune, February 13, 2019. Accessed February 13, 2019. https://www. tribuneindia.com/news/comment/mischiefand-myopia-are-imran-s-policy-­ guidelines/728022.html. Dhaliwal, Ravi. 2018a. “Chaos, Confusion on Eve of Kartarpur Corridor Stone-Laying Ceremony.” The Tribune, November 25, 2018. Accessed December 30, 2018. https://www.tribuneindia.com/news/punjab/chaos-confusion-at-­ venue-on-eve-of-kartarpur-corridor-stone-laying-ceremony/688745.html. Dhaliwal, Ravi. 2018b. “Showdown at Kartarpur.” The Tribune, November 27, 2018, Accessed December 30, 2019. https://www.tribuneindia.com/news/ punjab/chaos-confusion-at-venue-oneve-of-kartarpur-corridor-stone-laying-­ ceremony/688745.html. Dhillon, Kirpal. 2006. Identity and Survival: Sikh Militancy in India 1978-1993. New Delhi: Penguin. Embree, Ainslie, T. 1990. Utopias in Conflict: Religion and Nationalism in Modern India. Berkeley: University of California Press. Fox, Richard G. 1985. Lions of the Punjab: Culture in the Making. Berkeley: University of California Press. Government of India. 1984. White Paper on the Punjab Agitation. Delhi: Government Publications. Hansard. 1947. July 14, vol. 440, Column, 74. Accessed February 2, 2019. https://hansard.parliament.uk /Commons/1947- 07-14/debates/9b529b5a0410 - 4666 -8d0a-715a12232dad /Clause3%E 2%80%94(B engal A nd Assa m)?h ig h l ig ht=henderson# cont r ibut ion- c811385d- d026 - 4a11-a3cb 6da28705b3cb. Hassner, Ron E. 2003. “‘To Have and to Hold’: Conflict Over Sacred Spaces and the Problem of Indivisibility.” Security Studies 12 (4): 1–33. Hindustan Times. 2018. “Kartarpur Corridor Will Become Symbol of Love Between Both Countries.” November 26. Accessed November 28, 2018. https://

130  Gurharpal Singh www.hindustantimes.com/india-news/kartarpur-corridor-updates-venkaiah­naidu-to-lay-foundation-stone-today/storynuKDdpv52SXvTR6LTAmfcN.html. Hussain, Syed Shabbir. 1984. Sikhs at Crossroads. Islamabad: Kamran Publishing House. Indian Express. 2018. “Imran Khan Sworn in Ceremony: In Attendance, Sidhu Under Fire from BJP, SAD; Congress Defend.” August 19. Accessed October 30, 2018. https://indianexpress.com/article/india/navjot-singh-sidhu-pakistan-­ imran-khan-oath-akali-dal-congress-bjp-qamarjaved-bajwa-army-5313888/. India Treaty Series. 1950. “Agreement between the Governments of India and Pakistan Regarding Security and Rights of Minorities.” Accessed February 4, 2019. http://www.commonlii.org/in/other/treaties/INTSer/1950/9.html. Kim, Heewon. 2017. “Understanding Modi and Minorities: The BJP-led Government in India and Religious Minorities.” India Review 16 (4): 357–376. Kim, Heewon. 2019. The Struggle for Equality: India’s Muslims and Rethinking the UPA Experience. New Delhi: Cambridge University Press. Lal, Harbans. 2014. “He Served the Sikh Nation with Passion and Dedication: Ganga Singh Dhillon.” SikhNet, September 28, 2014. Accessed February 4, 2019. https://www.sikhnet.com/news/he-served-sikh-nation-passion-dedicationganga-singh-dhillon. Mandair, Arvind-pal. 2015. “Sikhs, Sovereignty and Modern Government.” In Religion as a Category of Governance and Sovereignty, edited by Trevor Stack, Naomi R. Goldenberg, and Timothy Fitzgerald, 115–132. Leiden: Brill. Mansergh, Nicholas, and Penderel Moon, eds. 1980. The Transfer of Power, 1942–7, Vol. IX. London: Her Majesty’s Stationary Office. Mansergh, Nicholas, and Penderel Moon, eds. 1981. The Transfer of Power, 1942–7, Vol. X. London: Her Majesty’s Stationery Office. Mansergh, Nicholas, and Penderel Moon, eds. 1982. The Transfer of Power, 1942–7, Vol. XI. London: Her Majesty’s Stationery Office. Mansergh, Nicholas, and Penderel Moon, eds. 1983. The Transfer pf Power, 1942–7, Vol. XII. London: Her Majesty’s Stationery Office. Ministry of External Affairs. n.d. (a). “Simla Agreement July 2, 1972.” Accessed February 10, 2019. https://mea.gov.in/in-focus article.htm?19005/ Simla+Agreement+July+2+1972. Ministry of External Affairs. n.d. (b). “Protocol on Visits to Religious Shrines, September 14, 1974.” Accessed January 12, 2019. https://mea.gov.in/bilateradocuments.htm?dtl/6199/Protocol+on+visits+to+Religious+Shrines. Mirza, Safraz Hussain, Syed Farooq Hasnat, and Sohil Mahmood. 1985. The Sikh Question: From Constitutional Demands to Armed Conflict. Lahore: Centre for South Asian Studies. Moliner, Christine. 2011. “The Boa Constrictor and Its Petty Enemies: Contemporary Relations between Hindu Nationalists and the Sikhs.” In Cultural Entrenchment of Hindutva: Local Mediations and Forms of Convergences, edited by Daniela Berti, Nicholas Jaoul and Pralay Kanungo, 307–328. New Delhi: Routledge. Moore, Robin James. 1983. Escape From Empire: The Attlee Government and the India Problem. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Mountbatten, Lord Louis. 1947. Viceroy’s Personal Report No. 3, 17th April. L/ PO/6/123, ff24-50, India Office Record.

Kartarpur Corridor in Its Historical and Political Perspective  131 National Herald. 2019. “Punjab CM Amarinder Singh Protests Against Pakistan Move to Restrict Kartarpur Travel to Sikhs Only.” January 23, 2019. Accessed January 30, 2019. https://www.nationalheraldindia.com/national/punjab-cmamarinder-singh-protests-against-pakistansmove-to-restrict-­kartarpur-travelto-only-sikhs. Oberoi, Harjot. 1994. The Construction of Religious Boundaries: Culture, Identity and Diversity in the Sikh Tradition. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Outlook. 2019. “UN Welcomes Opening of Kartarpur Corridor.” December 13. Accessed March 19, 2020. Pandy, Abhinav. 2019. “India Fears Revival of Sikh Militancy.” Fair Observer, January 29. Accessed January 30, 2019. https://www.fairobserver.com/region/central_south_asia/khalistanmovement-punjab-sikh-militancy-pakistan-­ news-14312/. Pettigrew, Joyce, J.M. 1995. The Sikhs of the Punjab: Unheard Voices of State and Guerrilla Violence. London: Zed Press. Rana, Yudhvir. 2014. “Calendar. Makkar Returns Without Any Assurances from PSGPC.” The Times of India, May 23. Accessed January 12, 2019. https:// timesofindia.indiatimes.com/india/Calendar-Makkar-returns-without-any-­ assurance-from PSGPC/articleshow/35490430.cms. Rozana Spokesman. 2019. “Capt Lashes Out at Sampla for Trying to Scuttle Sikh Community Kartarpur Sahib Dream.” January 17, 2019. Accessed January 20, 2019. https://www.rozanaspokesman.com/news/punjab/170119/capt-lashes-outat-sampla-for-trying-to-scuttlesikh-community-kartarp.html. Sevea, Iqbal Singh. 2018. “The Kartarpur Corridor: Symbolism, Politics and Impact on India-Pakistan Relations.” Institutes of South Asian Studies Insights. No. 525, December 11, 1–15. https://www.isas.nus.edu.sg/wp-content/uploads/2018/12/ISAS-Insights-No.-525-The-Kartarpur-Corridor.pdf. Sikhsangat. 2011. “Kartarpur corridor: Ball in India’s Courts, Says Pak.” The Tribune, November 30.November 30, 2011. Accessed February 22, 2019. https:// www.sikhsangat.com/index.php?/topic/64242-kartarpur-sahib-corridor-ballin-india%E2%80%99s-court-says-pak. Singh, Amardeep. 2016. Lost Heritage. The Sikh Legacy in Pakistan. New Delhi: Himalayan Books. Singh, Gurdit, and Carol C. Fair. 2000. “The Partition of Punjab: Its Impact Upon Sikh Sacred and Cultural Space.” In Region and Partition: Bengal, Punjab and the Partition of the Subcontinent, edited by Ian Talbot and Gurharpal Singh, 253–268. Karachi: Oxford University Press. Singh, Gurharpal. 2000. Ethnic Conflict in India: A Case-Study of Punjab. London: Macmillan Press. Singh, Gurharpal. 2013. “Sikhs and Partition Violence: A Re-Evaluation.” In The Independence of India and Pakistan: New Approaches and Reflections, edited by Ian Talbot, 120–130. Karachi: Oxford University Press. Singh, Gurharpal, and Giorgio Shani. 2021. Sikh Nationalism. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Singh, Kirpal, ed. 1991. Selected Documents on Partition of Punjab- 1947 India and Pakistan. Delhi: National Book Shop. Talbot, Ian. 2010. “Pakistan and Sikh Nationalism: State Policy and Private Perceptions.” Sikh Formations 6 (1): 63–76.

132  Gurharpal Singh Talbot, Ian, and Gurharpal Singh. 2008. The Partition of India. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Tatla, Darshan Singh. 1992. “Nurturing the Faithful: The Role of Sants among British Sikhs.” Religion 22 (4): 349–374. Tatla, Darshan Singh. 1999. The Sikh Diaspora: The Search for Statehood. Seattle: University of Washington Press. The News. 2018. PM Imran Khan Performs Ground-Breaking of Kartarpur Corridor.” November 28. Accessed December 29, 2019. https://www.thenews.com. pk/latest/399393-live-updateskartarpur-corridor-inauguration. The Times of India. 1997. “Pakistan Allows Anti-India Propaganda Violating Deal.” July 3. The Times of India. 2020. “SAD, AAP condemn Punjab DIG’s statement over Kartarpur corridor.” February 22. Accessed March 20, 2020. https://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/india/sad-aap-condemn-punjab-dgps-statement-over-­ kartarpur-corridor/articleshow/74257682.cms Timothy, Dallen J., and Daniel M. Olsen, eds. 2006. Tourism, Religion and Spiritual Journeys. Abingdon, Oxon: Routledge. The Tribune. 2018. “Pak for Visa-Free Kartarpur Corridor.” December 30. Accessed January 2, 2019. https://www.tribuneindia.com/news/punjab/pak-forvisa-­free-kartarpur-corridor-travel/706077.html8. The Tribune. 2019. “Don’t Meddle in Gurdwara Affairs, SAD Warns BJP.” January 31. Accessed February 4, 2019. https://www.tribuneindia.com/news/punjab/ don-tmeddle-in-gurdwaraaffairs- sad-warns-bjp/721208.html. Yousaf, Kamran. 2019. “Indian Team Invited to Finalise Kartarpur Deal.” The Express Tribune, January 21. Accessed January 23, 2019. https://tribune.com.pk/ story/1893442/1-kartarpurcorridor-pakistan-invites-indian-delegation-­fi naliseagreement/. Zamindar, Vazira Fazila-Yacoobali. 2007. The Long Partition and the Making of Modern South Asia: Refugees, Boundaries, Histories. Columbia: Columbia University Press.

Part II

Lived Religion/Lived Sikhi Practices, Rituals and Expression

Nicola Mooney - Looking for Langar: The Promise of Commensality, the Praxis of Ethics, and Some Problems of Modernity Navtej Purewal and Virinder Kalra - Adaptation and Incorporation in Ritual Practices at the Golden Temple, Amritsar Shinder S. Thandi - Lived Experiences in the Sikh Diaspora: Diversities, Differentiation, Gender Narratives and Challenges to Tradition (University of California, Santa Barbara, USA) V Dusenbery - Sikh Diaspora Philanthropy and Humanitarian Assistance Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh - Beanta Punj Pyari: Artistic Expressions of Sikh Existentiality

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6 Looking for Langar The Promise of Commensality, the Praxis of Ethics, and Some Problems of Modernity Nicola Mooney Pilgrims and travellers entering the Sri Guru Ram Das Langar Hall for a meal at Amritsar’s Golden Temple, known by Sikhs as Harimandir Sahib, walk beneath a blue awning inscribed in both Panjabi and English: The lord himself is the farm, himself is the farmer, himself he grows and grinds the corn Himself he cooks, himself he places it on platter and himself he eats too… Himself he calls the men to eat, himself he bids them off, Yea to whom the lord is merciful he makes them walk in his will. Excerpted from the bani (words) of Guru Ram Das in the Sri Guru Granth Sahib (the Sikh sacred text, also known as the Adi Granth, p. 550), this translation from the ‘Amrit Kirtan’ speaks to langar as a sacred experience and means of meeting the Guru, even as its curiously Christianized poetics resonate with the problematics of translation and of Sikhi’s encounter with colonial modernity. That langar has become globalized and diasporized in the wake of this encounter is clearly suggested in the fact that those serving and eating in the Sri Guru Ram Das langar hall – the largest community kitchen on earth – might have come from around the corner or around the world. It is also true that wherever a Sikh community settles in the world, the practice, meanings, and functions of langar will emerge. Originating in the Persian term for a Sufi almshouse and spiritual anchor (Seidel 2000), for Panjabis, the multivalent word ‘langar’ refers to the communal vegetarian meal eaten at Sikh gatherings, the community kitchen that prepares it, and the space in the gurdwara (Sikh temple) where the activities of the production and consumption of the meal most typically take place. Eating the guru ka langar (guru’s langar) is a highlight of visits to the gurdwara, but langar also takes place beyond the gurdwara at other Sikh rituals and community occasions. Langar articulates important Sikh ideas about religiosity, sociality, and identity; it is a sacred meal, a vehicle of community embodiment, an expression of religiosity, an articulation of ethics, and a medium of humanitarianism and social justice.

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136  Nicola Mooney It is thus rather surprising that scholarly writings dedicated to this important and evolving tradition are scarce: in the growing literature of Sikh studies, langar is frequently but only fleetingly mentioned, most often as a ready illustration of Sikhism’s commitment to equality. My intention here is to begin to sketch a ‘thick description’ (Geertz 1973) of langar, however preliminary. I review key aspects of the extant literature and draw from longitudinal multi-sited ethnographic fieldwork in India and Canada to begin to contextualize and problematize contemporary langar practice. Over twenty-five years, I have participated in a now unquantifiable number of langars as an ethnographer, family member, and friend. In retrospect, these encounters with langar, and langar talk, illustrate a good deal about langar as a shifting social field. In this chapter, I briefly locate langar within Sikh studies scholarship and the broader literature on culinary traditions and the anthropology of food before describing langar as central to Sikh religiosity, ethics, and community. Then, I draw attention to several emergent challenges in langar practice: while langar’s routinized social and symbolic meanings might seem incontrovertible, its contemporary praxis is changing with modernization and migration. This is evidenced in disputes regarding the appropriate embodiment and consumption of langar (such as the ‘chairs and tables’ debate), as well as unease over its advancing commodification (via the serving of catered food). Ideally, a lived and embodied ethics, a radical egalitarianism, a refusal of the separation of religiosity and politics (and other binaries), and an expectation of a communal body politic among those participants in its commensal praxis, the meanings of contemporary langar are powerfully affective and motivating yet also disparate and contested. Although Sikhs might insist on its supposedly eternal meaning, langar is changing with modernity and migration and thus presenting challenges to the Sikh community and indeed Sikhi; as such, langar demands our further consideration.

Looking for Langar: The Literature Food is a universal, polysemic, and holistic object of human meaning and as such, it encapsulates a great many cultural concerns. It has long been observed that food is symbolic and has sacral dimensions, that shared meals create social shared bonds, and thus the ability to produce and transcend social groups (e.g. Douglas 1966, Durkheim 1912, Fischler 2011). Shared food practice is ‘the moral core of human society’ (van Esterik 2015: 31). Whether in ritual or in daily life, commensality is a critical means of creating community: eating collectively engages senses, memory, and affects (Sutton 2005), producing a common palate and tastes around which shared social bonds form, each potentially ‘barriers to outsiders’ (Counihan 2018: 145). Commensality encompasses both everyday household life and hospitality to guests; indeed, since the kin-based household is the ‘commensal unit,’ sharing food is suggestive of primordial connection. Despite

Looking for Langar  137 this, since ‘a plural society has plural cultural values’ (Douglas 2002: 11), the meanings of food can be complicated. Like the study of food, the study of langar has the potential to illuminate ‘broad societal processes such as political-economic value-creation, symbolic value-creation, and the social construction of memory’ (Mintz and Dubois 1995: 99), as well as to deepen our knowledge of Sikhism. Yet, searching for ‘langar’ in a university library catalogue, as I have done on numerous occasions in the past few years, will turn up very few academic references. This mirrors my impression of the broader literature on Sikhs and Sikhi, which certainly offers langar in passing as an important illustration of the Sikh refutation of caste but gives it little direct or substantive attention. Looking for readings on langar to assign in courses on the anthropology of food and the anthropology of religion several years ago, I soon discovered that a title search for ‘langar’ turned up just one journal article: ‘Food that Builds Community: The Sikh Langar in Canada,’ written by Michel and Ellen Desjardins of Wilfrid Laurier and published in Cuizine: The Journal of Canadian Food Cultures in 2009. A broader search turned up a short book Community Kitchen of the Sikhs by Prakash Singh, published by Singh Brothers of Amritsar in 1994; the same author wrote The Sikh Gurus and the Temple of Bread (1971).1 To these works, for comparison, we can add Pnina Werbner’s (1998) chapter on Sufi langar practices in Pakistan. More recently, a paper on Sikh ‘ethnic foodways’ in California (Benson and Helzer 2017) and two papers on British Sikh ‘street kitchens’ (Zavos 2019, 2010) might be added to this literature, although each focuses on food practice beyond the gurdwara. To the best of my knowledge, the foremost journals of Sikh and Panjabi studies – Sikh Formations and the Journal of Punjab Studies – appear to have published no articles with ‘langar’ in their titles. Within this literature, a number of pieces certainly mention langar in illustration (or in passing), but yet again, few place langar significantly or centrally within their narratives and analyses. A similar situation prevails in textbooks and surveys on Sikhism, in which the tendency is to describe langar almost parenthetically, again to demonstrate Sikhism’s rejection of caste; however, one must look for langar in the ‘index’ rather than the ‘table of contents’ as these purposely generalized accounts do not make langar an object of summary or exegesis. Even the encyclopedic literature on Sikhism often does not treat langar as an entry (although it is addressed quite robustly in Michael Hawley’s chapter on ‘Sikh Institutions’ in Singh and Fenech’s Handbook of Sikh Studies). Given the ritual, symbolic, and social importance of langar, it is striking that it seems to have received such little scholarly attention. Perhaps this lacuna exists since Sikhism is, comparatively, one of the lesser studied religions; this is certainly true ethnographically, where langar, again to the best of my knowledge, is absent from a vast literature on the anthropology of religion and a burgeoning literature on the anthropology of food. And despite the growing literature of Sikh and Panjabi Studies, little attention

138  Nicola Mooney has been given to langar per se, nor indeed to Sikhi as lived religion. In keeping with the proposition by theorists of everyday life that the quotidien remains invisible, although far from inconsequential (e.g. de Certeau, Giard, and Mayol 1994), perhaps langar is so very obviously the ritual and ethical register of Sikhism that it ‘hides in plain sight,’ an essential practice but assumed so obvious that it is little remarked or thought about. 2 Of course, looking for langar, as in life, we most often find it in the gurdwara, and as a term, langar emerges somewhat more readily from recent literature. Given that the gurdwara is the ‘Sikh institution par excellence and epitome of Sikh sacred space’ (Hawley 2014) and the place ‘one may most easily perceive the ideals of Sikhism’ (Cole 1973: 55) this is unsurprising. Not coincidentally, this is also why langar is the discursive and representational focus of journalists and interfaith accounts (e.g. Grewal 2012). All of these literatures seem to have become more prolific in just the past decade; in 2012, Jacobsen wrote that ‘the centrality of the gurdwaras for the Sikhs cannot be denied, but they have nevertheless not been at the center of the academic study of Sikhs’ (106). In these terms, the growing attention to the gurdwara reflects the growing number of anthropologists, sociologists, and other ethnographers of religion engaging in Sikh studies as social scientists increasingly turn their attention to Sikhs and Sikhism (e.g. Arora 2020, Bertolani 2020, Canning 2017, Hirvi 2010, 2014, Jacobsen 2012, Nayar 2010, Sato 2012, Singh 2006, Singh 2014). It should also be noted that popular media attention to langar has grown in the past decade in tandem with a greater public awareness of Sikhs and Sikhism in the West.

Locating Langar: Ritual, Culinary, Social, and Ethical Meanings Visiting the gurdwara, and as a key part of this, participating in the langar, is one of the most recognizable and frequent of Sikh rituals, perhaps because it so well encapsulates and puts into practice the Sikh ethos. Emerging under the influence of and in response to bhakti Hinduism and Sufi Islam, the dominant religions of medieval Panjab, the revitalization movement created by the Sikh Gurus ultimately refuted both, establishing a new, egalitarian religion which aimed to eliminate caste, gender, and other forms of social stratification. The Gurus envisioned and sought to institutionalize radical social equality, in a range of doctrines, practices, and symbols, including via the absence of a dedicated or hereditary priesthood, the presence of few overt rites, and the possibility for any Sikh to read the sacred texts and lead the community in prayer. Sikhi’s egalitarian commitments are also evoked in gurdwara architecture and activities, through visible reminders of Sikh commitments such as the turban, and of course, in the langar, which is arguably the most universal, and most widely recognized, of Sikh egalitarian praxes. While a generalized and pervasive equality remains elusive, it is in and through the rite of langar that it is most likely to temporarily occur.

Looking for Langar  139 Although the word langar is also used as a shorthand for the spaces in which it is produced and consumed, the term primarily refers to the communal lacto-vegetarian meal prepared from donated food through voluntary labour, served to and eaten by all devotees and visitors to gurdwaras and Sikh ritual events, irrespective of their caste or other social standing. Langar creates social solidarity in several ways: through the charitable origins of the meals (since all foodstuffs and supplies are donated), via their collective, voluntary preparation and distribution (in the tradition of seva), in the shared, corporate posture of eating them (in the practice of pangat or sitting in rows, traditionally on the ground), and in the emphasis on traditional ‘simple’ foodstuffs, cooking practices, and menus for the typical meal: minimally phulka, roti, or chapatti (wholewheat flatbread, which, significantly, is also referred to as parshada, blessed food) and dāl (lentils), with possible additions – more likely found in diaspora gurdwaras – of sabzi (vegetable[s]), dahi (yogurt), and a sweet rice dish typically of kheer (rice pudding), or at times, mitthe chawal (sweet rice), and in many cases accompanied with condiments such as achār (pickle). Although diaspora gurdwaras may offer Western dishes such as pasta, pizza, and sandwiches alongside Panjabi ones, the traditional dishes and tastes served in the langar reinforce Sikh (and Panjabi) identity. Whatever the foods on offer, langar nourishes the spirit as well as the body. As a cuisine, langar is prepared in a context of religious gathering and prayer – whether, most commonly, on the ‘holy ground’ of a gurdwara or a gathering of the sangat (Sikh community) in a space made similarly sacred through the recitation of gurbani, kirtan (hymns drawn from the Granth), and the contemplative and ritual activity associated with the presence of the Guru Granth Sahib, and sanctified or ‘blessed’ by the recitation of the ardās (final prayer of a Sikh congregation). At some gurdwaras (or congregations), a plate comprised of the dishes prepared for langar is brought from the kitchen and placed beside the Guru Granth Sahib during the ardās; after a kirpan is drawn through the foodstuffs, they are then returned to the kitchen and mixed back into the pots from whence they came before distribution. This is akin to the practice codified in the Rehit Maryādā (Sikh code of conduct) in which karah prasad, a sweet mixture of ghee, flour, sugar, and water, prepared alongside the langar, is brought from the kitchen to the vicinity of the Guru Granth Sahib for the ardās and stirred with a kirpan before being distributed at the prayer’s conclusion. Once sanctified, langar is distributed, shared, and eaten in a sort of ‘communion’ between the person eating and the divine, but just as importantly, amongst the person eating, their fellow eaters, and those who contributed to and prepared the langar. Langar is prepared and shared in a range of contexts: as part of the everyday, continuous community of the sangat (Sikh community), to mark special occasions in the Sikh calendar such as gurpurabs (birth anniversaries of the Sikh gurus) and Baisakhi (the April 13th commemoration of

140  Nicola Mooney the founding of the Khalsa), or in celebration of the Sikh rites of passage. 3 Some people attend the gurdwara according to the traditional festivals of the lunar year, upon the harvests, new year, or new moon, so that routine langar may also be associated with these occasions. Although there is an impression that langar is available ‘24/7’ (Canning 2017: 62), and the Gurus are said to have directed that the pots in the langar kitchen be always in use, gurdwaras may operate their langars daily, weekly (typically on Sunday), or on occasion, depending on the site and the size of the community. Langars also take place at the bhog or conclusion of an akhand (continuous) or sadharan pāth (non-continuous) reading of the Granth, which may be held prior to a wedding, as part of funeral rites, to celebrate or give thanks for other life events (e.g. building a new home, initiating a business, success in school), or to make or mark the granting of a prayer (e.g. for health, fertility, getting a job). Although most often held at the gurdwara, langar may also occur in private homes when in conjunction with a pāth, since families may undertake the reading themselves. Langar is also part of public events such as nagar kirtans (processions) and Sikh festivals, as well as outreach and other events. Regardless of the occasion, and regardless of those present being Sikh, all are welcome to help prepare the langar, all to eat it, and all to clean up, and those who do so are, and become, equals. Thus langar is a consummate example of commensality, or the production of community via shared food practice. Sikhs assert that the institution of langar was, wisely, created by the Gurus because one cannot focus on congregation (sangat) and meditation (nām-simran) if one is distracted by hunger. This is the basis of the aphorism attributed to Guru Amar Das: ‘pahle pangat, pichhe sangat’, first eat langar, then meet before the Guru, advice dispensed even to the visiting emperor Akbar. While Gurbani describes hunger primarily as a spiritual condition of the dissatisfied ego to be assuaged by nām simran (as well as amrit), there is a simultaneous awareness that hunger is a physical condition that might be caused by poverty (e.g. p. 70) and addressed through farming (e.g. p. 166); nevertheless, hunger is only truly vanquished through Sikhi. Indeed both hunger, particularly in the sense of egotistical desire, and farming, as the means of cultivating the perfection of the gurmukh (Guru-engaged Sikh), are metaphors for spiritual pursuit. The langar has boundless capacity to vanquish hunger for its provisions feed both body and soul: ਲੰ ਗ ਰ ੁ ਚਲ ੈ ਗ ੁ ਰ ਸਬਦਿ ਹਰਿ ਤ ੋਟ ਿ ਨ ਆਵ ੀ ਖਟ ੀਐ ॥ ਖਰਚ ੇ ਦਿ ਤਿ ਖਸੰ ਮ ਦ ੀ ਆਪ ਖਹਦ ੀ ਖ ੈਰ ਿ ਦਬਟ ੀਐ ॥ The Langar - the Kitchen of the Guru’s Shabad has been opened, and its supplies never run short. Whatever His Master gave, He spent; He distributed it all to be eaten. (Guru Granth Sahib, p. 967)

Looking for Langar  141 As well, the foodstuffs of langar are like, and have the affect of, amrit: ਬਲਵੰ ਡ ਖ ੀਵ ੀ ਨ ੇਕ ਜਨ ਜਿ ਸ ੁ ਬਹ ੁਤ ੀ ਛਾਉ ਪਤਰ੍ ਾਲ ੀ ॥ ਗ ੁਰ ਸਿ ਖਾ ਕ ੇ ਮ ੁਖ ਉਜਲ ੇ ਮਨਮ ੁ ਖ ਥ ੀਏ ਪਰਾਲ ੀ ॥ Balwand says that Khivi, the Guru’s wife, is a noble woman, who gives soothing, leafy shade to all. She distributes the bounty of the Guru’s Langar; the kheer - the rice pudding and ghee, is like sweet ambrosia. (Guru Granth Sahib, p. 967) It is not known which Guru initiated langar, but an important parable relayed in the janamsākhīs relays that a young Guru Nanak, upon being given funds by his father to encourage him into business, was moved to feed the needy rather than pursue profit. This parable is known as the sacha sauda, true bargain (or ‘best investment’ [Khalsa 2010: 208]). Presumably, langar in some form would have been a historic necessity because the Gurus travelled to meet their Sikhs, and Sikhs travelled to hear their Gurus. We can also well imagine that sharing the burden of kitchen labour freed time for farming, institution-building, defence, and of course, prayer and meditation in the earliest Sikh communities. Langar was certainly established by the time of Guru Amar Das, the third Guru (McLeod 2002: 130). Most community accounts emphasize that the first Guru, Guru Nanak instigated the langar, as he did Sikhism. These narratives emphasize the role of langar at Kartarpur, the Sikh settlement founded by Guru Nanak, where travellers who came to hear his teachings were fed langar prepared by Mata Khivi, wife of Angad, who would become the next Guru. Some contemporary feminists (e.g. S. Kaur 2018) posit that Mata Khivi established the langar tradition through her langar-seva, and given what we know of traditional gender roles in Panjab in which women were firmly assigned domestic roles and as such were responsible for food preparation (e.g. Mooney 2010, 2020), this is a plausible interpretation. Hawley (2014: 319) states that other than the single reference to langar in the Granth (cited above) linking the practice of food distribution to Guru Angad and Mata Khivi ‘little is known with certainty about the origins of the Guru’s langar and its development as an institution.’ Moreover, he continues, it is ‘a matter of debate as to which Guru institutionalized the specifically anti-caste character of langar’ (319); and, in relation, that langar is ‘a site of contest and negotiation in the historical process of institution-­building’ (323). Nevertheless, Sikhs became firmly committed to the langar practice and indeed it became the basis for differentiating and reforming Sikhism in a milieu of Hindu encroachment in later centuries (McLeod 1989: 69). Today, gurdwaras and other Sikh agencies commonly invite their communities at large to share in the Guru’s feast, and they frequently extend food security to those without the means to feed themselves. This is as

142  Nicola Mooney prevalent (and perhaps more so) in the diaspora as it is in South Asia. Sikhs thus engage in and exemplify (albeit at times, somewhat imperfectly) egalitarianism, ecumenicism, and anti-racism, and anti-casteism. They are also active in the politics of food and environment. Western gurdwaras are involved with food banks and community gardens serving the Sikh community and beyond, and langar services may offer foods donated by local farmers, increasingly utilizing organic crops, sometimes grown on lands owned by or loaned to the gurdwara (Mooney 2018). As well, Sikh efforts in ‘soup kitchens’ are becoming commonplace (Zavos 2019, 2020). A brief glance at Sikh NGOs focusing on hunger and related social initiatives such as homelessness, refugeeism, and emergency relief demonstrates that this work is both local and global in scope.4 As I conceptualized, wrote, and revised this essay, Sikh organizations had served langar to Muslim victims of anti-­Muslim pogroms in Delhi’s Shaheen Bagh and in support of Black Lives Matter protests in New York, were contributing considerably to Covid-19 relief efforts as an extension of their langar-seva, and were maintaining several langar services around the Indian farmers struggle. Langar has become the most exemplary and renowned of Sikh traditions owing to its ethos and praxis. The langar ideal exemplifies Sikhi’s ideological rejection of caste and gender since theoretically anyone may participate in sponsoring, donating, volunteering, serving, and eating the meal. 5 As a commensal practice, langar recognizes and reflects Sikh theological principles concerning the universal divinity and shared humanity of those who eat it. Underlying and clearly reflected in langar is the Sikh philosophy of mirī-pīrī, the conjoint nature of spiritual and temporal domains, which refuses binary distinctions between religious and other aspects of life (religion/politics, religious/secular, spiritual/temporal, etc), and is a central basis for Sikh notions of social (and environmental) justice. Langar also encapsulates particular Sikh ethics, exemplifying the notion of sarbat da bhala (the welfare of all), which is made manifest through an attitude of daya (compassion), and via the practices of dhān (giving), vaņḍ (sharing), and dasvandh (tithing). As well, contributions to the langar should be the fruit of honest labour (kirat). The ethos of langar is symbolized in degh, literally the large cooking pot in which langar is prepared, and figuratively the offerings made within it, representing the strength of community that eating communally effects; the social and political power of degh, and its joining to the Sikh warrior-saint (sant-sipahī) tradition, is expressed in the maxim ‘degh tegh fateh’ (victory of pot and sword); relatedly, a foundational example of seva (selfless [nishkam], altruistic, voluntary service) that is often cited is that of Bhai Kanhaiya, a devotee of Guru Gobind Singh, who provided water and assistance to injured non-Sikhs on the battlefield (e.g. Murphy 2004, Dusenbery 2009). Khalsa (2017: 248) describes seva as ‘an ethic of care’ that encompasses ‘the other as one’s equal.’ It is foremost among the lived Sikh values, with langar-seva (the particular form of seva that is dedicated to producing the langar) its ultimate form. In Dusenbery’s

Looking for Langar  143 chapter, ‘Through wisdom, dispense charity,’ he notes: ‘selfless giving [and] selfless service’ are ‘the most important and praiseworthy acts discussed by the Sikh Gurus and incorporated not only into the Adi Granth … and Dasam Granth, but also into Sikh popular literature and folk sayings’ such as ‘vaņḍ chhako’ (share with others), a proverb attributed to Guru Nanak (2009: 81–82). The emphasis on selflessness reflects the Sikh concern to recognize, confront, and eradicate the ego, haume, through a praxis of humility. Doing langar-seva and sitting in pangat distract from the individual self by engaging in community and embodying the ideal of the social equality of participants who share in the production and consumption of the food. In keeping with mirī-pīrī, the framework for religious action is also a call to social and political activism. Langar is an ethical performance and moral economy that profoundly, even revolutionarily (e.g. Singh 1988), demonstrates Sikhi’s engagement with the world, its anti-caste, egalitarian worldview, and its ethos of social justice, values also evident in broader Sikh charity, fundraising, philanthropy, and humanitarian efforts.

Looking at Langar, I: Pangat v. Tables and Chairs The establishment of gurdwaras – and thus the practice of langar – is strongly associated with Sikh diaspora histories (e.g. Bains and Johnston 1995, Bannerjee 2013, Singh and Tatla 2006). Diaspora Sikhs have built gurdwaras everywhere they are ‘settled in significant numbers’ (A. Kaur 2018: 435), contributing to ‘community wellbeing and development’ (Gallo 2012: 5) and creating sites for religious and political action (e.g. Luthra 2017, 2018). As if to underscore the capacity of these transnational spaces to provide continuity with the homeland, gurdwaras around the globe are subject to the authority of Amritsar’s Akal Takht, the central seat of Sikh authority, whose leader is appointed by the SGPC.6 In April of 1998, when I newly arrived in India, the Akal Takht ordered that overseas and in particular Canadian gurdwaras on the west coast in the province of British Columbia dispense with the tables and chairs in their langar halls and return to the traditional practice of sitting on the floor in pangat. This came amid a serious community debate about new configurations of langar amid modernity and migration, the question of how to meaningfully maintain Sikh traditions, and renewed concerns with caste and equality. Today, quiescent but as yet unresolved, what is known rather misleadingly as the ‘tables and chairs’ issue was not about tables and chairs per se. The Gurus were most unlikely to have specifically prohibited dining tables and chairs, since they are untraditional furnishings in South Asia where the typical posture for eating as well as leisure is to squat or sit on the ground (or perhaps on a chaunki [low stool] or manja [cot]). The issue was rather that to eat in pangat overtly rejected caste seating etiquette, which embedded social status in bodily position; thus, eating in pangat would remind higher-caste individuals of the expectation of humility, so that they would not sit on a chaunki

144  Nicola Mooney or manja while others went without. The fact that dining tables and chairs were not common in Indian homes just a few generations ago would have enhanced their association with modernity, especially in the West.7 There are a number of accounts within the community as to why tables and chairs were introduced into the gurdwaras, most highlighting their prosaic practicality in a cold and wet climate. An additional and undoubtedly related feature of ‘tables and chairs’ gurdwaras is that they tend to permit shoes in the langar hall (a matter that, oddly, seems to have escaped scrutiny). Having tables and chairs in the langar enabled immigrant Sikhs to demonstrate their modernity and Western acculturation in an era of great racism when their migration was strenuously curtailed; visible difference and racial targeting was minimized – and assimilation maximized – when men wore Western clothing, cut their hair, and wore hats to the gurdwara, and the few women immigrants wore headscarfs and dresses (which on their own might have suggested the need for chairs and tables in the gurdwara in the cause of modesty).8 Sikh migration to Canada increased dramatically in the 1980s as refugees and others fled Panjab and were greeted with more open policies of family reunification and multiculturalism. There was a boom in gurdwara growth as new factions appeared in the Sikh community, with a particularly pronounced split between broadly ‘moderate’ Sikhs, often sahejdhari (with cut hair), who had often been in Canada longer and embraced more hybrid Sikh-Canadian identities, and more ‘orthodox’ (or more specifically, orthoprax) members of the community, who might or might not be newcomers, but were likely to be keshdhari (with uncut hair) or amritdhari (with uncut hair and having undergone initiation) Sikhs who sought to maintain a distinct Sikh identity, as visible in their turbans.9 The ‘moderates’ had long accepted tables and chairs in the gurdwara while the ‘orthodox’ sought to return to the original langar practice of sitting on the floor. It is important to note, however, that there is considerable diversity beyond these categories and resultingly positions on the tables and chairs issue did not neatly align with them,10 although this is how they were presented in the media (Nayar 2010). And, as keenly observed by Singh and Tatla, an ‘emphasis on “orthodoxy” is a regular manoeuvre to outflank opponents’ in the realpolitik of (Jat) Sikh factionalism (2006: 82). In early 1998, skirmishes erupted between a number of factions at the Guru Nanak Sikh Gurdwara in Surrey, BC: some deeply at odds over the Khalistani proposition, others deeply invested in the spoils of gurdwara politics. Over the course of several days, kirpans and other ceremonial weaponry, as well as utensils from the langar were drawn and brandished, and ultimately the RCMP were deployed. The whole debacle made national and international news, and violent images broadcast the dishonourable nature of the dispute – slogans being shouted, tables and chairs being thrown, kirpans being drawn, turbans being knocked off – shaming the many Sikhs who aspired to be a ‘model minority’ and who had already suffered the

Looking for Langar  145 indignities and more of being labelled and scrutinized as ‘terrorists’ and ‘fundamentalists’11 amid the Khalistan crisis and in the aftermaths of the 1985 Air India bombing. From the outside, this might seem like a debate that might be easily resolved, for instance by creating two eating areas, one with tables and one without, so as to share and provide choice within the langar space and/or by making dispensations for just the elderly and disabled to sit on chairs, both of which were proposed with the latter having been instigated as a compromise.12 (The former of course would introduce the potential for a perception of hierarchy.) This struggle intersected significant and evolving differences in the community with regard to the appropriate adaptations to modern and transnational life as well as in relation to the political situation in Panjab, which has been problematic since Partition.13 Thus, the question of whether or not to eat langar at tables while seated on chairs in essence captured, re-articulated, and elevated broader debates over how to reconcile Sikhi with tradition and modernity as well as in relation to liberal and orthodox Sikh positions and their intersections with migration, nationalism (both Sikh and Hindu), and sovereignty. As well, the fact that the chairs and tables have remained in some diaspora gurdwaras but not others, points to gaps in SGPC authority, emphasizing yet again the diversity and complexity of ‘the Sikh community,’ while the ‘moderates’ might appear to have prevailed, so too has the dispute.14 A day or two after the Akal Takht’s directive, a good family friend dropped in to join myself, my father-in-law, and my (father’s sister’s husband) fufarji for evening chai. As our observations apparently came to a close, our friend exclaimed ‘after five hundred years, the only equality we have is sitting together on the floor to eat.’15 Although the remark was offered in humour, it also voiced frustration. Why, if everyone had a chair to sit on and a table to sit at, they were not yet equals? Why should their humility depend on the regimentation of their posture while eating? Just what was to be made of the Sikh commitment to equality if it rested on symbols alone?

Looking at Langar, II: Langar-Seva v. Catering Still other tensions have been introduced into langar recently. Several factors coinciding with postcolonial development and globalization – education, urbanization, migration, etc. (Mooney 2011) – have coalesced to impact the ability of families and communities to produce langar on the scale required to feed ‘the masses’ whether in India or abroad. The technical knowledge of langar production – how much atta (flour, dough) to knead for five hundred people, how much dal, how much mirch (chilis), how many onions for tarka (tempering), etc, not to mention the techniques and timeframes of preparing food at such scale – are no longer widely practiced in urban and diaspora contexts nor transmitted to middle-class Sikh children who must focus on school. Moreover, many families who would sponsor langar in

146  Nicola Mooney connection with a rite of passage, supplication, or celebration no longer live in joint (or extended) family contexts nor have the close support of neighbours and an extended labour pool to draw upon as they might in villages, nor still the kitchen capacity to cook at large scale. This is especially true in the diaspora. At the same time, salaries and access to cash are now commonplace, so that those who wish to hold a langar can do so if they can afford to buy it. Hence, it is becoming quite common to cater langar. Catered langar is a powerful modern and transnational trend. I have observed in both India and Canada that catered langar enables urban, professional, and increasingly nuclear families to mark rites of passage, akhand and sadharan pāths, and other special occasions in the tradition of sangat and pangat even in the absence of the traditionally-required supports to produce and distribute the langar meal.16 While the ritual and cultural continuity enabled by catered langar undoubtedly has positive aspects and, setting aside the matter of cost, might even be democratizing, catering langar in effect commodifies it, and thus has the capacity to profoundly alter its ethical and anti-­hierarchical aspects. The more extensive, and expensive, catered langar meal brings with it a host of changes. At the gurdwara, while catered langar might offer a broader and richer range of dishes, for the most part, it maintains a separation between the gurdwara and the catering business: the meal is usually delivered to the gurdwara by the family, offered to all who happen to be present at the gurdwara, and still (at most gurdwaras, which remain in pangat style) eaten on the floor. At home, catered langar brings the new business of langar uncomfortably to the fore. While the catered food is prepared outside the home (freeing the household kitchen for the more ritualized preparation of karah prasad), the meal is often self-served from one or more food stations, or proffered by waiters (who are paid rather than sevadars whose labour is voluntary), and moreover, its foodstuffs may be novel and lavish; for instance, the meal might be accompanied by soft drinks and finished with a range of sweets and a choice of tea or coffee from a fancy machine. Unsurprisingly, youngsters especially look forward to, and afterwards dissect in conversation, such ‘special occasion’ langars. The catered langar evokes the wedding feast at a ‘marriage palace’ or reception hall, and not coincidentally, for it is precisely these businesses which offer catered langar. Since a home is a private dwelling, guests can be carefully controlled so that the langar is no longer universal (and thus unable to produce a broad communitas). And, while carpets are typically provided by the caterers for pangats to form, caterers often also provide chairs. Indeed, guests can eat langar seated on these chairs, at the household dining table (even if tucked away), on manjas on the lawn (lain by guests with the intention of sitting down), or, rather as if at a cocktail party, standing up. The boundaries around langar seating are blurred still further when caterers provide tables and chairs for a langar at a gurdwara, as I have seen in India on several recent occasions.

Looking for Langar  147 Catering brings unsettling changes to langar’s renowned ‘simplicity’ (and raises questions, unexplored here, about the relationship between authenticity, modernization, and capitalism). Its recent embedding in an aspirational capitalist framework produces a celebratory affect that is more suited to some langar gatherings than others. Shifts in langar practice are inflected with amplifying status concerns, so that the Dhaliwals’ langar is and must be fancier than the langar at the Brars’ house last month, which in turn is more elaborate than the langar the one at the Thind’s the month before.17 Held to mark a pāth-bhog at home to celebrate a particular good fortune such as an engagement or a new home, a catered langar event seems relatively unproblematic, but surely when required to conclude an antīm ardās (final death rites) at the gurdwara, it has the potential to disturb the solemnity of the occasion. Meanwhile, gurdwara wedding langars can rival costly buffets and banquet halls, introducing new status hierarchies through luxurious menus, elaborate table displays, servers paid and in uniforms, the number and kinds of sabzi, roti, and mithai enthusiastically, and perchance greedily, noted by guests, and the roping off – and ladening with private sweets – of prime sections of the hall for the exclusive use of the groom’s family. The apparent introduction18 of status concerns to a religious praxis dedicated to overcoming ego-consciousness is undoubtedly problematic. It speaks to the vexatious intersection of religion and culture (which owing to the doctrine of mīrī-pīrī may be especially difficult to treat separately in the Sikh context), as well as to discomfort around the increasing modernity of, and diversity within, Sikh practice (and the related complexity of Sikh identity). The tension between religion and culture is seen in the distinction between Sikhi (religiosity) and sardari (status) in Sikh philanthropy, as astutely noted by Dusenbery (2009: 87). Sardari is the basis of regional traditions of patronage, and especially influenced by Jat-centric notions of izzat (patriarchal honour). In these terms, catered langar ostensibly becomes a form of ‘competitive feasting’ which emphasizes differences in social position across a wide swathe of the ethnographic record (e.g. Farb and Armelagos 1980, Jones 2007). This tendency is amplified in the capitalist context, where modes of production and consumption, and relatedly wealth, status, and inequality, have long been firmly and unevenly structured (e.g. Bourdieu 1984, Marx 1978, Veblen 2007). Werbner has noted the role of status in Sufi langar, and suggests that this framework becomes even more important in diaspora, where Panjabi migrants are otherwise ‘invisible,’ prompting status display and conspicuous consumption, for ‘If peacocks dance in the jungle, who can see them?’ (2002: 10). Dusenbery observes that for Sikhs ‘conspicuous philanthropy’ (2009: 90) reflects some ethical values but also promotes reputation. Performative, conspicuously catered langar would seem to do the same, although perhaps with greater effect: since langar is a more routinized ritual practice, the pressure for it to be conspicuous and performative has the potential to enhance inequality.

148  Nicola Mooney Amid these new ‘tournaments of value’ (Appadurai 1986: 21, Meneley 1996), not only can wealthy sponsors afford to offer more extravagant langar, and more often, but the relative cost of langar is much greater, and thus prohibitive, for poorer sponsors. Once commodified, it thus would seem to become especially challenging for langar to express the ethical tenets of Sikhism.

Looking Further at Langar Contemporary langar is a multifaceted and somewhat paradoxical site for the embodied ethics of Sikhi. This chapter has raised a number of issues regarding the Sikh ethos of equality in shifting modern and diasporic contexts. In turn, these raise broader questions of the ritualized food practices of langar and the evolving meanings of the Sikh foodscape. I have demonstrated some of the ways in which ideal langar praxis intends to obliterate inequality, incorporate an egalitarian Sikh community via commensality, and enact an ethos of social justice through voluntary food welfare, and yet at the same time, I have described that distinctions and hierarchies surface in Sikh langar today. Langar practices, transformations, and debates are not only about seva and Sikhi, but also about identity, hierarchy, and exclusion. Scholars accustomed to the ephemerality of cultures accept that ‘neither Sikh nor Hindu identity can be treated as possessing an unchanging essence’ (Das 1995: 121), but this prospect may be troubling to Sikhs, for whom much about identity seems essential amid postcolonial subjectivity, neoliberal development, Hindutva nationalism, global migration and the urge to belong to an uncomplicated and clearly defined community. Clearly the materiality, spatiality, rituality, and form of langar practice demand closer study. In this incipient effort, I hope to have provided some points of entry to a further critical reading of contemporary langar amid its global travels.

Notes 1 Langar has received some recent scholarly attention in languages other than English, for instance in Guigono’s (2013) article on langar as foodscape in Villanova, Italy (cited by Counihan 2018). 2 Beyond religion per se (assuming that it is separable from other aspects of society), far more scholarly attention has been given to the religiopolitical conflicts that have troubled Sikhs and Sikhism on national and international fronts around 1984 (e.g. Mahmood 1996, Pettigrew 1995, Tatla 1999), and indeed since Partition, and the migrations, diaspora cultures, and identity questions and movements that these have prompted (e.g. Axel 2001, Barrier and Dusenbery 1989, Dusenbery 2008, Dusenbery and Tatla 2009, Mooney 2011, Nayar 2004, 2012, Rajan, Varghese and Nanda 2015, Singh 2011, Takhar 2016, Talbot and Thandi 2004). 3 In the West, langar is a routine part of the anand karaj or Sikh wedding rite, which typically features both a pre-wedding breakfast and a post-wedding

Looking for Langar  149 lunch at the gurdwara where the wedding takes place. Anyone who visits the gurdwara can participate in the langar, although, some larger gurdwaras now provide separate langar halls for the exclusive use of wedding guests. In India, while the same meals are provided to wedding guests they are typically served at a ‘marriage palace,’ a commercial establishment for wedding and other receptions, rather than at the gurdwara. 4 For example: Dhan Guru Ramdas Ji Langar Sewa (Hoshiarpur), Langar on Wheels (Delhi), Guru Nanak’s Free Kitchen (Vancouver), Langar for Hunger (Ottawa), Nishkam SWAT (Sikh Welfare and Awareness Team, U.K.), Sikh Relief (U.K.), United Sikhs (U.S.), Zero Hunger with Langar (Malawi), and Langar Aid (a subproject of the global crisis relief agency Khalsa Aid, which has served in places such as Syria and Yemen). 5 This precludes hygiene protocols that would exclude some from langar-seva, at least temporarily. As well, I should note that at a few Indian gurdwaras, I have witnessed a disinclination, although not a refusal, to serve people who appear to be beggars. 6 That is, the Shiromani Gurdwara Parbandhak Committee, the Indian organization that manages gurdwaras in the Indian Panjab region, i.e., in Panjab, Haryana, and Himachal Pradesh. 7 It is probably worth mentioning here that many of my first experiences of langar were in pangat-style gurdwaras in Ontario. Sitting on a chair at a table for langar during my first visit to British Columbia felt deeply unfamiliar to me, despite being long accustomed to dining at a table beyond the gurdwara. 8 Bains and Johnston (1995) note earlier disputes concerning headcovering practices in British Columbian gurdwaras, prompted by a visiting delegation of the 3HO. 9 This position frequently overlapped with support for Khalistan, the movement for an independent, but Sikh, state in the Panjabi homeland. 10 Nayar (2008: 23) describes how the tables and chairs issue was raised as a sort of ‘red herring’ to draw the SGPC’s attention in protest after the International Sikh Youth Federation (an offshoot of the pro-Khalistan World Sikh Organization) lost the slate in the managing committee elections in January 1998. 11 See Nayar (2008) for analysis of the term ‘fundamentalist’ as ‘too simplistic’ in the Sikh context. (Similarly, see Puar and Rai [2002] on ‘terrorist’.) 12 Puri and Nesbitt (2013) note similar accommodations in British gurdwaras. 13 As an aside, also emergent in community discussions of the schism were factional power struggles of the sort Pettigrew (1975) described as inordinately present among Jats several decades ago, alongside accusations of financial mismanagement, a gloss for suspicions of corruption and embezzlement. 14 For instance, a decade later in 2008, in the managing committee election at the gurdwara at the epicentre of the earlier dispute, a traditionalist youth slate campaigned and won on the promise to remove the tables and chairs from the langar hall. 15 Helweg (2004: 106) was similarly told by informants that equality prevails only in the gurdwara. 16 Indeed, the ubiquity of ‘pure veg’ Indian restaurants in the largely non-­ vegetarian Sikh-Canadian foodscape makes more sense if we understand that the mithai sales and food catering orders of these businesses were destined for the gurdwara. 17 I use Jat surnames speculatively here since this is not only the Panjabi community with which I am most familiar, but also the ‘dominant caste’ (after Srinivas 1987) and as such considerably concerned with status. 18 This is certainly not recent. Fenech (2019) notes that 18th century sources illustrate competitive tendencies in langar; for instance, Bhai Nand Lal, a poet

150  Nicola Mooney and renowned disciple of Guru Gobind Singh, was known as an ‘extraordinary langarwala’ in a context where lavish langars were praised. Similarly, Dhavan (2011) noted the intersection of langar, sovereignty, and politicking. Meanwhile, Darling (1925, 1930, 1935) observed the prohibitive costs of Panjabi marriages, which he attributed to ‘expenditures demanded by local notions of honour and respect’ (Mooney 2011: 105), and in the Sikh case may have included extravagant langars.

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Looking for Langar  151 Durkheim, Emile. (1912) 1995. The Elementary Forms of Religious Life. New York: The Free Press. (Translation Karen E. Fields). Dusenbery, Verne A. 2009. “‘Through Wisdom, Dispense Charity’: Religious and Cultural Underpinnings of Diasporan Sikh Philanthropy in Punjab.” In Sikh Diaspora Philanthropy in Punjab: Global Giving for Local Good, eds. Verne A. Dusenbery and Darshan Singh Tatla. New Delhi: Oxford University Press: 79–104. ———. 2008. Sikhs at Large: Religion, Culture, and Politics in Global Perspective. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Dusenbery, Verne A. and Darshan Singh Tatla, eds. 2009. Sikh Diaspora Philanthropy in Punjab: Global Giving for Local Good. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Esterik, Penny van. 2015. “Commensal Circles and the Common Pot.” In Commensality: From Everyday Food to Feast, eds. Susanne Kerner, Cynthia Chou, and Morten Warmind. London: Bloomsbury: 31–42. Farb, Peter and George Armelagos. 1980. Consuming Passions: The Anthropology of Eating. Boston: Houghton Mifflin. Fenech, Louis E. 2019. Personal communication. September 3. Fischler, Claude. 2011. “Commensality, Society and Culture.” Social Science Information. 50 (3–4): 528–548. Gallo, Ester. 2012. “Creating Gurdwaras, Narrating Histories: Perspectives on the Sikh Diaspora in Italy.” South Asia Multidisciplinary Academic Journal. 6: 1–18. Online at: http://journals.openedition.org/samaj/3431 Geertz, Clifford. 1973. The Interpretation of Cultures. New York: Basic Books. Grewal, Harjeet. 2012. “Secular Sikhism, Religion, and the Question of American Values: The Morning of Forgiveness in a Quest to Move Forward.” Sikh Formations: Religion, Culture, Theory. 8 (3): 313–317. Guigoni, Alessandra. 2013. “‘Paesaggi del cibo’ indiani a Cagliari: La comunità sikh e il Langar del Gurdwara di Villanova.” In Storie di Questo Mondo: Percorsi di Etnografia delle Migrazioni, eds. Francesco Bachis and Antonio Maria Pusceddu. Rome: CISU: 241–261. Hawley, Michael. 2014. “Sikh Institutions.” In The Oxford Handbook of Sikh Studies, eds. Pashaura Singh and Louis E. Fenech. Oxford: Oxford University Press: 317–327. Helweg, Arthur W. 2004. Strangers in a Not-So-Strange Land: Indian American Immigrants in the Global Age. Belmont, CA: Wadsworth/Thomson Learning. Hirvi, Laura. 2014. “Civic Engagement and Seva: An Ethnographic Case Study of a Sikh Gurdwara in Yuba City, California.” Journal of Punjab Studies. 21 (1): 55–68. ———. 2010. “The Sikh Gurdwara in Finland: Negotiating, Maintaining and Transmitting Immigrants’ Identities.” South Asian Diaspora. 2 (2): 219–232. Jacobsen, Knut A. 2012. “Tuning Identity in European ‘Houses of the Guru’: The Importance of Gurdwaras and Kirtan among Sikhs in Europe.” In Sikhs Across Borders: Transnational Practices of European Sikhs, eds. Knut A. Jacobsen and Kristina Myrvold. New York: Bloomsbury: 105–118. Jones, Martin. 2007. Feast: Why Humans Share Food. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Kaur, Arunajeet. 2018. “Promoting Sikhi among Malaysian Youth: A Case Study of the Sikh Naujawan Sabha Malaysia (SNSM).” Sikh Formations: Religion, Culture, Theory. 14 (3/4): 435–445.

152  Nicola Mooney Kaur, Simran. 2018. “Mata Khivi: The Women Who Established the Langar System.” Feminism in India. Available at: https://feminisminindia.com/2018/12/18/ mata-khivi-langar/; accessed August 3, 2020. Luthra, Sangeeta K. 2018. “Sikh American Millennials at Work: Institution Building, Activism, and a Renaissance of Cultural Expression.” Sikh Formations: Religion, Culture, Theory. 14 (3–4): 280–299. ———. 2017. “Out of the Ashes: Sikh American Institution Building and the Promise of Equality for Sikh Women.” Sikh Formations: Religion, Culture, Theory. 13 (4): 308–332. Mahmood, Cynthia Keppley. 1996. Fighting for Faith and Nation: Dialogues with Sikh Militants. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Marx, Karl. 1978. The Essential Marx: The Non-Economic Writings. Ed. Saul K. Padover. New York: New American Library. McLeod, William Hew (1995) 2002. Historical Dictionary of Sikhism. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. ———. 1989. Who Is a Sikh? New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Meneley, Anne. 1996. Tournaments of Value: Sociability and Hierarchy in a Yemeni Town. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Mintz, Sidney and Christine M. Du Bois. 2002. “The Anthropology of Food and Eating.” Annual Review of Anthropology. 31: 99–119. Mooney, Nicola. 2020. “‘In Our Whole Society, There Is No Equality’: Sikh Householding and the Intersection of Gender and Caste.” Religions. 11 (3): 1–21. Online at: https://www.mdpi.com/2077-1444/11/2/95 ———. 2018. “Sikh Millennials Engaging the Earth: Sikhi, Environmental Activism, and Eco-enchantment.” Sikh Formations: Religion, Culture, Theory. 14 (3–4): 315–338. ———. 2011. Rural Nostalgias and Transnational Dreams: Identity and Modernity among Jat Sikhs. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. ———. 2010. “Lowly Shoes on Lowly Feet: Some Jat Sikh Women’s Views on Gender & Equality.” In Sikhism and Women: History, Texts and Experience, ed. Doris R. Jakobsh. Delhi: Oxford University Press: 156–186. Nayar, Kamala Elizabeth. 2010. “The Making of Sikh Space: The Role of the Gurdwara.” In Asian Religions in British Columbia, eds. Larry DeVries, Don Baker, and Dan Overmyer. Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press: 43–63. ———. 2008. “Misunderstood in the Diaspora: The Experience of Orthodox Sikhs in Vancouver.” Sikh Formations: Religion, Culture, Theory. 4 (1): 17–32. Pettigrew, Joyce. 1995 The Sikhs of the Punjab: Unheard Voices of State and Guerilla Violence. London: Zed Books. ———. 1975. Robber Noblemen: A Study of the Political System of the Sikh Jats. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Puar, Jasbir K. and Amit Rai. 2002. “Monster, Terrorist, Fag: The War on Terrorism and the Production of Docile Patriots.” Social Text. 20 (3): 117–148. Puri, Kailash and Eleanor Nesbitt. 2013. Pool of Life: The Autobiography of a Punjabi Agony Aunt. Brighton: Sussex Academic Press. Rajan, S. Irudaya, V.J. Varghese, and Aswini Kumar Nanda, eds. 2015. Migration, Mobility and Multiple Affiliations: Punjabis in a Transnational World. Delhi: Cambridge University Press. Sato, Kiyotaka. 2012. “Divisions among Sikh Communities in Britain and the Role of Caste System: A Case Study of Four Gurdwaras in Multi-Ethnic Leicester.” Journal of Punjab Studies. 19 (1): 1–26.

Looking for Langar  153 Seidel, Kathleen. 2000. Serving the Guest: A Sufi Cookbook. Available at: http:// www.superluminal.com/cookbook/essay_serving_love.html; accessed June 30, 2020. Singh, Gurharpal. 2006. “Gurdwaras and community-building among British Sikhs.” Contemporary South Asia. 15 (2): 147–164. Singh, Gurharpal and Darshan Singh Tatla. 2006. Sikhs in Britain: The Making of a Community. London: Zed Books. Singh, Jasjit. 2014. “House of the Guru? Young British Sikhs’ Engagement with Gurdwaras.” Journal of Punjab Studies. 21 (1): 41–54. Singh, Pashaura, ed. 2011. Sikhism in Global Context. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Singh, Prakash. 1994. Community Kitchen of the Sikhs. Amritsar: Singh Brothers. ———. 1971. The Sikh Gurus and the Temple of Bread. Amritsar: Dharam Parchar Committee. Srinivas, Mysore  Narasimhachar 1987. The Dominant Caste and Other Essays. Oxford University Press. Sutton, David E. 2005. “Synasthesia, Memory, and the Taste of Home.” In The Taste Culture Reader, ed. Carolyn Korsmeyer, pp. 304–316. Oxford: Berg. Talbot, Ian and Shinder Thandi, eds. 2004. People on the Move: Punjabi Colonial and Post-Colonial Migration. Karachi: Oxford University Press. Takhar, Opinderjit. (2005) 2016. Sikh Identity: An Exploration of Groups Among Sikhs. London: Routledge. Tatla, Darshan Singh. 1999. Sikh Diaspora: The Search for Statehood. Seattle: University of Washington Press. Veblen, Thorstein. (1899) 2007. The Theory of the Leisure Class: An Economic Study of Institutions. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Werbner, Pnina. 2002. Imagined Diasporas among Manchester Muslims: The Public Performance of Pakistani Transnational Identity Politics. Santa Fe, NM: School of American Research Press. ———. 1998. “Langar: Pilgrimage, Sacred Exchange and Perpetual Sacrifice in a Sufi Saint’s Lodge.” In Embodying Charisma: Modernity, Locality and the Performance of Emotion in Sufi Cults, eds. Helene Basu and Pnina Werbner, London: Routledge: 95–116. Zavos, John. 2020. “The Aura of Chips: Material Engagements and the Production of Everyday Religious Difference in British Asian Street Kitchens.” Sociology of Religion. 81 (1): 93–115. ———. 2019. “Ethical Narratives, Street Kitchens and Doing Religious Difference amongst Post-Migrant Communities in Contemporary Britain.” Culture and Religion. 20 (1): 39–64.

7 Adaptation and Incorporation in Ritual Practices at the Golden Temple, Amritsar1 Navtej K. Purewal and Virinder Kalra

Introduction Harmandir Sahib (transl. temple of Hari/God), or the Golden Temple as it is also known, in Amritsar occupies an iconic position in the representation and self-­identification of Sikhs throughout the world. The complex lies in the centre of the walled city of Amritsar in northwest India, a contemporary urban sprawl whose foundation is symbiotically linked to the establishment of the sacred site. As Grewal (2008: 1) notes, “the story of Amritsar is the story of its [The Golden Temple’s] foundation and survival”. This article’s focus upon Harmandir Sahib presents it as a site which while apparently an apex of Sikh singularity embodies multiplicity through its history of evolution and worshipper ritual performance. It is through ritual that we examine how official practice (orthodoxy2) became specified and sanctioned through codification while heteropraxy became maligned as “non-Sikh” and thus outside of the realm of acceptability. It is this process of institutionalization, incorporation, and adaptation that this chapter explores. The popular dimensions of contemporary Sikh practices which cross the boundaries of what is determined to be “Sikh”, we will argue, are represented in devotional rituals which have continued alongside and within formal Khalsa Sikh tradition highlighting a milieu of heteropraxy. The city of Amritsar (amrit sarovar – “sacred bathing pool”) was founded in 1577 by the third Sikh Guru and developed by his next three successors. Whilst it had a turbulent subsequent history, the rule of Maharaja Ranjit Singh and the patronage of the British colonial state ensured its centrality as a place of pilgrimage. In postcolonial India and for the diaspora it is the focal point for Sikh religious affairs and an intensely attractive site for worshippers and tourists alike. Whilst the birthplace of Guru Nanak at Nankana Sahib, now in present-­day Pakistan, had been another central place of locatable Sikh identification prior to 1947, the Golden Temple acquired this singularly definitive iconic status after the partition, as a place for Sikh pilgrimage in newly formed India. The city of Amritsar is considered the epicentre of contemporary Sikh religious identity. However, its identification in previous eras has

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DOI: 10.4324/9781003281849-10

Adaptation and Incorporation in Ritual Practices  155 been more ambiguous. For example, in the colonial era, demographically Amritsar had been a Muslim-majority city (Talbot 2006). In the period after partition, the lack of access to sites such as Nankana Sahib and Panja Sahib has meant increasing focus on the Golden Temple, such that the complex is now recognized by UNESCO as a World Heritage site. Indeed, the partition can be considered as one of the key events in which rituals, especially the performance of devotional singing (kirtan) were greatly impacted upon. Briefly considering the historical formation of the site, the shift in its naming from Darbar Sahib (the court of the Guru) to Harmandir (God’s temple) to the Golden Temple (referring to its gold adornment) provides the context for considering the transformations that ritual practice has undergone since 1947. Sikh reformist movements in the British Colonial era eventually gained control of the site in 1925 and attempted to curb popular heteropraxy by institutionalizing the centrality of the Adi Granth (the sacred text of the Sikhs). This period is particularly well documented in Sikh historical studies and forms a key area of academic debate. Our contention, by looking at the transformation of devotional practices, is that rather than a dichotomy developing between reformists and popular practice (as is suggested by the textual sources), a process of incorporation and accommodation took place. Even in the reconstruction of the complex after the Indian Army assault in 1984, sites of popular worship were retained. Despite attempts by the management of the shrine to bring popular practices into line with institutional rules of conduct, worshippers continued to find methods of adaptation. However, as we conclude, the persistent exclusion of women from formal rituals is a poignant reminder of the obstinate nature of institutional authority in maintaining bounded exclusivity which, though textually unjustifiable, relies heavily upon a masculinist assertion of dominant religious institutional authority. The key determinants of gender and caste in bifurcating orthodoxy and heterodoxy are readily exemplified in ritual practice change at the Golden Temple (See Kalra and Purewal 2019).

Disciplining the Darbar There is a gap in studies of popular practices at Sikh spiritual sites due to two debates which have directed the lens of scholarship towards textual and historical evidence, eclipsing any focus upon popular and contemporary expressions of devotion. Sikh studies have been primarily consumed with two deliberations, in this respect, that both took place in the 1990s. One was spurred by Harjot Oberoi’s (1992; 1994) seminal but highly debated work on popular spiritual figure and his deconstructive historical exercise of the Sikh tradition as we know it today. The other was set off by W.H. McLeod (1975; 2004) questioning of Sikh identity and Pashaura Singh’s (2000) attestation of the authenticity of authorship of the Adi Granth. Both of these debates reflect the attention towards the sanctity and sacredness

156  Navtej K. Purewal and Virinder Kalra of the Sikh tradition in history and text. Each brought to the fore how far the limits of acceptability could be drawn in terms of applying a historiography of religion and academic critique to sacred texts and hence religious identity. For our purposes here, we do not intend to tread the paths of either deconstructing Sikh identity or attesting the authorship of sacred Sikh texts. What we do intend to explore, however, is the popular dimensions of contemporary Sikh practices which cross the formal boundaries of what is determined to be “Sikh” in the formal Rahit Maryada (lit. the way of living) but nonetheless remain within a Sikh devotee self-definition. Devotional rituals have continued alongside and within the Khalsa Sikh tradition which highlights how popular rituals, rather than being in opposition to formal, institutionalized practices, are a continuing part of the milieu of Sikh practice.3 However, this article is not an exercise in understanding or forwarding syncretism, but an examination of the interplay between institutional forms of worship and the rituals of heteropraxy which underlie contemporary practice. Within our focus upon heteropraxy, devotional seekers are not bound by religious categorizations of identity in their practice, and pilgrims and visitors to these shrines are multifarious in motivation and identification. While the openness of the Sikh tradition beyond the limits of Khalsa identity was identified by Oberoi (1994), his deconstructive exercise was interpreted as a critique of formal Sikh identity writ large. Our intention here is not to tread that same deconstructive path, but instead to focus upon the negotiations that exist between heteropraxy and the institutional attempts of regulation through “Sikhisation” (Juergensmeyer 1982). In other words, a recognition of the lived religious aspects of the Golden Temple enables us to tread a path between the dichotomy of orthodoxy and heteropraxy. While the Singh Sabha movement played a significant role in the making of modern Sikh identity in which Sikh identity assertion was mobilized through this educated, urban-based leadership, its institutional form in the Shiromani Gurdwara Prabhandak Committee (SGPC) occupies the contemporary voice of this process of “Sikhisation” and indeed was arguably created for that purpose. It continues in the regulation of contemporary practices of devotion at the Golden Temple and other SGPC-managed gurdwaras.4 The main document which outlines the disciplining aspect of the SGPC in terms of ritual conduct is the Rahit Maryada (The Sikh Code of Conduct and Conventions). We quote extensively here to illustrate the extent to which certain practices are considered illegitimate: Not believing in […] magic, spells, incantation, omens, auspicious times, days and occasions, influence of stars, horoscopic dispositions, Shradh (ritual serving of food to priests for the salvation of ancestor on appointed days as per the lunar calendar), Ancestor worship, khiah (ritual serving of food to priests - Brahmins – on the lunar anniversaries of death of an ancestor), pind (offering of funeral barley cakes to the

Adaptation and Incorporation in Ritual Practices  157 deceased’s relatives), patal (ritual donating of food in the belief that that would satisfy the hunger of a departed soul), diva (the ceremony of keeping an oil lamp lit for 360 days after the death, in the belief that that lights the path of the deceased), ritual funeral acts, hom (lighting of ritual fire and pouring intermittently clarified butter, food grains etc. into it for propitiating gods for the fulfilment of a purpose), jag (religious ceremony involving presentation of oblations), […] veneration of any graves, of monuments erected to honour the memory of a deceased person or of cremation sites, idolatry and such like superstitious observances. (SGPC 1925) Even though a distance and tension between rules and practice is expected to exist within religious discourse, the fact that the SGPC central office is located in the Golden Temple complex shows that the Golden Temple represents more than symbolic authority. Both the head Granthi (literally of the book, but loosely translated as caretaker) and the Jathedar (head/ leader) of the political seat of authority (the Akal Takht) who is selected by the SGPC are based at the site which gives a weight of institutional authority to the implementation of the Rahit Maryada. Despite this support for orthodoxy, our exploration of heteropraxy at the Golden Temple finds that alongside formal, regulated rituals of worship and obeisance, there is also a continuing popular practice constituted by a multifariousness of seekers of devotion. Folklore, devotional votive, and village religion, thus, are not necessarily in conflict with Sikh identity, but exist in tandem, though sometimes on contested terms. Analysis of the constructed nature of major religious boundaries, for instance, draws attention to state and other modes of control and rationalization which have historically attempted to disrupt popular notions of pluralism rather than foster them (Gottschalk 2000). Others have given contextualized examples in the South Asian context of rich “confluent” histories of coexistence and commonality which go beyond any notion of primordial religious distinctions but which have relied upon a notion of syncretism (Assayag 2004; Sikand 2004). Heteropraxy at sacred Sikh sites highlights the limitation of the concept of syncretism for our purposes, since it implies the existence of bounded traditions which can then be “mixed” (see Mir 2010). The requirement for discrete categories for the concept of syncretism cannot be met within Sikh sacred sites, unless the construction of those categories is de facto accepted. The symbolic marking of sacred spaces such as gurdwaras as being essentially Sikh, or the worship of objects or deities other than the Adi Granth as essentially Hindu, or of the worship of living or eternalized pirs or saints as Muslim, are all part of the process that locates that which is within and that which is outside of the Sikh realm of formal practice and identity. Mandair (2009) argues that these attempts to create closure and to assert a dominant interpretation

158  Navtej K. Purewal and Virinder Kalra of Sikh sacred texts are a means of staking claims to a comprehensive unity and identifiable self-projection in relation to the Hindu and Muslim “other”. Such closure was not necessarily so concerned with popular practices (though clearly these were often forefronted as problematic) but was driven by an exercise in “fulfilling the Sikhs’ desire for theology as a mode of totalizing signification in the domain of European conceptuality” (ibid., 36). It is at this juncture between what is identified as formally Sikh and what is not where institutionalizing processes present a disciplining attempt upon heteropraxy. How then can devotional practices at such iconic yet popular sites as the Golden Temple be conceptualized when terminologies and categories are subject to scrutiny for their bounded nature? While the open-ended, unbounded nature of social formations has been recognized by Barth (1994) as a problematizing factor to any singularizing depiction of religion, Fitzgerald (2000) moves this understanding further by arguing for a modification of the western-inspired theological project by opening up the focus to the everyday of spirituality in which “we find a possible transition point from ‘religion’ and ‘religions’ to the ritual or cultural reproduction of transcendental representations…” (18). From this perspective, the emphasis is placed on rituals that are, for example, driven by desires to fulfil wishes associated with life-cycle and kinship relations or that are routinized as part of everyday life. At the Golden Temple local residents incorporate a visit to the site into their daily routine of work and family, their devotional practices could be said to represent the ritualization of everyday life through the spiritual life of its localized context, Amritsar. Positioned at the centre of the old walled city, the sarovar and then the Golden Temple provide a centripetal focus spatially, socially and spiritually. This move towards culture is one means of understanding the popular devotional practices in northwest South Asia. However, it is not adequate on its own if we wish to understand how religious institutions engage with popular practices in terms of an interplay and engagement leading to incorporation and accommodation. When we explore what people “do” in their devotional practice rather than how they are defined, we find that there is much that goes on which is not so neatly locatable within the available religious categories, but which is also not completely disassociated from frameworks established by institutional authority. Indeed, what we identify as rituals of devotion in the iconic Sikh sacred space of the Golden Temple contains practices and idioms which are not exclusively Sikh within the formal sense but which are certainly Sikh within the popular sense. It is at the juncture of the formal, institutional and the popular that ritual activities are therefore best explored and explained.

Water and Trees On entering the Darbar Sahib complex from any one of its four entrances the most immediate visual impact is of the water and on sunny

Adaptation and Incorporation in Ritual Practices  159 days the shimmering reflection of the gold plating of the Harmandir. It is indeed the Amrit Sarovar (from which the city derives its name) or the Ram Das Sarovar (after the third Guru) which was the central focus of the settlement when it was formed in the early sixteenth century. The importance of the water is also to be found in the writings of the fifth Guru Arjun, who, in an extremely popular hymn (shabad) from the Adi Granth states: (Sorath, Fifth Mehl, Third House, Du-Padas): One Universal Creator. By The Grace Of The True Guru: Bathing in the nectar tank of Ram Das, all sins are erased. One becomes immaculately pure, taking this cleansing bath. The Perfect Guru has bestowed this gift. ||1|| Indeed, the selection of the site was combined with the presence of a Jujube tree, which is still extant and is revered as Dukhbhanjani Berh. In local lore, the story of Rajni provides the most significant reference of the sarovar’s healing properties. As the story goes, Rajni, a young unmarried woman made a dismissive remark to her father about his generosity. She stated that the gifts he had given to her and her sisters were not a sign of his goodness but that all gifts are from God and that her father was merely the go-between. As a means of teaching her a lesson, Rajni’s father arranged her marriage to a leper who she would have to struggle to look after and cart around as they begged. She is said to have parked the cart near a tree next to the sarovar where a black crow was seen to dive into the water and emerge as a white dove. Rajni’s husband bathed in the sarovar and emerged as a healed and handsome man, proving the healing powers of the water, while also containing the message of the power of the spiritual over material pursuits. On hearing this story Guru Ram Das then went to the spot and decided to build a tank there and named the tree Dukhbhanjani berh (Kaur 1983). A version of this story (in English and Panjabi) is actually given on the enclosure around the tree inscribed onto a white marble plaque, but with the difference that the agency for the whole event is with the Gurus. Rajni is not brought up by her father but in her mother’s maternal home in Lahore, who are followers of the Guru and thus she is a devotee. The healing powers of the water are a reward for her devotion rather than intrinsic to the water itself. Another story relates to Guru Amar Das taking a leaf from the tree to give to Guru Angad to cure a skin illness. In both cases, the healing properties of the water are material, as could be argued for Guru Arjan’s own representation of the water. Yet this aspect is sidelined in Pashaura Singh’s (2006) analysis, for example. He argues, following a reformist perspective that the shabad refers to “spiritual cleansing”, producing the theology necessary for Sikh closure (Figure 7.1).

160  Navtej K. Purewal and Virinder Kalra

Figure 7.1  Baba Budda Sahib (photo by N.K. Purewal)

A second tree that is of significance within the precinct of the complex is the Lechi Berh, which is specifically associated with Guru Arjun as he is said to have sat and supervised the construction of the brick-lined Amrit Sarovar and also wrote many of the shabads in the Adi Granth in the shade of the tree. A third tree, Baba Budda di Berh (the tree under which Baba Budda sat), is associated with Baba Budda (lit., old man), known as the first head granthi of the Golden Temple, who is said to have lived until the age of around 100 during the lifetimes of the first six Sikh gurus. The tree, or berh, which marks the spot at which Baba Budda sat as he supervised the excavation of the sarovar has thus become a site to pay obeisance by visitors to the shrine. The berh lies within the shrine complex along the parkrama (outer walkway) and symbolizes Baba Budda’s service to the spiritual and built history of the Golden Temple. Just as Dukhbhanjani Berh is known for its healing properties, Baba Budda di Berh attracts devotees for the blessings associated with Baba Budda’s wisdom, long life and his role as protector and overseer of the Darbar Sahib (Figure 7.2). Alongside trees, water and its curative powers also has a wider importance outside of the iconic Amrit sarovar which is demonstrated by the fact that the Gurus built other water tanks in the vicinity. In fact, over the period where the Gurus were present in Amritsar (up to Guru Hargobind), another four pools were constructed. These are Santokhsar, Kalusar,

Adaptation and Incorporation in Ritual Practices  161

Figure 7.2  Worshippers paying respects at Baba Budda Sahib (photo by authors)

Bibeksar and Ramsar, each with its own associated narrative of spiritual power. Indeed, one of these pools, Ramsar, built by Guru Angad, also features in his writings as a site for bathing and pilgrimage. It is located within the walled city at Chatiwind gate, but is at some distance from the main complex. This was the site where Bhai Gurdas and Guru Angad are said to have compiled the first pothis (books) which would be the precursors to the Adi Granth. The sole focus therefore, even on the Amrit Sarovar, is part of the centralization of the site, arguably appropriate for a single site of Sikh authority and authenticity. The folklore associated with each of the trees and sarovar’s votive and healing powers present a parallel sense of piety to that of the official Sikh historiographical ownership of the site. The two are however symbiotically related and not necessarily conflictual as the Sikh studies debate with its overly textual approach might indicate. The institutionalizing processes of the management of the Golden Temple since 1947 show attempts at negotiating, accommodating and incorporating this mystical power into a narrative centred on the Adi Granth. The formal daily routine of rituals at the Golden Temple, which is carried out and managed by the granthis, sewadars and other SGPC employees, consists of an elaborate schedule and calendar. Though times vary according to season, every morning at approximately three a.m. the Adi Granth is carried by a granthi on a cushion on his head in preparation to be placed on

162  Navtej K. Purewal and Virinder Kalra an ornate silver and gold-gilded palki (palanquin), laden with coverings and cushions made of silk brocade. The processional carrying of the Adi Granth starts at the Akal Takht, passes through the darshani deorhi and then proceeds across the causeway to the inner chamber of the Golden Temple in the centre of the sarovar. Here the Adi Granth is placed onto the palki sahib as hymns are sung accompanied by the rhythm of nagaras (large drums). Subsequently, devotional hymns are sung throughout the day by groups of singers and accompanists until the late evening where the Adi Granth is returned to the Akal Takht. The contemporary dynamics of devotional ritual at the Golden Temple show the centralizing, magnetic force of the Harmandir which houses one of the many installations of the Adi Granth in the complex. Queues of devotees wait for up to three hours to matha tek (paying respect by literally kneeling down and touching the forehead to the ground) and make an offering to the book, the embodiment of the living Guru. While the official daily routine of ritual at the Golden Temple involves multiple rituals involving SGPC officials, local Amritsar businessmen and the general population of devotees, they are all focused on the Adi Granth. 5 Outside of this authorized daily process, however, the Golden Temple complex is also dotted with smaller sacralized sites and spaces of obeisance, most notably the berh trees. In other sites, trees have votives tied to them or diyas lit under them as way of marking a desire or wish. Placing garlands of flowers and taking leaves for medicinal purposes are all part of the multiple rituals associated with trees at sacred sites. There is a two-way process of institutionalization and regulation of rituals that take place at the trees. The installation of the Adi Granth at the Dukhbhanjani Berh and the development of a small gurdwara at Lechi Berh are two examples of the incorporation of devotional practice into the Sikh Rahit. At Baba Budda’s berh, there is no presence of the Adi Granth, but it continues as a site of ritual obeisance, and respects are paid to the site of the tree which was cordoned off in the 1990s by a marble encasement and a brass frame, in order to prevent worshippers from making physical contact with the tree. Prior to the brass and marble encasement, worshippers would pay respects by touching the berh with their hands and foreheads or even kissing the tree. Today, not only is the tree physically inaccessible to devotees, but this is also regulated by an SGPC-paid sewadar who stands at the site to ensure that restrictions on overt obeisance are observed.6 Visitors are permitted to pay respects by touching the marble with their hands or forehead. However, the marigolds at the base of the tree show the adaptive devotional practice to subvert the institutional imposition of distance between the berh and worshippers who are able to find an indirect means of physical contact with the berh through the marigolds which are tossed at its base. Operation Blue Star, the attack on the Golden Temple complex by Indian Army forces in 1984, ostensibly to rid the temple of militants using it as a base, resulted in the destruction of many sites of ritual worship on the site.

Adaptation and Incorporation in Ritual Practices  163 Perhaps more significantly is the incorporation and adaptation of many aspects of popular worship which took place in the rebuilding of the site. If the intention of the Indian state was to curb “fundamentalism” then the impact of the destruction was to allow a rebuilding much more closely focused on a bounded Sikh identity aligned with the sole veneration of the Adi Granth. Ironically, perhaps, it also allowed for the creation of a new object of curiosity surrounding the events of 1984, if not veneration, in that the SGPC have encased some of the bullet holes that were left in the walls of the complex as a memorialization of the 1984 events. In April 2013 a memorial plaque was installed at gurdwara Yaadgar Shaheedaan (Martyrs’ Memorial gurdwara) near to the Akal Takht with the inscription “Memorial in the memory of 14th head of Damdami Taksal Martyr Saint Giani Jarnail Singh Ji Khalsa Bhindranwale and all martyrs of 1984,” highlighting the incorporation of the figure of Bhindranwale who is otherwise viewed as a contested symbol of extremism. The SGPC’s recognition has now created a legitimized site for public obeisance to him close to the temple, but largely hidden from the large crowds of all-India tourists who make up a large contingent of the visitors to the site. Indeed, the spatial transformation of the surrounds of the Golden Temple into a simulacrum of nineteenth-century Amritsar, with terracotta tiling and Nanakshahi bricks, statues symbolizing tropes of the Panjab: Maharaja Ranjit Singh, Bhangra dancers and more has created an almost Disney land effect, which is beyond the scope of this chapter. This external transformation has impinged on the internality of the temple, with the presence of large LED screens, providing devotees with colonial English translations of the shabad being sung in the Harmandir. The Bose speakers drown out the multiple sites of performance of dhadhi outside the Akal Takht and of the groups reciting from the Adi Granth in parikarma (the surrounding pathway around the Harmandir). These digital spectacles to some extent provide a cover for multiple forms of ritual practice to continue, rather than dissolving them into a homogenous flatness. However, they do assert conformity on performative aspects of the tradition.

Shabad Gurbani Kirtan at Harmandir Sahib One of the most significant symbolic tools for enforcing the “Sikhisation” of devotional practice at the Golden Temple has been kirtan. The rules for the performance of kirtan, covering its recitation, rendition, form, and textual specification, were made explicit in Chapter 5 of the SGPC’s Sikh Rahit Maryada on kirtan. In requiring adherence to the code of conduct with regard to devotional hymn singing, Article 6 states that only a Sikh may perform kirtan in a congregation and that only hymns of the Guru Granth Sahib may be sung without improvisation, musical extraneousness or interpretation of the texts being sung. While the Code of Sikh Conduct and Conventions was published in 1925, Article 6 was not enforced with any rigor until after 1947

164  Navtej K. Purewal and Virinder Kalra when the partition of India forced questions around religious authority and representation of Sikh community identity at the shrine. The rababis, the hereditary and official performers of kirtan at Harmandir Sahib, who had once been employees of the management committee of the shrine, were, as non-Sikhs, no longer permitted to perform. The post-1947 context forced the religious question in more stark ways than had previously been done. While some rababi musicians converted to Sikhism, were initiated into the Khalsa and continued to perform kirtan, others migrated to Pakistan where their livelihoods became detached from their earlier Sikh patronage. The search for authenticity in the performance of kirtan became embedded within the religious question, so estranging and ostracizing the traditional hereditary rababi performers of kirtan at Harmandir Sahib. The rababi performers were Muslim in terms of overt religious identity but were professionally attached to Sikh religious institutions and patrons through the musical performance of Sikh scripture. This position became tenuous as a result of the post-1947 environment of politicized religious identities and the wave of migration of Muslims from East Panjab to newly created Pakistan. The rababis of the Golden Temple were forced either to convert formally to Sikhism and adopt a Khalsa identity, so as to maintain their livelihood, or to migrate to Pakistan where their Muslim identity would require them to find other means of income. Thus, the performance of kirtan at the Golden Temple saw a transformation when this, hereditary group, who were symbolic of a previous heteroreligious space, were erased from the ritual performance of kirtan at the shrine (Purewal 2011; Kalra 2014). A more contemporary debate around conventions surrounding the performance of kirtan concerns whether it should be performed in a classical form, following rules of raag and taal as specified in the Guru Granth Sahib, or as popular renditions of shabads for the public sung in pleasant, accessible tunes (Kalra 2014). While representing the debates over the correct raag form and the use of stringed instruments rather than the harmonium may be represented as a struggle against the SGPC by revivalists, another group was also attempting to change the shape of kirtan performance in the Harmandir within the same time period. In the literature lamenting the decline in the quality of kirtan and the authenticity of the sacred, which has gained some prominence in academic discourse in India and in the USA, there is no mention of the struggle by a group of women to gain access to the performative space of the Harmandir.7 This lack of mention is striking, since the debate about lineage and authenticity relies on gender as an organizing principle. As music becomes more sacred and pure, so women as music makers become more rare. From Dhrupad, to the rababis, to the amritdhari (initiated) Sikh performers, it is genealogies of male performers that are held up as the trail carrying the traces of original tunes. It is poignant that just as rababi Bhai Ghulam Mohammed Chand is not allowed to perform kirtan in the Harmandir during visits to Amritsar because he is not a Sikh, he is still able to assert patriarchal lineage by saying: “Our women don’t sing”.

Adaptation and Incorporation in Ritual Practices  165 The prevalence of women-only kirtan groups, Istri Satsang, is hardly documented. It refers to performances that are outside of the usual fixed patterns of worship in a gurdwara. Taking place in exclusively women-only spaces, this has been represented in some senses as the music of the sangat (congregation), and as a common practice before the commoditization and professionalization of kirtan. Most notably in diasporic contexts, such as East Africa, the lack of professionally trained musicians meant that women learned and performed in the gurdwaras in a much more prominent way than in Panjab (Purewal and Lallie 2013). The continuation of these women-only practices has been matched with the emergence of women professional kirtan groups, yet these too are barred from performing at Harmandir Sahib. It is not that women do not perform kirtan at other gurdwaras but rather that the rituals associated with the Harmandir have been controlled and maintained by men. Both the morning and evening rituals and the performance of kirtan within the Harmandir are central boundary markers of a masculinist Sikh identity. In 2003, two amritdhari (initiated) and turban-wearing women attempted to perform the morning ritual at the Harmandir and were restricted by the men present. Mejinderpal Kaur and Lakhbir Kaur then went on to lead a campaign for equal access for women to all the rituals associated with Harmandir Sahib, including the performance of kirtan. Citing that the SGPC of 1940 had already passed an edict that amritdhari women were allowed to perform kirtan at the site but that this had not been instituted, a strange replay of that initial overture took place. In 2005, the first woman head of the SGPC, Bibi Jagir Kaur, announced that women would be allowed to perform at the Harmandir, but once again this was not implemented in practice. In a cycle of repetition that leads to the same outcome, the Panjab Assembly entered the fray in 2019, “urging” the SGPC to allow women to perform at the Golden Temple. Even though the changes in performance practice of kirtan in terms of classicization (using traditional instruments and raags from the Adi Granth) have been accepted, the existing male-­dominated structures are unmoving when it comes to this issue. The transformation of kirtan from an open form with musicians from all backgrounds being allowed to play to one that solely allows amritdharis to perform reaches its limit on the question of gender. Indeed, it is women’s practices that were seen as heteropraxy by Singh Sabha reformers in the early part of the twentieth century (Malhotra 2004) and thus orthodoxy in kirtan as reflected in the Rahit Maryada, is maintained by securing the boundary between men and women in the twenty-first century.

Conclusion This chapter has examined how the Golden Temple/Harmandir Sahib shows processes of incorporation and adaptation evident in the evolution of ritual practice amidst institutionalizing processes. In doing so, we have

166  Navtej K. Purewal and Virinder Kalra argued that the popular dimensions of devotional practices point to ongoing negotiations and interactions of heteropraxy which challenge the singularity of orthodoxy with which such iconic sites are most commonly associated. The currency of distinct, often polarized, religious boundaries has been increasingly questioned by the recognition of the multiple nature of practice and identification (King 1999). Acts and practices of spirituality which cross formal religious boundaries can be seen across northwest South Asia in common idioms and practices at gurdwaras, shrines, mandirs, the tombs of saints and other spiritual sites. Matha tekna (paying respect by literally touching the forehead to the ground), darshan (paying a visit to the spiritual site), and mannat (making a wish or requesting a blessing) are a few examples of common ritual practices of devotion which are not exclusive or bounded by religious categorization. Water and trees in these sites play an extraordinarily important role in healing and votive practice. These practices have often become the target for reformist groups wishing to assert modern, singular religious identities. In the Sikh case, this debate has found its way into academic debate and to a large extent led to an intellectual stalemate within Sikh studies. By looking at existing ritual practice at the iconic centre of Sikhism, the Golden Temple, we have attempted to indicate a way out of this impasse. It is clear that the SGPC are engaged in a process of incorporating rituals at various sites through the installation of the Adi Granth or a re-­narrativization into a Guru-centred history. These are acts of accommodation and incorporation rather than of conflict. For example, where overt obeisance is present, such as at Dukhbhanjani Berhi, flocked to by worshippers for its healing properties, and Baba Budda Berhi, popular amongst devotees for protection and blessings, a vigilant approach by the Golden Temple management is taken to regulate rituals of veneration while also permitting them through institutionalized mediation. These are not examples of conflict but rather of a slow process of institutionalization of popular ritual. It is also important to note that the SGPC only manages a small proportion of gurdwaras in India. In other historic sites such as Hazoor Sahib in Nanded, Maharashtra, specific rituals associated with the site have continued unabated. At Nankana Sahib and Panja Sahib in Pakistan, the PGPC (Pakistan Gurdwara Prabandhak Committee) nominally presides over some of the historic gurdwaras in Pakistan. The trees in these complexes continue to be used by women to make mannats (offerings in order to fulfil wishes) to become pregnant, not least to obtain particular blessings for male offspring. Panja Sahib also holds mystical significance for having healing and protection for the folklore associated with Guru Nanak’s miraculous act of blocking a boulder thrown at him by a jealous pir with his hand. The boulder with the hand imprint is on one side of the gurdwara housing the Adi Granth. Placing one’s own hand on the boulder is considered especially auspicious. This practice still continues but remains outside the domain of the institutionalizing practices of the SGPC due to

Adaptation and Incorporation in Ritual Practices  167 their lack of access to these sites. Ritual practices at the Harmandir Sahib, by contrast, have been transformed since the Singh Sabha social reform movement began in the 1920s and then after the partition of India and Pakistan in 1947 and highlight a long-term process of assertion, adaptation and incorporation. Institutional controls of devotional practices at the Golden Temple have not resulted in an erasure of popular practices but instead show the evolving nature of the management and sustenance of popular ritual practices, even at the most iconic of all Sikh spiritual sites.

Acknowledgements The research for this article was funded by the ESRC-AHRC Religion and Society programme on a project entitled Gender, Caste and the Practices of Religious Identities. The authors wish to thank Professor (retired) Ursula Sharma for her invaluable insights into the overall project and the conceptualizations of religious practice in the region that have come out of it.

Notes 1 This chapter was originally published as an article and permission to reprint an edited version of the title: Adaptation and Incorporation in Ritual Practices at the Golden Temple, Amritsar (Navtej K. Purewal and Virinder S. Kalra) Journal of Ritual Studies, 30.1 (2016) has been granted by the Co-Editors of Journal of Ritual Studies, Prof. Pamela J. Stewart-Strathern and Prof. Andrew Strathern. 2 We understand the tensions around the term orthodoxy. For the purposes of this chapter, here, we use the term to indicate ‘official practice’ which we position in dichotomous relationship to heteropraxy (‘diverse, multiple, informal and unofficial’). Orthodoxy is thus not an ideological term but one which relates to official sanction, such as by the Singh Sabha reformers and subsequently the Rahit Maryada as endorsed by the Shiromani Gurdwara Prabhandak Committee (SGPC). 3 See Karamjit Malhotra (2007) for an examination of the eighteenth-century period immediately after the death of the last living Guru Gobind Singh when Sikh rituals and practice became more clearly specified through the creation of “a new bounded identity” in the Rahitnama which framed “Sikh” within a Khalsa identity, pp. 179–182. 4 Gurdwaras in other parts of India, Pakistan and the diaspora do not come under the formal remit of the SGPC, though generally follow the Sikh Rahit Maryada and the authority of the Akal Takht (which is under tacit control of the SGPC) but this is often contested. 5 A detailed analysis of the rituals surrounding the Adi Granth at the Golden Temple would also reveal a range of shifting customs that connect to older shrine practices, such as the blessing of flowers thrown and the singing of eulogies (savaiyyan) about the Gurus. 6 It is ironical that while sevadar literally means one engaged in self-less service, in the context of the institutionalisation process it has now come to mean a paid employee. In a contemporary interview, one devotee complained that ‘at least with the mahants only they and their families ate from the offerings, now with the SGPC there are hundreds of employees stealing from the takings (golak)’.

168  Navtej K. Purewal and Virinder Kalra 7 See the double issue of Sikh Formations (2011) in which none of the articles devoted to kirtan mention the on-going exclusion of women and this particular struggle, whilst the issue of correct musical form is tediously discussed.

References Assayag, Jackie (2004) At the Confluence of Two Rivers: Hindus and Muslims in South India, Manohar: New Delhi. Barth, Fredrik (1994) “Enduring and Emerging Issues in the Analysis of Ethnicity,” in The Anthropology of Ethnicity: Beyond Ethnic Groups and Boundaries, edited by Hans Vermeulen and Cora Govers. Amsterdam: Het Spinhuis. Fenech, Louis E. (2008) The Darbar of the Sikh Gurus: The Court of God in the World of Men, Oxford University Press: New Delhi. Fitzgerald, Timothy (2000) The Ideology of Religious Studies, Oxford University Press: Oxford. Gottschalk, Peter (2000) Between Muslim and Hindu: Multiple Identity Narratives in Village India. New York: Oxford University Press. Grewal, Jagtar Singh (2008) The City of the Golden Temple, Guru Nanak Dev University: Amritsar. Juergensmeyer, Mark (1982) Religious Rebels in the Panjab: The Social Vision of Untouchables, University of California Press: Berkeley. Kaur, Madanjit (1983) The Golden Temple: Past and Present, Amritsar: Guru Nanak Dev University Press. Kalra, Virinder (2014a) Sacred and Secular Musics: A Postcolonial Approach, Bloomsbury: London. Kalra, Virinder (2014b) “Secular and Religious (Miri/Piri) Domains in Sikhism: Frames for Sikh Politics,” in P. Singh and L. Fenech (eds.) Oxford Handbook of Sikh Studies, Oxford University Press: New York. Kalra, Virinder and Purewal, Navtej (2019) Beyond Religion in India and Pakistan: Gender and Caste, Borders and Boundaries, Bloomsbury: London. King, Richard (1999) Orientalism and Religion: Post-Colonial Theory, India and the “Mystic East”, Routledge: London. Oberoi, Harjot (1994) The Construction of Religious Boundaries: Culture, Identity and Diversity in the Sikh Tradition. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Oberoi, Harjot (1992) “Popular Saints, Goddesses, and Village Sacred Sites: Rereading Sikh Experience in the Nineteenth Century,” History of Religions, Vol. 31, No. 4, pp. 363–384. Malhotra, Anshu (2004) Gender, Class and Religious Identities: Restructuring Class in Colonial Panjab, Oxford University Press: New Delhi. Malhotra, Kamaljit (2007) “Contemporary Evidence on Sikh Rites and Rituals in the Eighteenth Century,” Journal of Panjab Studies, Vol. 16, No. 2, p. 179. Mandair, Arvind-pal S. (2009) Religion and the Specter of the West: Sikhism, India, Postcoloniality and the Politics of Translation, Columbia University Press: New York. McLeod, William Hew (1975) The Evolution of the Sikh Community, Oxford University Press: New Delhi. McLeod, William Hew (2004) Discovering the Sikhs: Autobiography of a Historian, Permanent Black: New Delhi.

Adaptation and Incorporation in Ritual Practices  169 Mir, Farina (2006) “Genre and Devotion in Panjabi Popular Narratives: Rethinking Cultural and Religious Syncretism,” Comparative Studies in Society and History, Vol. 48, pp. 727–758. Mir, Farina (2010) The Social Space of Language: Vernacular Culture in British Colonial Punjab, University of California Press: California. Murphy, Anne (2012) The Materiality of the Past: History and Representation in Sikh Tradition, Oxford University Press. Purewal, Navtej K. and Harjinder S. Lallie (2013) “Sikh kirtan in the Diaspora: Identity, Innovation and Revivalism,” in Michael Hawley (ed.) The Sikh Diaspora: Theory, Agency and Experience. Leiden: Brill Publishers. Purewal, Navtej K. (2011) “Sikh/Muslim Bhai-Bhai?: Towards a Social History of the Rabābī Tradition of kirtan,” Sikh Formations, Vol. 7, No. 3, December, pp. 365–382. Shiromani Gurdwara Prabhandak Committee (1925) Sikh Rahit Maryada (The Code of Sikh Conduct and Conventions), Chapter X, Article XVI, http://sgpc. net/Rahit_maryada/section_four.html Sikand, Yoginder (2004) Sacred Spaces: Exploring Traditions of Shared Faith in India, Penguin Global. Singh, Kirpal (2000) Sri Harmandir Sahib Sunheri Itihaas. SGPC: Amritsar. Singh, Pashaura (2000) The Guru Granth Sahib: Canon, Meaning and Authority. Oxford University Press: Delhi. Singh, Pashaura (2006) Life and Work of Guru Arjan. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Talbot, Ian (2006) Divided Cities: Partition and Its Aftermath in Lahore and Amritsar, 1947–1957. Oxford University Press: Karachi.

8 Lived Experiences in the Sikh Diaspora Diversities, Differentiation, Gender Narratives and Challenges to Tradition Shinder S. Thandi Introduction The two million-strong Panjabi Sikh diaspora, now predominantly settled in countries of the west, emerged over several migration waves from Panjab during the past 150 years (Thandi, 2017). As a diaspora, far from being homogeneous, it exhibits all the diversity and heterogeneity prevailing in Panjab today. Thus, different periods of migration, settlement and re-settlement, economic and political status, class, caste, gender, religious traditions and locality define the heterogeneity within the Sikh Panjabi diaspora. In fact, it may be more accurate to state that there are many Sikh diasporas with their own specificities in terms of formations, struggles, achievements, subjectivities and sensibilities. This heterogeneity and diversity generates inter-generational and intra-generational challenges, family break-ups due to tradition-bound patriarchal practices and impassioned discourses on the meaning of home, belonging, gender relations, religious and cultural identities. Needless to say, there are emergent tensions over the nature of tradition to be transmitted, interpreted and re-invented, leading to considerable diversity in the lived experience and practices of diasporan Sikhs. This chapter explores several such issues and tensions which have risen to the fore in recent years, especially those most evident in community discourses: the changing roles of Sikh women within the household, community and workplace domains, impacts of education, social integration, caste identities and social mobility, challenges posed by inter and intra-­generational tensions and increased incidence of domestic violence and continuing abuse in transnational marriages. After this introduction, the chapter is divided into four further sections. The second provides an overview of the context and salient features in the formation of the Sikh diaspora. The third discusses settlement patterns, evolution in family life, continuities and discontinuities in tradition and emergent diversities and challenges. The fourth section analyses prevailing views on caste and gender-focused discourses in largely diaspora contexts and the fifth and final section pulls together the main arguments of the chapter and offers some tentative conclusions.

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DOI: 10.4324/9781003281849-11

Lived Experiences in the Sikh Diaspora  171

The Makings of a Diverse Sikh Diaspora Panjabis have historically demonstrated considerable mobility as they sojourned or settled away from their homes, taking advantage of the new opportunity structures which became available during different historical periods. Even before the arrival of the British, often viewed as the period ushering in modernity and overseas migration, Sikh Panjabis were already scattered over a very wide geographical area, in fact, wherever trading opportunities or historical religious places and pilgrimages took them. Nevertheless, the modern period of migration, especially in terms of scale and scope, whether internal or external, is conveniently dated to the arrival of the British and has continued unabated in the post-colonial period (Tatla, 1999; Thandi, 2017). Currently, the Sikh diaspora is estimated at around 2 million, that is, around 8% of the total Indian diaspora currently estimated at 25 million and is geographically dispersed in over 75 countries in Southeast and East Asia, Australasia, Africa, Europe and North America, although the latter two regions, due to new twice or thrice migration, accounts for 75–80% of it (Thandi, 2017). This geographical spread started around the middle of the nineteenth century and reflected both changing socio-economic conditions in Panjab, for example, sub-division of already small family landholdings; rising farmer debt; frequent famines and regular recurrence of plagues which pushed Sikhs and other Panjabis to move out of Panjab and the changing structure of employment opportunities abroad associated with more vigorous British military recruitment policies (Majumdar, 2003; Kaur, 2020). Sikh migration is largely voluntary, economic, adventure-­ seeking and opportunistic, and begins during the final quarter of the nineteenth century. It reflected the strategic importance of Panjab within the context of an expanding British Empire towards Southeast Asia and hence growing policing requirements. Panjab’s strategic importance manifested itself in substantial public investments in transportation infrastructure (especially road and railways) and agriculture, especially through establishment of the Canal Colonies to boost agricultural production and exports and in increased military recruitment from Panjab to police the expanding empire (Mazumdar, 2003; Tan, 2005; Kaur, 2011). Panjab figured heavily in Indian army recruitment and by the beginning of the twentieth century, Sikh and Panjabi Hindus together comprised 26%. Jat Sikhs, a particularly favoured “martial” sub-group from the landed caste, alone comprised 15% of the total (Omissi, 1998, p. 20). The majority of the earliest migrants from Panjab who went to Burma, Malaysia, Hong Kong, Fiji, Australia and Canada were Sikh Jats from the rural areas and most of them went abroad either through military postings, police service or in some other security-related operations (Thandi, 2009; Kaur, 2011). The first quarter of the twentieth century saw further expansion of this migration to East African countries of Uganda, Tanzania

172  Shinder S. Thandi and Kenya with many initially recruited to build railroads and others subsequently taking advantage of the new trade, professional and commercial opportunities which British rule created. The East African connection broadened the socio-economic background of Panjabi migrants, especially for the Ramgharia community which was better positioned to supply the kind of skilled labour required in the earlier phase of migration (Mangat, 1969; Kaur, 2020). Having been exposed to wider horizons through the imperial connection, the number of Sikh passenger migrants seeking opportunities or adventure abroad expanded rapidly, especially to the Pacific coast of North America, and to Australia and New Zealand (Ballantyne, 2006). However, unlike earlier “managed” migrations associated with Empire duties, much of this independent migration occurred largely out of the central (Doaba) districts of Panjab and was not necessarily associated with the “martial races” army recruitment policy (Omissi, 1998; Tan, 2005). By the 1920s a series of restrictive immigration policies, especially in North America and Australasia limited the further expansion of Sikh migration. However, as favourable conditions re-emerged in the post-colonial period, the Doaba region of Panjab again re-established itself as the dominant sub-region for sending migrants abroad. Thus the mass movements of the 1950s and 1960s to UK and from the mid-1960s to USA and Canada, to the Gulf States in the 1980s and the more recent movements during the 1990s to newer locations such as Germany, Greece, Italy and Spain in southern Europe, mainly have their roots in the central Doaba districts (Thandi, 2012). With growing awareness of the relative success of overseas Doaba Sikhs, overseas migration from the Malwa and Majha districts also increased over time. It is important to underscore that new employment opportunities in the post-independent decades opened up new horizons for different categories of Panjabi migrants. For instance, from the late 1970s, the Gulf States became an important migration destination for various Panjabi Dalit and artisan groups as well as other previously under-represented sections of Panjabi society. In summarizing the historical migration experience of Sikhs, there are four important features to note. Firstly, over time, almost all districts of Panjab developed a dynamic migration culture, although Doaba migrants still constitute the largest category amongst the Sikh diaspora. Secondly, Panjabis of all socio-economic backgrounds and castes and sub-castes are represented abroad. In fact, the “Little Panjabs” that are transplanted abroad very much emulate the socio-religious and political landscape of the homeland of Panjab. Thus, just as we have different types of religious traditions and sectarian groupings within or at margins of Sikhism represented abroad – for example, Udasis, Nirankaris, Nanaksarias and numerous Sants – there are also different categories of Panjabi Hindu and Dalit groups visible as well. This diversity is clearly demonstrated in numerous caste, religious and political organizations, mobilizations, representations and political and literary expressions within the Panjabi diaspora. Thirdly, irrespective of the length of settlement, Sikhs in all diaspora locations, albeit

Lived Experiences in the Sikh Diaspora  173 in varying degrees, maintain circular, multiple and multi-layered linkages with their ancestral homeland of Panjab. Fourthly, an important dimension largely ignored or glossed over in Panjabi migration narratives, is that the gender of pioneer communities was almost exclusively male. How do we explain this gender bias? This pattern, of course, conforms to the conventional case observed in most migration histories, especially as these young male migrants initially saw themselves as sojourners rather than settlers, hoping to make a quick “paisa” and return, which scholars have termed as the “myth of return”. But an important factor at play may have been the strict immigration rules, apparent in many instances, which did not permit pioneer migrants to ask their wives and children to join them. Although it is difficult to generalize for all earlier migrants, certainly migrations of pioneer Sikhs to the Pacific coasts of Canada and USA and to the UK predominantly involved males. Thus, even by the end of the second decade of the twentieth century after some 50 years of migration history, the number of Sikh female migrants in both Canada and USA was probably no more than a dozen in each country. This dimension of Sikh migration becomes abundantly clear when one glances at photographs of pioneer migrants, which dramatically show, with one or two exceptions, female migrants as simply missing or “invisible”. This is also reflected in the gender of passengers aboard the ship Komagata Maru who were predominantly male. Of course, some of these pioneer migrants did return to their families in Panjab, some were even able to re-unite with their families, whilst some married local women, as in California (Leonard, 1994). In the UK case, the passing of the 1962 Commonwealth Immigrants Act forced many male migrants to decide to settle permanently in the UK and bring their families to join them fearing that the new restrictions would make it difficult later. Although it is difficult to be conclusive, especially given limited ethnographic research, the widespread absence of women and settled family life in new environments had implications for the social and cultural dynamics of early Sikh communities: the functioning of all-male households and multiple occupancy; restricted inter-group and gender relations and limited participation in and integration with host society. It is also worth emphasizing that most early migrants were departing from a largely homogeneous ethnic and cultural setting (that is, rural, Panjabi and Indian) to urban, multi-ethnic, multi-cultural and multi-religious, often hostile, environments, each with their own nuances and complexities. So it is the first time Sikhs are interacting and competing with “strangers” away from their homeland, whether they are Malays, Kenyan, Chinese, Japanese and Maoris or White Europeans etc.

Settling and Making Family Life Abroad As already intimated above, development of normal family life abroad was distorted by immigration rules and to some extent by the geographical

174  Shinder S. Thandi distance from Panjab. Family reunions were less costly and legally easier in the Southeast Asian region than in the UK, in Australasia or Pacific coasts of North America. In any case, by the end of the second decade of the twentieth century, USA and the white settler countries of Canada, Australia and New Zealand – the latter two decreeing “White Only” policies – had passed legislation to restrict or ban all Indian migration and this of course disproportionately affected Panjabi Sikhs. However, fragmentary evidence suggests Sikh migration still continued in some clandestine ways, allowing communities to slowly grow. British borders still remained open but migration during this period was limited to students belonging to wealthy Indian elites, to members of royalty and to adventurous groups who, due to their fearlessness and ingenuity managed to land in port cities. A good example of this were members of the Bhatra community in the UK, who after landing in port cities made their living by “peddling” small household goods from house to house. The situation begins to change somewhat by the time of Indian independence. In the UK, economic devastation caused by WW2 led to increase in demand for unskilled labour which many young Panjabis willingly supplied from the early 1950s and they also reunited with their families a decade or so later. In the USA and Canada Immigration Acts in 1965 and 1967 respectively began the process of mass migration and subsequent family re-unions. Thus, for the majority of overseas Panjabi Sikhs, normal family life really began from the mid-1960s to early 1970s or even later in some cases. Thereafter, with natural growth in population, fresh migration and family re-unions, there emerged a sizable diaspora-born second or third generations and communities began to flourish in all spheres of life – in employment and self-employment and business, in education and health sectors, access to better quality housing and enjoying a relatively comfortable lifestyle, albeit at different levels depending on the length of settlement. Growing Socio-economic Differentiation As we would expect within any diaspora community, diasporic lived experiences can take very different trajectories – some following a successful path and others less so. Thus, Sikhs who migrated in the early post-­colonial phase, especially if they happened to be educated economic migrants, were able to consolidate income security and family life fairly quickly, and achieve upward social mobility: their children, whether arriving as child-­migrants or diaspora-born, became university-educated graduates, were able to access employment in well-paid professions, afford more desirable suburban housing and become more integrated with their host land communities without losing the essence of their own cultural and religious identity. On the other hand, those Sikh families that migrated later, particularly where the majority of them were unskilled, uneducated and hailed largely from villages, struggled to make a living and continue to be marginalized in many

Lived Experiences in the Sikh Diaspora  175 places even today. Undoubtedly some second or third-generation diaspora-­ born Sikhs were able to “break-out” by using education as a strategic vehicle and move up the ladder but they remain a minority, especially in countries with more recent settlements such as Italy and Spain (Thandi, 2018). Thus, we can conclude, at the risk of some generalization, although all Sikhs have experienced an increase in absolute standards of living, socio-­economic diversities within Sikh communities have increased over time. Length of settlement, level of education and access to well-paid jobs remain crucial factors facilitating and perpetuating socio-economic diversities. Family Life, Gender Identities and Violence Traditional Panjabi family life and gender dynamics, still evident in contemporary Panjab villages, have been transplanted amongst first-­generation overseas migrant households. The strong patriarchal family structure meant that there was a clear division regarding household chores with many women staying home as homemakers and nurturers of tradition, and men assuming the role of “bread-winners”. Son preference, a strong patriarchal practice still relevant in the diaspora today, implied that the male child had priority over choices whether relating to lifestyle or education (Purewal, 2016). In fact, as girls were perceived as “begana dhan” or “prayi amanat” (someone else’s wealth) and “socialized” as such, many parents did not desire or expect their daughters to study beyond the mandated school years. Parents fulfilled their obligation by marrying off their daughters as soon as was practical, always in fear of the daughter bringing dishonour (behzti) or harming honour (izzat) of the family. Amrit Wilson, one of the earliest champions of Sikh women’s rights in Britain, writing in 1978 stated …..izzat can… be translated as honour, self-respect and sometimes plain male ego. It is a quality basic to the emotional life of a Panjabi. It is essentially male but it is women’s lives and actions which affect it most. A woman can have izzat but it is not her own – it is her brother’s or father’s. Her izzat is a reflection of the male pride of the family as a whole. (Wilson, 1978) Izzat figures heavily in gendered discourses around growing number of inter-­caste and inter-racial marriages, sexual orientation and as recent concerns in Britain strongly suggest, sexual grooming of young Sikh girls by largely Muslim men as well as allegations of “forced conversions” to Islam (BBC, 2013; Sian, 2015). As most of the marriages were arranged, an important aspiration was to find a suitable groom or bride for their child through their kinship network within their country of residence, or, especially if immigration rules allowed, import from Panjab. Generally, boys tended to have more leverage

176  Shinder S. Thandi over decisions about whom to marry compared with girls. Thus, there was a constant inflow of newly-wed spouses, the relative proportion of brides or grooms dependent on immigration rules, and these practices reinforced traditional patriarchal norms, values and behaviours within many families. It is noteworthy that Sikhism, as a modern, egalitarian and progressive religion, places great importance on equality – both in terms of caste and g­ ender – and yet Panjabis in general and Sikhs in particular have not been able to fully escape the powerful hold of patriarchy over gender and social relations. Part of the reason may be, despite Nanak rejecting gender discrimination in matters of spiritual and religious practices, he did not question patriarchal relations as they operated within the household (Grewal, 1969). Over time these earlier traditional attitudes did weaken and transform as values of modernity began to permeate into Sikh migrant consciousness. For example, more and more women were able to join the labour market and there was a change in attitudes towards equal treatment of boys and girls, and greater sharing of household chores and responsibilities. Even in matters of marriage, children were now beginning to have greater freedom and choice over partner selection, giving rise to the growing phenomenon of “assisted”, “negotiated” and “love” marriages. In many families, the notion of “extended family living” gave way to a tolerance of nuclear families, especially as diaspora-born children rejected “communal living” which they perceived as impinging upon their individual freedom and private space. Embracing modernity also raised other aspirations: a strong desire for university education as a vehicle to enter the professions, living in more desirable and less ethnically segregated suburban neighbourhoods, developing a middle-class lifestyle and moving away from a position where a summer holiday was always a regular trip to the ancestral village in Panjab. However, as we have witnessed in many Sikh diaspora locations as well as among different Indian diaspora communities, the grasp of patriarchal power structures is not easily dislodged and can, in fact, persist from generation to generation until a new generation begins to question them more critically and directly (Nayar, 2004). The recent popularity of bhangra music and revival of Panjabi films which overwhelmingly celebrate different attributes of Sikh masculinities, further perpetuates patriarchal practices. Diaspora literature, for example, Shauna Singh Baldwin’s English Lessons and Other Stories (1999) also highlights notions of religio-cultural masculinity dominant in Sikh families (Chanda and Ford, 2010). The challenges to these often manifest themselves in intra- and inter-generational family tensions and encounters that can, at least superficially, be identified as conflicts between tradition and modernity and religious versus cultural identities, leading to much heartache for the families involved. One issue which has received considerable attention in the UK, especially in the context of South Asian Muslim women, but which also affects Sikh Panjabi women is that of “forced marriages” of diaspora-born children, especially girls who are still in their mid-teens. Despite many years

Lived Experiences in the Sikh Diaspora  177 of diaspora settlement and living, there are still many parents who want their daughters to be married through a traditional arranged marriage. This partly reflects their desire to uphold tradition but partly because it also gives them control over selection over prospective in-laws, important for extending kinship relations. According to British government statistics, anything from 8,000 to 10,000 British girls (of South Asian descent) are being “forced” into a marriage each year. A seminar organized in association with the British High Commission in Jalandhar in December 2015 on “Prevention of Forced Marriages to British Nationals” reported that the practice was still rampant in Panjab with over 1,200 potential cases a year despite forced marriage being outlawed in the UK a year earlier (The Tribune, 2015). Where a daughter does not agree to an arranged marriage there may be consequences for her, which may involve threats, physical abuse, emotional and psychological violence designed to make the daughter feel as if she is betraying the family and bringing it dishonour and shame. It is not surprising that under such pressure, many girls run away from home. One well-known example is that of Jasvinder Sanghera, who in light of her own and that of her sister’s experiences has become a champion against forced marriages and other honour-based violence in the UK. Sanghera’s family, especially her mother, despite being a devout Sikh and with a lengthy residency in Britain, tried to force her into an arranged marriage in India as she had previously done for Sanghera’s two elder sisters. Jasvinder Sanghera’s objections led to her being withdrawn from school and imprisonment in her bedroom whilst marriage arrangements continued. With flights booked and family members ready to leave, Sanghera managed to escape from home to stay with her boyfriend. Not surprisingly, she was “disowned” by the family for bringing shame. Reflecting on her experience, she says My family said I could come home if I did what they said and went through with the marriage – or from that day forward I was dead in their eyes. This is one of the reasons I feel so strongly about criminalizing forced marriage; I was the victim but I was made to feel as if I’d done something wrong. (Express and Star, 2015) Several years later, one of her married sisters, unable to escape an abusive marriage, committed suicide. This was the final straw which gave Sanghera a strong desire to set up a charity named Karma Nirvana, which offers support and campaign actively against forced marriages. Over the years she has not only penned books on her own and other women’s experiences (Shame and Daughters of Shame) she has also worked with various councils and government agencies to raise awareness, set-up her own website (https://karmanirvana.org.uk/) and helped in setting up a specialist Forced Marriage Unit jointly with the Home and Foreign Office. She was also

178  Shinder S. Thandi instrumental in the drafting of new legislation in 2014 – Anti-social Behaviour, Crime and Policing Act – which declared forced marriages unlawful and a criminal offence. Unfortunately, although this legislation may act as a deterrent, it is unlikely to stop forced marriages altogether as parents may use more ingenious methods to make them happen. Finally, a more extreme form of gender violence – “honour killings” – are not unknown within the Sikh community whether in Panjab or in the diaspora. There have been several cases where the killing was either undertaken by family members or arranged as contract killing in Panjab. An example of the latter type of case occurred in Coventry where a mother of two, Surjit Athwal, was allegedly murdered through a contract killing arranged by her husband and mother-in-law after being taken to Panjab under some pretext in 1998. She went through an arranged marriage when only 16 years old but appeared unhappy in her marriage and was keen to get a divorce. In a landmark case at the Old Bailey in 2007 both son and mother were convicted and jailed for life for an outsourced honour killing. Another case from Canada, still waiting for closure in Indian courts since 2000, was the honour killing of 25-year old Jaswinder Sidhu (Jassi) who was apparently murdered by members of her own family whilst on holiday in India because she fell in love with a young rickshaw driver from a lowly caste background. An interesting twist in this case occurred in 2016 when a Canadian court disallowed the extradition of the main accused, Jassi’s mother and her brother, because, as their lawyer rather bizarrely but successfully argued, they would not get a fair trial in India and because of India’s poor human rights record (The Tribune, 2016). However, in January 2019 the Canadian police were able to hand over Jassi’s mother and her maternal uncle to the Panjab police and the trial continues (Sharma, 2021). This case clearly demonstrates that international treaties and laws, when applied to NRI issues, leave a lot to be desired given their ambiguities and complexities when put to a legal test and this allows such transnational abuses to continue unabated. Transplanting Caste and Caste Relations Indian Diaspora literature is replete with examples of how caste has transplanted itself in places of settlement. This in itself is not surprising as migration involves travelling bodies as well as their cultural baggage but it took a while for academics to fully recognize its significance among Sikh Panjabi communities. The earlier discourse related to social tensions in gurdwaras among Jat (agricultural caste) and Ramgarhia (artisan castes) Sikhs where the latter alleged that Jat Sikhs were discriminating against them in terms of their aspirations to be elected or nominated to management committees and be treated as equal members of the sangat as per the core Sikh value of one-ness of humankind and egalitarianism. This tension was apparently first noticed among Sikhs settled in East African countries which lead to

Lived Experiences in the Sikh Diaspora  179 the creation of Ramgarhia Sabhas which established and ran their gurdwaras separately from the Jat-dominated gurdwaras (Kalsi, 1989). In reality, the history of these tensions in all likelihood go back to consolidation of Ramgarhia identity beginning with the Ramgarhia misl (confederacy), led by Jassa Singh Ramgarhia in the eighteenth century and the empowering impacts of urbanization and modernization during the British and post-­colonial periods. The latter allowed artisanal occupational groups to breakout of the village-level jajmani system which was dominated by the landed Jats (Sabherwal, 1976). Nowadays both communities are at ease with each other, having their own gurdwaras and institutions and working together for increasing the welfare of the Sikh panth. The contemporary caste-related issues appear to have shifted towards Jat-Chamar or Chuhra tensions, with the latter belonging to communities that are historically largely associated with leather or sweeping occupations which placed them at the lower end of social hierarchies (Juergensmeyer, 1989). In fact, it is primarily these tensions that generated a heated debate in both the British Parliament and among the three main religious organizations of Hindus, Sikhs and Ravidassia/Valmikis, the latter collectively known as Dalits, relating to the need for legislation to combat caste-based discrimination. There was plenty of anecdotal evidence of caste-based discrimination amongst the Panjabi community but no systematic evidence which could give us an idea about its magnitude or the contexts in which it occurred (Takhar, 2017). Moreover, some employment tribunal rulings and legal judgements indicate that this has remained an under-researched area. Many Hindu and Sikh organizations, the latter emphasizing the egalitarian beliefs of their faith, were largely in a state of denial. Various Dalit organizations, empowered by their rising socio-economic status, growing awareness of their electoral power in marginal parliamentary seats, emergence of new leadership well versed in UK discourses in equality and human rights law, began to publicly highlight incidents of caste-based bullying, humiliation and discrimination in schools, in workplaces and places of worship and the need for including caste “as an aspect of the protected characteristic of race” alongside other legislation already existing against other forms of discrimination (such as race, religion, sexual orientation, disability etc). The passing of the new Equality Act 2010 provided an opportunity. This development was also in line with the global Dalit community’s attempt to raise caste as a pernicious form of racism at the Durban meet of the UN Committee on Elimination of Racial Discrimination in 2002 despite strong opposition from the Indian government. (Pinto, 2002). In April 2013, the Enterprise and Regulatory Reform Act was enacted and Section 97 of this Act required the government to introduce a statutory prohibition of caste discrimination into British equality law by making caste “as an aspect of the protected characteristic of race” as discussed above. The UK government, under intense pressure from different lobby groups, continued to dither on the issue of inclusion and eventually decided to set up a review

180  Shinder S. Thandi and consultation on Caste in Britain under the auspicious of the Equality and Human Rights Commission (EHRC) in 2013 The EHRC in turn commissioned a team of academics drawn from different UK universities to conduct an independent research on two aspects of caste in Britain: a review of existing socio-legal research on British equality law and caste and to hold two supporting events engaging the experts and relevant stakeholders. As a result of this exercise two reports were produced in 2014 (Dhanda and Mosse et al., 2014; Dhanda and Waughray et al., 2014; Takhar, 2017). Dhanda also subsequently published an article in Economic and Political Weekly which summarized the debate and her experience of co-leading the project (Dhanda, 2017). In concluding this discussion, it is very unlikely, whether caste-based discrimination is enshrined in law or not, that it will disappear altogether, just as racial discrimination laws have not eradicated racism in society. It is not easy for laws to eradicate the role of historical factors and personal prejudices and given the complexity in proving legal cases, especially when they become politicized in community discourses, it becomes even more difficult to adjudicate and generate conditions that lead to greater community cohesion. At best they may act as a deterrence by changing attitudes. As long as Panjabis or Indian communities in general live in deprived and congested shared spaces with some also working alongside each other in low-paid Asian-dominated and owned businesses, caste tensions will remain. It may take several more generations and living in less segregated places that may eventually make a difference. In the following section, I focus on some further dimensions of the challenges facing Sikh migrant communities especially as they relate to migrant women’s experiences and the emerging diversities in these experiences.

Dominant Narratives on Sikh Diaspora Women’s Experiences Applying a broad-brush approach, when examining Sikh Panjabi diaspora women’s experiences, one dominant, well-established and extensively researched narrative can be identified where diaspora women are perceived as victims of patriarchal norms. In this narrative, women are represented as being caught in a variety of unequal familial and social, economic and political situations which make them lead subjugated lives. These experiences usually start at the family household level and inevitably involve operation of rigid patriarchal and gendered power relations. These negative experiences can range from sexual violence, alcoholic or drug abuse resulting in intimate partner violence. The inevitable consequences of these are usually broken families and wrecked marriages where women disproportionately bear the burden as well as consequences. Extensive research in both UK and North America has documented these experiences and according to one source as many as 20 organizations were operating in the Bay Area in

Lived Experiences in the Sikh Diaspora  181 California alone, to offer refuge, rehabilitation, security and mediation to South Asian victims of domestic and other forms of abuse (Nankani, 2000; Rehal and Maguire, 2014). Whilst migrant women of all backgrounds and classes can get caught up in these forms of violence, recently migrated women, arriving as long married and separated wives or as new brides, tend to be disproportionately affected, given their greater degree of marginality and vulnerability being in a foreign land with limited family or community support networks. During the last decade two popular Bollywood films – Provoked (2006) and Heaven on Earth (2008) have also used domestic or spousal violence within the Sikh community as their backdrop. Based on true experiences of Chand Dhillon (Brampton, Ontario, Canada) and Kiranjit Ahluwalia (London, Britain) both films explore issues around traditional versus western values, how cultural and religious factors may legitimize domestic violence, different forms of abuse and difficulties in obtaining legal remedies and justice. Recent press reports in the UK have highlighted “hidden” levels of domestic violence and abuse of Sikh women who suffer in silence and hardly get discussed within community discourses or in mainstream media unless or until a particular tragic case hits the headlines. This happened in the UK earlier this year with the shocking killing of 43-year-old Ranjit Gill by her husband in their home near Luton. She had been stabbed 18 times and at the trial, it was revealed that her husband was physically and mentally abusive to her during their marriage. He was found guilty of murder and jailed for life (Tribune, 2021). This horrific event and many other cases of domestic abuses prompted Sikh Women’s Aid, one of the few frontline women’s help groups to undertake comprehensive research on the extent of domestic abuse among Sikh communities. Their findings, after four months of research, are quite alarming as they evidence existence of “toxic cultural practices” within the Sikh community and absence of culturally sensitive mainstream services which leaves women to suffer in silence. According to a press report in The Observer newspaper which had seen the soon-tobe-released research report, some 700 respondents replied to their survey and, rather shockingly, 70% (674) said they were survivors of domestic and sexual abuse (Waheed, 2021). They also found that nearly half were abused at home by more than one perpetrator, including women members of their families. Interestingly only a third of the respondents actually disclosed their abuse and one in seven had experienced sexual abuse as a child. Sahdaish Pall, one of the authors of the report is quoted as saying: Out of all the South Asian communities, Sikh women are the least likely to come forward about abuse. We come across as a very affluent, educated and giving community, and that reputation makes it very difficult for Sikh women to come forward…..there are issues specific to our culture, like the link between alcohol and domestic and sexual violence. We have a huge drinking culture among men, and the amounts

182  Shinder S. Thandi people consume exacerbate issues….there is also a lack of education around things like coercive control. The parental generation’s view is if you haven’t been beaten up, that’s not abuse. There’s often an intergenerational and toxic normalisation and acceptance of violence against women. (Ghosh, 2021) I will discuss some of the challenges emerging out of the recent discourse associated with increase in different forms of abuse in transnational marriages below. Outside the household domain, South Asian women, including Sikh women, are said to suffer from educational disadvantage which limits their chances of obtaining educational qualifications and training, blocking their access to better paid jobs. Relatively new migrant women, due to language, cultural and educational barriers, are inevitably forced to work in the low-paid, poorly-regulated and semi-informal sectors, often for owners who may themselves belong to the South Asian community. Some of these female-dominated sectors include clothing, garment and hosiery, beauty business and food preparation and packaging. It is not surprising; therefore, in some of these cases, there is evidence of resistance through strikes and other forms of direct action. A good recent example of this is the strike by largely Panjabi women at Gate Gourmet in West London in 2005. Gate Gourmet supplied airline meals for British Airways at Heathrow and in order to cut costs, British Airways decided to sack unionized labour in favour of new and younger non-unionized workers so that wages and working conditions could be lowered. Although many of the employees managed to get some redundancy compensation or were re-hired on inferior terms and conditions, a group of about 56 chose to fight redundancies for some considerable time but with mixed results. Interestingly the prolonged dispute demonstrated how Asian workers and community institutions such as gurdwaras can unite and work together for common aims (Muir, 2005). This strike, including some earlier ones which largely involved South Asian women workers, such as Grunwick, also shattered the stereotype of Asian women as timid, docile and domesticated (Anitha and Pearson, 2013). In the political domain and community affairs, women participation and representation remain limited due both to patriarchal pressures and lack of integration into local society. Most of the cultural, religious and political organizations such as the Indian Workers Associations, political parties of various shades and religious organizations remain dominated by men with little female involvement, especially at leadership levels. In the sports domain, Sikh women participation is even more conspicuous by its absence. In the wider society, opportunities to participate in local, regional and national elections are often discouraged and thus representation remains limited, with few notable exceptions. In many instances, the only opportunity to participate outside the home or work environment is a visit to the local

Lived Experiences in the Sikh Diaspora  183 gurdwara where a sense of community belonging can prevail, albeit temporarily. In fact, in many locations, women form strong self-support networks and meet regularly under protection offered by the sacred space of a gurdwara. All-women diwans and kirtan sessions and even female management of gurdwaras have become acceptable in recent years (Purewal, 2009). Transnational Marriages and Discourses of Abuse Transnational marriages within the Sikh community have a long history; the vast majority of them have been successful, creating balanced and resilient family-based communities abroad. More often than not, it was “new brides” migrating into diaspora locations who played an important role as nurturers, homemakers and critical bearers of the tradition. In many cases the new brides also introduced their sisters, cousins and friends who also migrated to their locality, creating strong self-support systems among them. However underlying contexts began to change which created a situation where the incidence and popularity of transnational marriages began to increase. The main reasons for this included stricter immigration controls in every advanced country which halted primary migration especially of single male migrants and the deteriorating economic and political situation in Panjab, generating an even greater desire to migrate. Given the gendered nature of immigration controls, an important strategy for migration abroad was through arranging the marriage of their female children abroad (Mooney, 2006). Thus, active seeking of “vilayati munday” (foreign-based boys) acted to further re-enforce the nexus between migration and marriage. This new context opened up possibilities of hurriedly arranged marriages, very limited checking of antecedents and compatibilities, increasing the probability of mismatches and potential for domestic abuse. The incidence of transnational marriages continued to increase over the 1990s and beyond. Evidence suggests that women ended up becoming the main “victims” in this changed situation although a small number of males have also been victims. Below I discuss some of the main forms of “bride abuse” as identified by academics, journalists, feminists, women’s groups, and other activists. These include increased abuse arising from “arrangement” of transnational marriages and subsequent marital experiences which have led to increased abuse and violence within married life and in many cases leading even to the extreme action of suicide by the abused. An important form of gender abuse which received considerable media interest was the NRI marriage scam where many Panjabi brides, whom the NRI Sikh Panjabi males married whilst on a holiday visit to Panjab, were left abused. In some such cases, the Sikh Panjabi NRI sent the relevant immigration papers enabling his new wife to join him in his country of residence but troubles for the new bride started soon after. In many other cases the Panjabi NRI promised to send legal papers sponsoring her after marriage, but no such papers arrived as he basically “deserted” her, forcing her

184  Shinder S. Thandi to return to her maternal home (Thandi, 2013). Many of these marriages ended in failure because the groom or groom’s family demanded extra dowry, had misrepresented his income or occupation or because of groom’s lack of interest in the marriage, sometimes due to his already married status or sexual orientation. Several hundred females and their parents were “duped,” largely by Canadian-based Panjabi NRIs, leading to an outcry by the media and some politicians. Although the issue is more complex than the simplified way it is being presented here, it became clear that women were the main victims, either because of abusive actions by the husband or her in-laws or because the bride’s own parents had ulterior motives in arranging the marriage where their daughter’s happiness was the last thing on their mind (Fortney, 2005; Thandi, 2013). The Indian government, after pressure from parents, women’s groups and the National Commission of Women was forced to bring in legislation and passed the Registration of Marriage of Non-Resident Indians Bill in early 2019 where all marriages involving NRIs had to be compulsorily registered within 30 days. Despite this legislation, however, this form of abuse has not been totally eliminated. According to press reports, complaints from deserted wives to the National Commission for Women’s NRI complaints cell rose to 750 by the end of 2018 (with a maximum of 95 from Panjab), rising from 528 in 2017 and 4689 in 2016 (Nair, 2019). Further, under new regulations, the Indian government has revoked 382 passports of deserting NRI grooms and 216 women had sought financial and legal assistance from the government’s overseas Indian Community Welfare Fund since 2015 (Tribune, 2021). The above are some examples of transnational marriages which terminated quite quickly, sometimes within a few months or years of the marriage, although the legal struggle to recover dowry, custody of children if any or other assets may continue for some time afterwards. The focus on this aspect alone, however, masks a set of other issues which recently migrated wives or newly-wed female migrants face in many diaspora locations. Evidence provided by women’s groups such as Southall Black Sisters in the UK, reports by governments and other voluntary associations suggest that there is significant incidence of domestic violence and abuse in such marriages. Patriarchal attitudes and cultural sensitivity, couched around concepts such as “honour” or “izzat” and “behzti” (shame), means that honour-based women abuse and violence remains a taboo subject within the community and remains “hidden”. Abused women themselves remain trapped, helpless and voiceless in exposing abuse and continue to put up with it until a boiling point is reached. It took an internal report of a London train company, trying to understand cause of delays on trains arriving at Paddington Station in West London, to fully expose the extent of the problem in some localities in the UK (Evening Standard, 2007). The unpublished report revealed that 80 out of the 240 rail suicides (that is, one-third) nationally in 2005 were on the track lines into Paddington, West London. These lines run through the towns of Slough and Southall,

Lived Experiences in the Sikh Diaspora  185 both having a large Sikh settlement. The Southall rail station, in particular, became a focal point in raising awareness about domestic violence and suicides among Sikh women. Subsequent investigations suggested that suicides by Sikh women were a regular occurrence and connected these to high levels of domestic abuse and violence prevalent among Southall’s large Sikh community. This issue raised national awareness in 2005 when 27-year-old Navjeet Sidhu, jumped in front of a Heathrow Express train at Southall, firmly clutching her five-year-old daughter and two-year-old son. All three were killed instantly and to make matters worse, some six months later, her mother, Satwant Kaur also killed herself at the same station. Although there appeared to be no suggestion that Navjeet Sidhu was abused, at the inquest it was revealed that “she felt she had failed in her duties as a Sikh woman to be a good mother and home-maker” (Owen and Wadeson, 2007). There have been several suicides since, with the Southall station getting the dreaded label, the “Suicide Station”, among the locals and forcing the rail authorities to provide more security fencing around the station (Honigsbaum and Barton, 2005; Suri, 2007). Although no detailed case studies exist on causes of Sikh women suicides, there is some evidence to suggest that many of the causes are related to parental attempts at forced marriage, harassment and violence associated with demands for more dowry, tolerance of abuse and violence by parents of the boy due to persistence of patriarchal norms, mismatches and incompatibilities in educational backgrounds where girls may have much higher education and qualifications, unfulfilled expectations from marriage and lack of understanding and support whether within the household or the community. As suicide rates for South Asian women (and men) in the UK are almost three times higher than the national average there is clearly a deep-seated cultural problem which requires more thorough research. Counter Narrative: Women’s Agency and Empowerment The counter-narrative to the above discussion, although still a minority discourse but with a significant potential for further development, emphasizes a positive migration and diasporic experience, enabling women empowerment and giving them agency. Empowerment and agency are generally understood as giving women command over resources, allowing them a high degree of freedom to pursue opportunities available and having real power to make strategic life choices, enabling them to act as agents of their own well-being. This empowerment and agency also has the potential to be transformative, leading to wider societal change which equalizes gender power relations. An important vehicle for achieving empowerment and agency is access to higher education and in the discussion below I use the example of UK to demonstrate this dimension. In the UK, widening participation policies, especially since the 1990s, have substantially increased access for Sikh students including females, to

186  Shinder S. Thandi universities and nowadays up to 90% of 18-year-olds enter undergraduate degree programmes (Thandi, 2018). Despite the lack of data on Sikh students specifically, anecdotal evidence strongly suggests that at school, Sikh female students out-perform their male counterpoints, in fact, mirroring the long-term trend in the UK as a whole where female students perform better than male students (Duncan et al., 2021). At university level too, there is evidence to suggest an increasing number of Sikh female students are studying for degrees that lead to professional careers, whether in business management, accountancy, finance and insurance, law or medicine and allied fields such as dentistry and optometry. In the medical profession, in particular, excellent school performance partly explains the rapid increase in females from minority ethnic backgrounds entering medical schools. In fact, Indian students, in general, are over-represented in medical schools – at 8% – relative to their percentage share in the UK population (at 4%) in 2011 (BMA, 2009: 64). As a result of access to higher education, a substantial pool of educated and skilled workers have emerged with the ability to do well in the labour market. If we consider all sectors of the economy together, the cumulative effect of this has been to enable Sikh women, especially millennials, to enter better paid and higher-status jobs, enlarging their opportunities and choices, including marital options (Thandi, 2018). The UK government’s ethnicity-based statistics confirms growing female empowerment in the labour market with Indian females, at 69%, closing the employment rate gap with White women at 74% during 2004–2009 (GOV.UK, 2021a). Turning to socioeconomic groups (and associated occupations) by ethnicity and gender, we get the following data for share of Indian females: Higher Managerial/Administrative/Professions – 13%; Lower Managerial/ Administrative/Professions – 22%; Intermediate Occupations – 14% and Skilled Employees and Own Account Workers – 7% (GOV.UK, 2021b). As one can see Indian females are well represented among higher socioeconomic groups especially given that Indians constituted only 2.5% of the population of England and Wales in 2011. In many cases, Indian women, and by inference Sikh women, are performing as well as or better than men in terms of occupational status, education levels and salaries. In the school teaching profession, for instance, there were only 1700 male teachers compared with 7200 female (GOV.UK, 2021c). However, more sectoral-level research is desperately required to capture the inter-generational upward occupational and social mobility amongst millennial Sikh women. As a caveat, discussion above has largely focused on Sikh female experiences in the UK and this will vary from those in other locations due to different settlement periods and opportunity structures but this just reinforces the point about further research. Another important development in many Sikh diaspora locations, especially among diaspora-born second or third-generation or millennial Sikh women, has been the increase in the number of Sikh female entrepreneurs who have started their own businesses or entered established professions.

Lived Experiences in the Sikh Diaspora  187 This development, taken in all its forms, has produced a category of highly successful millennial Sikh professional women who are thriving in their chosen careers, hold positions of high responsibility and control huge budgets and resources (Dhaliwal, 2008; Dhaliwal, 2017). We also witness female success in the creative industries, with increasing number of high-profile writers (e.g. Rupi Kaur), fashion designers, artists (e.g. Singh Twins – Amrit and Rabindra), film producers, journalists, TV and radio presenters and documentary makers (e.g. Tina Daheley, Lilly Singh, Valerie Kaur), theatre and musical artistes (e.g. Hard Kaur, Jasmine Sandlas, Manika Kaur), politicians (e.g. Bardish Chaggar, Preet Gill) etc. Albeit still numerically small but growing fast, these Sikh women are countering stereotypes, re-defining gender roles, re-negotiating family relationships and acting as powerful advocates and role models for the next generation of Sikh women as well as men. Parminder Bhachu is one of a few academics who has consistently emphasized the agency of Sikh diaspora women in her writings (Bhachu, 1991; Bhachu, 2003; Bhachu, 2015) whilst Gurinder Chadha’s films such as Bend it Like Beckham (2002) and Bride and Prejudice (2004) have provided a positive representation of Panjabi Sikh women (Oliete, 2010) but generally speaking, Sikh diaspora scholarship has largely failed to adequately capture this aspect of women’s diasporic experiences. In addition, more focused scholarship is required to capture the emergence of and role of Sikh professional organizations, and other social media networks and how this results in positive outcomes.

Some Tentative Conclusions This chapter has argued that 150 years of Sikh migration has created an overseas community which is geographically dispersed and densely connected both within the diaspora and with their ancestral and spiritual homeland of Panjab. Migration experiences have enabled them to emerge as a prosperous, dynamic and progressive transnational community fully equipped to celebrate its religious and cultural heritage. This is clearly illustrated in the Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau’s decision to induct four Sikhs into his first Cabinet, three men and a woman in 2015. Furthermore, the same Prime Minister’s recent apology to Sikhs for the racist treatment meted out by Canada during the Komagata Maru affair illustrates the leverage Sikhs are able to exercise over the government. However, different periods of settlement, under different contexts, means that the community is not as homogeneous as often uncritically assumed by some Diaspora Studies scholars. The community exhibits all forms of diversities: in terms of class, gender and caste, economic and employment status, length of settlement, participation and integration into local communities. Whilst religion, ethnicity and culture bind the community together, there are significant fissures regarding continuities in or rejection of patriarchal attitudes and norms and with degrees of embracement of modernity. As I have

188  Shinder S. Thandi demonstrated, even decades of living abroad do not necessarily produce a major impact on weakening patriarchal oppression. This causes inter-­ generational and intra-generational tensions which are played out in different domains: style of living, marriage arrangements, educational choices, employment choices and participation in the wider civil society which still disproportionally disadvantages women. Gender inequalities with their extreme features associated with varied forms of domestic or honour-­based violence represent the dark underbelly of migration experiences. These tensions are also not equally shared as some sections of the community, especially the educated, professional and long settled members, have been able to transcend patriarchal legacies to a large extent, moving closer to the high ideals set by the Sikh Gurus. In such cases, there is considerable evidence to suggest gender and social relations within the household and at community level, have become more egalitarian. However, among the more unskilled, uneducated and recently migrated households, the patriarchal village mind-set has merely got transplanted into a diaspora setting. Segregated living, constant nostalgic reference to “idealized” or “imagined” life back home despite rapid social changes there (Sandhu, 2009), peer and community pressures based around norms of izzat and shame means the “Panjabi Bubble” continues to hold sway (Nayar, 2004). We can see this operating among those living in dense and relatively segregated localities such as Vancouver and Surrey (in Canada), Yuba City (in USA) and Southall and Midlands cities such as Coventry, Birmingham, Wolverhampton, Dudley and Walsall in the UK. It is here where the tensions are most acute and sometimes boil over and also affect other minority ethnic communities. Whether upward social mobility, a longer settlement period and further assimilation make these communities move away from a “pendu” (localized village) mind-set, only time will tell. As we well know, just as transnationalism and transnational practices have the power to be a modernizing and homogenizing force, they also have the power to re-enforce, re-galvanize and re-vitalize traditions creating hyper diversities within the community.

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Lived Experiences in the Sikh Diaspora  189 Changing Terms of Engagement, Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 81–98. British Medical Association (2009). ‘Equality and Diversity in UK Medical Schools’ BMA Equal Opportunities Committee’, October. Chanda, Geetanjali Singh and Ford, Staci (2010). ‘Sikh Masculinity, Religion and Diaspora in Shauna Singh Baldwin’s English Lessons and Other Stories’, Men and Masculinities, Vol. 12, No. 4: 462–482. Dhaliwal, Spinder (2017). The Millennial Millionaire, How Young Entrepreneurs Turn Dreams into Business, Palgrave. London Dhaliwal, Spinder. (2008). Making a Fortune – Learning from the Asian Phenomenon Capstone, John Wiley and Sons. Oxford Dhanda, Meena (2017). ‘Casteism amongst the Panjabis in Britain’, Economic and Political Weekly, Vol. 52, No. 3, 21 Jan. Dhanda, Meena and Waughray, A. et al. (2014). ‘Caste in Britain: Socio-legal Review’, Equality and Human Rights Commission, Research Report 91, Spring. Dhanda, Meena and Mosse, D. et al. (2014). ‘Caste in Britain: Experts’ Seminar and Stakeholder Workshop’, Equality and Human Rights Commission, Research Report 92, Spring. Duncan, Pamela, Kirk, Ashley, Levett, Kath and McInyre, Niamh (2021). ‘A-Level Data Shows Record Grades and Biggest Gender Gap in a Decade’, The Guardian, 10 August. Evening Standard (2007). ‘Abused’, Asian Women Behind Soaring Toll of Railway Suicides, 23 September 7. Express and Star (2015). ‘Revealed: Full Extent of West Midlands’ Forced Marriage Shame’, 15 June. Fortney, Valerie (2005). ‘Abandoned Wives: Canada’s Shame and India’s Sorrow’, The Calgary Herald. 16–20 October. Ghosh, Shubham (2021). ‘Silent Sufferers: Report Reveals Domestic, Sexual Abuse of Sikh Women’, Eastern Eye, November 22. GOV.UK (2021a). Ethnicity Facts and Figures: Employment. Accessed 15/12/2021 https://www.ethnicity-facts-figures.service.gov.uk/work-pay-and-benefits/ employment/employment/latest GOV.UK (2021b). Ethnicity Facts and Figures: Socioeconomic Status. Accessed 15/12/2021 https://www.ethnicity-facts-figures.service.gov.uk/uk-population-byethnicity/demographics/socioeconomic-status/latest#ethnic-groups-by-socioeconomic-status-of-women GOV.UK (2021c). Ethnicity Facts and Figures: School Teacher Workforce. Accessed 16/12/2021 https://www.ethnicity-facts-figures.service.gov.uk/ workforce-and-business/workforce-diversity/school-teacher-workforce/ latest#by-ethnicity-and-gender Grewal, Jagtar Singh (1993). Guru Nanak and Patriarchy, Simla, Indian Institute of Advanced Studies. Honigsbaum, Mark and Barton, Laura (2005). ‘A Short Walk to Tragedy’, The Guardian, September 8. Juergensmeyer Mark (1989). Religious Rebels in the Punjab: The Social Vision of the Untouchables, Ajanta Publications. Delhi Kalsi, Sewa S. (1989). The Sikhs and Caste: A Study of the Sikh Community in Leeds and Bradford. PhD thesis, University of Leeds.

190  Shinder S. Thandi Kaur, Arunajet (2011). ‘Studying Southeast Asian Sikhs’, in edited by Shamsul AB & Arunajeet Kaur, Sikhs in Southeast Asia: Negotiating an Identity, Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 1–16. Kaur, Hardeep (2020). ‘Understanding Early Formation of Panjabi Diaspora: Causes and Dispersions’, Journal of Sikh and Panjab Studies, Vol. 27, No. 1, Spring, 1–30. Leonard, Karen (2004). Making Ethnic Choices: California’s Panjabi Mexican Americans, Temple University Press. Philadelphia Mangat, Jagjit Singh (1969). A History of the Asians in East Africa c. 1886 to 1945, London, Oxford University Press. Mazumdar, Rajit K. (2003). The Indian Army and the Making of Panjab, Permanent Black and Orient Blackswan. Hyderabad Mooney, Nicola (2006). ‘Aspirations. Reunification and Gender Transformation in Jat Sikh Marriages from India to Canada’, Global Networks, Vol. 6, No. 4, 389–403. Muir, Hugh (2005). ‘Tee and Gee Zindabad (That’s Long Live T & G in Hindi)’, The Guardian, August 15. Nair, Shalini (2019). ‘Government Plans Bill to Crack Down on NRIs Deserting Wives’, The Indian Express, January 1, New Delhi. Nankani, Sandhya (ed) (2000). Breaking the Silence: Domestic Violence in the South Asian-American Community, Xlibris Corporation. Indiana Nayar Kamala E. (2004). The Sikh Diaspora in Vancouver: Three Generations Amid Tradition, Modernity and Multiculturalism, Toronto, University of Toronto Press. Oliete, Elena (2010). ‘Brides Against Prejudices: New Representations of Race and Gender Relationships in Gurinder Chadha’s Transnational Film “Bride and Prejudice”’, The International Journal of Interdisciplinary Social Sciences, Vol. 5, No. 5, 1833–1882. Omissi, David (1998). The Sepoy and the Raj: The Indian Army 1860–1940, Palgrave Macmillan. London Owen, Glen and Wadeson, Oliver (2007). ‘“Abused” Asian Women behind Soaring Toll of Railway Suicides’, The Daily Mail, 22 September. Accessed at http:// www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-483315/Abused-Asian-women-soaring-tollrailway-suicides.html#ixzz3XUqqH8Tu. Pinto, Ambrose (2002). ‘Caste Discrimination and UN’, Economic and Political Weekly, Vol. 37, No. 39 (Sep. 28- Oct. 4), 3988–3990. Purewal, Navtej K. (2016). Son Preference: Sex Selection, Gender and Culture in South Asia, Routledge. Purewal, Navtej K. (2009). ‘Gender, Seva, and Social Institutions: A Case Study of the Bebe Nanaki Gurdwara and Charitable Trust, Birmingham, UK’, in edited by V. Dusenbery and Tatla, Sikh Diaspora Philanthropy in Panjab: Global Giving for Local Good, Oxford University Press, 205–218. Puwar, Nirmal and Raghuram, Parvati (ed) (2003). South Asian Women in the Diaspora, Berg, Oxford. Rehal, Manjit and Maguire, Sylvia (2014). The Price of Honour, CRASAC, Coventry, February. Sabherwal, Satish (1976). Mobile Men: Limits to Social Change in Urban Punjab, Vikas Publishing House. New Delhi

Lived Experiences in the Sikh Diaspora  191 Sandhu, Amarinder (2009). Jat Sikh Women Social Transformation: Changing Status and Life Style, Chandigarh: Unistar. Sharma, Parvesh (2021). ‘Jassi Murder Case: 21 Years after Murder of Canadian Citizen, Cross Examination Concludes’, The Tribune, November 3. Sian, Katy P. (2015). Unsettling Sikh and Muslim Conflict: Mistaken Identities, Forced Conversions and Post-Colonial Formations, Lexington Books. Suri, Sanjay (2007). ‘The Suicide Station’, Outlook Magazine, November 26. Takhar, Opinderjit (2017). ‘British Legislation against Caste-based Discrimination and the Demand for the Sunset Clause’, Contemporary South Asia, Vol. 25, No. 3, 301–316, DOI: 10.1080/09584935.2017.1353587 Takhar, Opinderjit (2015). ‘Caste and Identity Processes among British Sikhs in the Midlands’, Sikh Formations, Vol. 12, No. 1, 87–102. Tan Tai Yong (2005). The Garrison State: The Military, Government and Society in Colonial Panjab 1849–1947, Sage Publications Pvt. Ltd. London Tatla, Darshan S. (1999). The Sikh Diaspora: Search for Statehood, University of Washington Press. Washington Thandi, Shinder S. (2018). ‘Educated Millennial Sikhs: Higher Education, Social Mobility and Identity Formation among British Sikh Youth’, Sikh Formations: Religion, Culture and Theory, Vol. 14, No. 3–4, 384–401. Thandi, Shinder S. (2017). ‘History of Sikh Migration’, in Encyclopaedia of Sikhism Vol. 1, Leiden. Netherlands, E.J. Brill, 413–429. Thandi, Shinder S. (2013). ‘Shady Character, Hidden Design, and Masked Faces’: Reflections on Vilayati Sikh Marriages and Discourses of Abuse’, in edited by Hawley, Michael, Sikh Diaspora: Theory, Agency and Experience, Leiden, Brill, 233–260. Thandi, Shinder S. (2012). ‘Migration and Comparative Experience of Sikhs in Europe: Reflections on Issues of Cultural Transmission and Identity 30 Years on’, in edited by Jacobsen, Knut A. and Myrvold Kristina, Sikhs Across Borders: Transnational Practices of European Sikhs, London, Bloomsbury, 11–35. Thandi, Shinder S. (2009). ‘Discourses on Cultural Adaptation, Transmission, and Identities within the Sikh Diasporas: Some Comparative Perspectives’, in edited by Shamsul, AB and Arunajeet Kaur, Sikhs in Southeast Asia: Negotiating an Identity, Singapore, ISEAS, 78–102. The Tribune (2021a). ‘Indian-origin Man Jailed for Life in UK for Stabbing Wife to Death’, November 16, Chandigarh. The Tribune (2021b). ‘382 Passports of NRIs Revoked Since 2015’, February 05, Chandigarh. The Tribune (2016). ‘Jassi Murder Case: Canadian Stops Accused’s Extradition to India’, February 27, Chandigarh. The Tribune (2015). ‘State Reports Highest Level of “Forced Marriage” Cases of UK Nationals’, December 9, Chandigarh. Waheed, Alia (2021). ‘Domestic and Sexual Abuse of Silenced Sikh Women Revealed’, The Observer, November 20. Wilson, Amrit (1978). Finding a Voice: Asian Women in Britain, Virago. London

9 Sevā, Vand Chakko, and Sarbat da Bhala Sikh Humanitarianism in Global Perspective Verne A. Dusenbery In the face of the novel coronavirus pandemic of 2020, Sikh individuals, businesses, gurdwara societies, and voluntary organizations were notable in their rapid response to the unfolding humanitarian crisis. Media accounts from around the world highlighted the work of Sikhs in making available protective equipment, in donating blood and plasma, and – especially – in delivering food and meals to hospital workers, to residents of congregant care facilities, and to other needy individuals made vulnerable by pandemic lockdown and stay-at-home conditions.1 But Sikh mobilization in the face of human need is by no means a new phenomenon. To wit: tsunami relief in Indonesia 2; earthquake relief in Pakistan3; wildfire relief in Australia4; disaster relief in California5; refugee care in Syria and Bangladesh6; blood drives in Canada7; and food assistance for the homeless and destitute in multiple North American and European cities.8 These are but some of many other recent examples of humanitarian activities operating at local/regional/global scales undertaken by Sikh individuals, gurdwara societies, and private voluntary organizations.9 In this chapter, I analyze the religious and social bases for Sikh humanitarianism and social welfare activities and suggest reasons for a recent upturn in the global visibility of Sikh organizations on the frontlines of service to humanity. I argue here that humanitarian ethical impulses have long been at the center of Sikhi (the Sikh way of being), finding support from Sikh teachings, historical exemplars, institutional structures, and everyday practice – particularly the Sikh ideal of sevā (selfless service) and the Sikh value of vand chhako (sharing what one has with those in need) as a basis for undertaking activities on behalf of sarbat da bhala (the welfare of all). And I go on to argue that the recent experiences of Sikhs, especially of those living in the diaspora, have led Sikh community members, individually and collectively, to take on humanitarian and social welfare activities at an expanded scale and in new social contexts.

Textual Underpinnings10 The English language version of the Sikh Rehat Maryada, the Sikh code of conduct as formally articulated by the Shiromani Gurdwara Parbandhak Committee (SGPC), explains in Article III what is expected of a Sikh: 192

DOI: 10.4324/9781003281849-12

Sikh Humanitarianism in Global Perspective  193 “A Sikh’s personal life should comprehend – (1) meditation on Nām (Divine Substance) and the scriptures, (2) leading life according to the Gurus’ teachings and (3) altruistic voluntary service.”11 Nām simran (spiritual contemplation via “remembrance” of the Divine Name) and seva (selfless service) are, therefore, primary and conjoined means of Sikh worship and central aspects of Sikhi. Indeed, one finds seva emphasized as an imperative in Sikh teachings, exemplified in the lives of the Sikh Gurus and other respected historical figures, enjoined upon Sikhs through the Sikh Rehat Maryada, and institutionalized in everyday Sikh practices. Many Sikh teachings speak to the importance of seva. These two wellknown verses – of Bhai Gurdas from his Vārān12 and of Guru Nanak from the Guru Granth Sahib13 – emphasize the crucial imperative of undertaking seva: viṇu sevā dhrig hath pair hor nihaphal karaṇi (Without selfless service, cursed are the hands and feet, Useless are all the virtues.) –Bhai Gurdas, Vārān, 27.10 Bin sevā fal kabahu na pāvas sevā karṇī sārī. (Without selfless service, no one ever receives the fruits of their rewards. Serving the Lord is the most excellent action.) –Guru Nanak, GGS, p. 992 Seva can be done in different forms, through tan (physical labor), man (mental acuity), or dhan (material means). But, by whatever means, it should be done with humility (nimartā) and without ego (haumai) or pride (mān). Hence, selfless service (nishkām sevā) is emphasized. The following verse from Guru Amar Das addresses this point: Haumai nāvai nāl viroḏẖ hai ḏue na vasėh ik ṯẖāe. Haumai vicẖ sevā na hovaī ṯā man birthā jāe. (Ego is opposed to the Name of the Lord; the two do not dwell in the same place. In egotism, selfless service cannot be performed, and so the soul goes unfulfilled.) –Guru Amar Das, GGS, p. 560 And, as Guru Arjan cautions in the following verses, one ought not to perform seva with expectation of or focus upon the ultimate reward: Barahm giānī kai garībī samāhā. Barahm giānī parupkār omāhā.

194  Verne A. Dusenbery (The God-conscious being is steeped in humility. The God-conscious being delights in doing good to others.) –Guru Arjan, GGS, p. 273 Sevā karaṯ hoe nihkāmī. Ŧis kao hoṯ parāpaṯ suāmī. (One who performs selfless service, without thought of reward, shall attain his Lord and Master.) –Guru Arjan, GGS, p. 286–287 In the Guru Granth Sahib, seva as a form of worship of the Divine is commonly recommended via service to the Guru. In the absence of a living human Sikh Guru, the Granth (the book containing the Divine Word) and Panth (the community of Gursikhs) were jointly invested with the Guru-­ ship. And the gurdwara, the house of the Guru Granth Sahib and the place of Sikh communal assembly (sangat), has consequently become a key ritual space for undertaking seva. This is reflected in Sikh Rehat Maryada’s discussion of seva in Article XXI: Illustrative models of voluntary service are organised, for imparting training, in gurduwaras [sic]. Its simple forms are: sweeping and plastering the floors of the gurduwara, serving water to or fanning the congregation, offering provisions to and rendering any kind of service in the common kitchen-cum-eating house [i.e., Gurū kā Langar], dusting the shoes of the people visiting the gurduwara, etc. However, seva, as service to God, may be performed in contexts outside the gurdwara and for the benefit of those beyond the sangat, as suggested by the following verses from the Guru Granth Sahib: Kẖālik kẖalak kẖalak mėh kẖālik pūr rahio sarab ṯẖāʼnī. (The Creation is in the Creator, and the Creator is in the Creation, totally pervading and permeating all places.) –Bhagat Kabir, GGS, p. 1350 vicẖ ḏunīā sev kamāīai. Ŧā ḏargėh baisaṇ pāīai. (In the midst of this world, do sevā, and you shall be given a place of honor in the Court of the Lord.) –Guru Nanak, GGS, p. 26

Sikh Humanitarianism in Global Perspective  195 Jo mānukẖ mānukẖ kī sevā oh ṯis kī laī laī fun jāīai. (If one human being serves another human being, the one served stands by him.) –Guru Arjan, GGS, p. 822 Indeed, the Sikh Rehat Maryada goes on to make clear in Article XXII that “[t]he concept of service is not confined to fanning the congregation, service to and in the common kitchen-cum-eating house, etc. A Sikh’s entire life is a life of benevolent exertion” [emphasis added]. And service (sevā) and charity (dān) are, for Sikhs, said to be particularly virtuous when directed to the poor and needy. Guru Nanak makes the point in the following well-known verse: Nīcẖā anḏar nīcẖ jāṯ nīcẖī hū aṯ nīcẖ. Nānak ṯin kai sang sāth vadiā sio kiā rīs. Jithai nīcẖ samālīan ṯithai naḏar ṯerī bakẖsīs. (Those who are lowest of the low class, the very lowest of the low; Nanak seeks the company of those. Why should he try to compete with the great? In that place where the lowly are cared for - there, the Blessings of Your Glance of Grace rain down.) –Guru Nanak, GGS, p. 15 Thus, it is not surprising that the Sikh Rehat Maryada incorporates, from the rahitnama (manual of conduct) of Bhai Chaupa Singh, the following as one of the Guru’s tenets for Sikh personal conduct in Article XVI: “A Sikh shall regard a poor person’s mouth as the Guru’s cash offerings box.” Seva and Simran are also implied in one of the most popular expressions of Sikh religious duty, commonly attributed to Guru Nanak, the first Sikh Guru: Nām japo, kirat karo, vand chhako (Repeat the divine name, work honestly, and give a share.) Indeed, these injunctions (to repeat the divine name, to work honestly, and to share what one has with others) are commonly called the three pillars of Sikhi, and Sikh humanitarian projects are commonly seen as fulfillment of the Guru’s call to “give a share” (vand chhako). During the time of the historical Gurus, dasvandh, the practice of giving one-tenth of one’s earnings in the name of the Guru for collective

196  Verne A. Dusenbery undertakings, was first instituted. This was seen as following from Guru Nanak’s instructions: ghali khai kichhu hathhu dei, Nanak rahu pachhanahi sei (One who works for what he eats and gives some of what he has O Nanak, he knows the Path.) –Guru Nanak, GGS, p. 1245 And those Sikhs taking amrit receive the following injunction as part of their initiation into the Khalsa: apani kamai vichon guru ka dasavandh dena. (From your own earnings, you should give a tenth) –from the Amrit ceremony Finally, the communal Sikh prayer, Ardās, the collective recitation of which concludes almost all Sikh worship, captures both the notions of humility in giving and concern for the well-being of others, describing the congregation’s gifts to the Guru as til phul (“this little offering”) and concluding with a humanitarian appeal for sarbat da bhala (“welfare of all”). Thus, providing selfless service to others (sevā) and sharing what one earns (vand chhako) for the welfare of all (sarbat da bhala) are messages conveyed to Sikhs through their recitation of sacred texts and their encounter with normative injunctions. And they are the terms and concepts commonly invoked by Sikhs as the ethical underpinnings of their humanitarian undertakings.

Historical Exemplars If the above suggests textual underpinnings of a Sikh humanitarian ethic, so too do the accounts of exemplary humanitarian service by the Sikh Gurus and other historical figures. Thus, in the janam-sākhīs (stories of the life of the Guru), among the accounts of his assistance to others, there is a well-known story of Guru Nanak providing service to the needy by giving water to thirsty people in Delhi. A gurdwara, Nanak Pio, commemorates the spot. And Guru Nanak chose as his successor his devotee Bhai Lehna (hence renamed Guru Angad) over his own sons because of Bhai Lehna’s extraordinary seva. Similarly, Amar Das’s service as a water carrier to Guru Angad is said to have been a sign to the Guru that Amar Das should succeed him. And Guru Amar Das himself is often credited with formally establishing Gurū kā Langar (the communal kitchen-cum-dining hall), thereby institutionalizing charity and service within the Sikh tradition. While Guru Har Rai established an Ayurvedic medical dispensary at Kiratpur, said to have treated not just local sufferers but even the emperor’s

Sikh Humanitarianism in Global Perspective  197 eldest son. Indeed, unsurprising given seva’s centrality to Sikhi, stories of the Gurus’ lives commonly emphasize their acts of seva. Service to the Guru and to the sangat have pride of place in the examples of seva by and to the Sikh Gurus. But the well-known popular accounts of the adutī sevā (exemplary service) of Bhai Kanhaiya and Bhagat Puran Singh further make clear that seva can also be undertaken by worthy Sikhs outside the context of the gurdwara and directed at non-Sikhs as well as one’s fellow Sikhs. Bhai Kanhaiya (1648–1718), born Ghahnaiya Ram, was a servant of Guru Tegh Bahadur and Guru Gobind Singh. In the Battle of Anandpur in 1704, Bhai Kanhaiya was reported to have roamed the battlefield serving water both to Sikh troops and to their wounded enemies. When some Sikhs complained to Guru Gobind Singh that Bhai Kanhaiya was helping revive enemy soldiers, the Guru is said to have summoned Bhai Kanhaiya, who justified his actions by saying that he had seen only needy human beings, not Sikhs and non-Sikhs, on the battlefield. Guru Gobind Singh was reportedly pleased with this radical humanitarian response, praising Bhai Kanhaiya for his understanding of the Gurus’ teachings and his practice of nishkam seva. Followers of Bhai Kanhaiya subsequently formed the Seva Panth, a small spiritual lineage composed largely of Sikhs from Sindh. For the wider Sikh community, Bhai Kanhaiya’s humanitarian service on the battlefield has often been represented as a Sikh precursor to the Red Cross and Red Crescent. Bhai Kanhaiya has served as an inspiration for various Sikh humanitarian organizations and social welfare societies that invoke his name and example.14 And the Sikh collective practice of donating ambulances and sponsoring local blood drives is often attributed to the example of seva attentive to the needs of the wounded and injured set by Bhai Kanhaiya on the battlefield at Anandpur Sahib in 1704. Bhagat Puran Singh (1904–1992) is a more recent exemplar. Named Ramji Das by his Hindu parents, Bhagat Puran Singh was drawn to Sikhi in his youth and began to perform seva at Gurdwara Dehra Sahib in Lahore. It was there that he first took on a mission of serving those suffering from injuries and physical handicaps. In 1934, he took on the commitment to the care of a four-year-old disabled boy, Piara Singh, whose parents had left him at the gurdwara – an act of ongoing selfless service for which Puran Singh became well known in later years. At partition, Puran Singh and Piara Singh joined the refugees flooding into Amritsar from west Panjab. With little money of his own, Puran Singh nevertheless took to looking after fellow refugees who were incapable of caring for themselves. And, in 1947, he founded a home for the needy, Pingalwara (lit. “home of the disabled”), funding it with donations that he sought on the streets of Amritsar. By 1958, Puran Singh was able to establish The All India Pingalwara Charitable Society as a registered organization for the care of orphans and disabled persons with a permanent home base in Amritsar. In subsequent years, the organization went on to establish branches in other cities of Panjab.

198  Verne A. Dusenbery Bhagat Puran Singh was awarded the Padma Shri in 1979 by the Government of India for his exceptional and distinguished service and was subsequently nominated in 1991 for the Nobel Peace Prize. The All India Pingalwara Charitable Society, with its international funding base, continues to carry on the service to the poor, the sick, and those with physical and mental disabilities that Bhagat Puran Singh made the central focus of his life.15 Sikh sevādārs (those who provide service), coming from various backgrounds, continue to serve as exemplars to fellow Sikhs, while also gaining public recognition in the wider world. Sikhs from the diaspora who have become subjects of acclaim for their exemplary service include such sevadars as: Sant Baba Puran Singh (1898–1983), the founder of the Guru Nanak Nishkam Sewak Jatha of Birmingham, United Kingdom, a charitable organization well known for undertaking repair of major Sikh shrines in India, including refurbishing the gold exterior of Harmandir Sahib, the so-called Golden Temple16; Bibi Balwant Kaur Soor (1915–2009) whose seva, via Mata Nanki Foundation in the United Kingdom and Bebe Nanki Charitable Trust in Panjab, earned her a Member of the British Empire (MBE) award in 2000 for her international charitable service and a Sikh Women’s Alliance Award in 2007 for her “lifetime work in the service of worldwide humanity”17; and Baba Budh Singh Dhahan (1925–2018), who garnered public recognition and multiple awards in India and Canada for his tireless efforts mobilizing a global network of donors and institutional collaborators in support of expanded health care and female education opportunities in rural Panjab through Guru Nanak Mission Medical and Educational Trust and Guru Nanak Mission International Charitable Trust.18

Institutional Structures Those Sikh sevadars who have gained global recognition and are renowned for their good works may be exemplary in their service, but they are not alone among Sikhs in fulfilling the Sikh ethical obligation to serve and to share for the welfare of others. In fact, institutional structures and collective practices, first introduced by the Sikh Gurus and continuing to the present, provide every Sikh with the opportunity to serve others and to share from what they earn. For Sikhs, the gurdwara (lit. “door to the Guru”) has been and remains a key site for sharing one’s earnings and for performing selfless service. Upon entering the gurdwara, all Sikhs bow before the Guru Granth Sahib and place at least a nominal donation to the Guru into the golak (treasury chest) that sits at the foot of the Guru Granth Sahib. And while many Sikhs make additional larger contributions to the gurdwara’s maintenance and gurdwara-­run social service projects, every Sikh is effectively contributing their “little offering” (til phul) to the gurdwara’s collective activities undertaken in the Guru’s name.19

Sikh Humanitarianism in Global Perspective  199 As the Sikh Rehat Maryada suggests in Article XXI (quoted above), gurdwara upkeep and ritual practices provide Sikhs regular opportunities for doing seva – by putting the Guru Granth Sahib to bed at night or bringing it out in the morning; by respectfully attending the Guru Granth Sahib when it sits upon its resting place; by reciting gurbānī, the Guru’s Words; by distributing karāh parshād, sacramental food; by cleaning shoes of worshippers; by sweeping, cleaning, and beautifying the gurdwara’s premises. And gurdwaras also provide the opportunity for occasional kar sevā (collective labor for a specific religious cause), as in the communal construction of local gurdwaras and refurbishing of historical gurdwaras. But it is in the institution of Gurū kā Langar (the Guru’s free kitchen and dining area associated with a gurdwara, where a vegetarian meal is served to all comers) that the humanitarian dimension of Sikh service and giving are most clearly brought into focus. While community kitchens associated with places of worship existed in Panjab before the time of the Sikh Gurus, the Gurus formalized the institution in a way that reflects Sikh values. Tradition suggests that Guru Nanak, the first Sikh Guru, established a communal kitchen, open to all, at his dharmashala at Kartarpur. His successor, Guru Angad, is said to have caused the practice to be spread to all Sikh places of worship and to have specified the way that voluntary service therein would be provided. While the third Guru, Guru Amar Das, fully institutionalized the practice of eating langar together as incumbent upon all who visit the gurdwara.20 Since the free kitchen is open to all comers, who sit and eat together without any status distinctions, it is both a sign of Sikh egalitarianism and inclusiveness and a means by which Sikhs extend service to the wider world. Participating in the preparation and serving of langar remains for Sikhs an especially important site for undertaking selfless service – by helping in the preparation of food, by serving the resulting meal to visitors, by cleaning the dishes and utensils, by helping maintain the premises, etc. And, as the ingredients and the cooking and serving utensils are directly contributed by or purchased with the donations of worshippers, langar is a major context in which Sikhs give their share. Moreover, as the meals are available to any and all visitors and not simply to members of the congregation, langar functions as a literal and figurative means of addressing the welfare of all. Besides the collective service provided via preparing and serving free meals through the institution of langar, the gurdwara is also often a site of other social welfare activities. This can include supplying housing both to visitors and to the indigent, providing medical supplies and medical camps for the needy, operating libraries and schools for the benefit of seekers of knowledge. Each of these gurdwara-operated social service activities commonly relies, in part or whole, on the tan (labor), man (planning), and/or dhan (material) offerings of Sikh sevadars from the congregation. Since the gurdwara has from the beginning been the institutional lynchpin for mobilizing Sikh service and giving, it is not surprising that Sikh humanitarian activities have commonly grown out of gurdwara initiatives,

200  Verne A. Dusenbery both local and collective. At the collective level, the Shiromani Gurdwara Parbandhak Committee (SGPC) serves as an elected institution managing Harmandir Sahib (the so-called Golden Temple in Amritsar) and the historical and other registered gurdwaras in Panjab, Haryana, Himachal Pradesh, and the Union Territory of Chandigarh. Since its establishment in 1925, the SGPC has gained considerable income from the donations made at these gurdwaras. In turn, the SGPC has used these funds to develop educational institutions, hospitals and other medical facilities, and other charitable trusts. And daily, through the langar halls at gurdwaras under SGPC control, hundreds of thousands of visitors are fed. The SGPC is thus a major institutional nexus for the implementation of Sikh ethical precepts and for humanitarian interventions in north India, operating to meet people’s needs unaddressed by the state or the market. 21 But, as the Guru Granth Sahib suggests and the Sikh Rehat Maryada makes clear, Sikh service to humanity is not meant to be limited to gurdwaras. And, thus, additional Sikh voluntary institutions have risen that embody Sikh ethical precepts in their public actions and offer Sikhs the opportunity to serve and contribute to humanitarian causes. In fact, because of perceived political factionalism in local gurdwara societies or bureaucratic sclerosis in the SGPC, some Sikhs prefer to donate their time, money, and effort elsewhere or otherwise. Thus, one increasingly encounters Sikh individuals initiating philanthropic projects, as well as a rise of independent Sikh voluntary charitable and social welfare organizations. 22 This is especially so in the diaspora, beyond the institutional reach of the SGPC and operating in very different political and socio-economic contexts.

Global Contexts23 In Panjab and elsewhere in South Asia, people have long been familiar with Sikh gurdwaras as institutional hubs where those in need might look for food and succor. When Sikhs began moving abroad in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, local gurdwaras were quickly set up and served as initial collective gathering places. Not only did Sikh worship practices mean that the gurdwaras served to help to feed and to provide temporary housing for Sikhs, but other South Asian immigrants often found their way to local gurdwaras for the support that they knew that they could find there. The local gurdwara in most diaspora settings functioned as a multipurpose community center where local Sikhs and their associates could pay their respects to the Guru Granth Sahib, could collectively recite gurbani and partake of langar, and could socialize while addressing issues of collective concern. 24 Most of the late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century Sikhs living abroad were single men, either British auxiliaries on temporary assignment or independent sojourn laborers, remitting earnings and expecting ultimately to return to families in Panjab. Thus, their priority was to support

Sikh Humanitarianism in Global Perspective  201 their family and village back in Panjab. But by the early twentieth century, gurdwaras in the diaspora had also begun to serve as organizational nodes for transnational fundraising campaigns to support a variety of philanthropic causes, mostly focused on the ancestral homeland of Panjab. Panjab-based charitable organizations reached out to Sikhs in the diaspora for support of their projects. The Chief Khalsa Diwan Charitable Society raised money from Chief Khalsa Diwan affiliated gurdwaras in East and Southeast Asia, North America, and East Africa for its various education initiatives and for Central Khalsa Orphanage in Amritsar, which to this day continues to care for orphans and the blind. Sikh Kanya Mahavidialya in Firozpur, a pioneer in female education, raised much of its funding and drew some of its students from Sikhs in the Far East and East Africa. 25 Sikhs in the diaspora responded not only to these social welfare appeals but also to appeals for support of political causes. During the first half of the twentieth century, much Sikh collective energy in both Panjab and the diaspora went into the Akali Dal campaign to regain control over gurdwaras in Panjab (leading ultimately to the establishment of the SGPC) and to the ultimately successful fight for Indian independence. In the immediate aftermath of Indian independence in 1947, considerable Sikh effort went into recovering from the trauma of partition, with its mass death toll and resettlement challenges, and into the Panjabi Suba campaign, which in 1966 led to the establishment of a newly reconfigured Panjabi-speaking state with a Sikh demographic majority. Many Sikhs living in the diaspora had returned to Panjab before partition either to join these political causes or to escape the effects of the global depression and anti-immigrant sentiment and policies in their countries of residence. However, in the post-1947 period, Sikh permanent migration from Panjab had begun to increase as receiving countries (first, the United Kingdom; then, Canada and the United States; subsequently, Australia, New Zealand, and various European countries) began to liberalize their immigration policies. And, with permanent settlement and economic stability came an enhanced capacity on the part of Sikhs in the diaspora to again contribute to causes beyond their family’s immediate needs. Initially, much of that effort was Panjab-centric and focused on Sikh-related causes. In the wake of the social and economic changes brought about in the 1960s and 1970s by the Green Revolution, Panjab experienced both leftist Naxalite activism and the Akali Dal’s Dharam Yudh Morcha campaign for greater autonomy for Panjab within India’s federal system. Much of the 1980s and early 1990s were a period of tremendous political turmoil in Panjab, with the Indian government’s tragic decision to send troops into the Golden Temple complex in 1984 to root out suspected “terrorists” leading to increased support for Khalistan, an independent Sikh state. Much Sikh activity in the diaspora in this period was mobilized around addressing the political violence in Panjab and its fallout, with some supporting militant organizations and others assisting refugees fleeing

202  Verne A. Dusenbery the violence in Panjab or supporting widows and children of the pogrom against Sikhs in Delhi and other areas following the 1984 assassination of Indira Gandhi. 26 After the violence in Panjab died down in the mid-1990s, the Government of India and the Government of Panjab, long suspicious of emigrants as abandoners of the nation or as political agitators, began to reach out to the diaspora. Having instituted policies that eased restrictions on international travel and financial transfers, the central and state governments invited non-resident Indians to invest in the ancestral homeland. To that end, the Government of Panjab introduced a “Mera Pind (lit. ‘my village’) Initiative” encouraging diaspora donors “to take up a project for social cause in your native village.” Thus, in the late 1990s and 2000s, spearheaded mainly by successful Sikh emigrants from the 1950s and 1960s, Panjab saw an increase not only in foreign direct investment but also in private philanthropy funding local schools, hospitals, and village development projects to meet needs in Panjab not being met by the neo-liberal state, the capitalist market, or existing religious or civil society organizations. 27 However, for Sikhs coming of age in the diaspora, “my village” appeals to donate time and money to the ancestral village have held less resonance than for their Panjab-born parents, for whom the village remains a place of social ties and sentimental attachments. While they share an ongoing moral co-responsibility for the well-being of their fellow Sikhs, these diaspora-­ born Sikhs are products of the societies in which they have been raised; and their experience of Panjab is often fleeting, with few having chosen to settle in Panjab or to spend significant periods of time in their family’s natal village. And, not surprisingly, their efforts have increasingly extended to include addressing local issues facing Sikhs in the diaspora and in pursuing more cosmopolitan forms and channels of Sikh social welfare and humanitarian activism focused on systemic injustices (human rights abuses, economic inequality, environmental degradation, political corruption, racial/ religious/caste/gender discrimination) and less exclusively on Panjab or on Sikh-specific beneficiaries. 28 As Sikhs became increasingly sensitive to the discrimination and mistreatment that they were facing in their countries of settlement and more aware of legal means of redress, Sikh activists set up or repurposed organizations to champion the human rights and civil rights of local Sikhs and, ultimately, of ethnic and religious minorities in general. 29 In the United Kingdom, the Sikh Human Rights Group (SHRG), an early defender of Sikh victims of state repression in India, expanded its focus to minority rights and sustainable development, ultimately gaining consultative status with the Economic and Social Council (ECOSOC) of the United Nations. 30 In Canada, as attitudes towards Canadian Sikhs turned hostile in the aftermath of the Air India tragedy of 1985, the World Sikh Organization of Canada gradually refocused. Initially a strong supporter of Sikh

Sikh Humanitarianism in Global Perspective  203 self-­determination and the protection of Sikh victims of political violence in India, WSO expanded its charge to focus on Canadian Sikh human rights challenges and victims of human rights abuses more generally.31 In the United States, the hate crime killing of Balbir Singh Sodhi in the aftermath of September 11, 2001, attacks on the World Trade Center, led to the creation of the Sikh Coalition as a national organization dedicated to defense of the civil rights of Sikhs and other religious minorities in the United States. 32 And in 2004, the Sikh Mediawatch and Resource Taskforce (SMART) remade itself as the Sikh American Legal Defense and Education Fund (SALDEF), a national Sikh civil rights organization handling “legal matters affecting Sikh and other ethnic and religious minority Americans.”33 In their mission and values statements, these organizations have emphasized how human rights and civil rights reflect Sikh values, including seva and sarbat da bhala. And, in broadening the focus and scope of their missions, these and other Sikh organizations have brought Sikh activists into coalition or contingent collaboration with other human rights and civil rights organizations. 34 In an important 2004 article on seva, Anne Murphy, taking note of the expanded and refocused missions of some of these diaspora-based activist organizations and the rise of new global Sikh humanitarian initiatives, argued that “seva represents a mode of transnational diasporic intervention that has accompanied, and in some cases supplanted, the Khalistani mode.”35 A more recent study of young Sikh American activists by Sangeeta Kaur Luthra concludes that “this generation, coming of age at the turn of the twenty-first century, is increasingly expressing faith through activism, civic and political engagement, and seva and humanitarian work.”36 And Jasjit Singh suggests that young Sikh activists in Britain see their humanitarian activity as not only inspired by the Sikh concept of seva but also driven by the notion of the miri/piri – the individual Sikh’s fusion of spiritual and temporal concerns. 37 If, as Sikhs are told, “The Creation is in the Creator, and the Creator is in the Creation,” then there are many available global Sikh activist paths.38 One way that global Sikhs have sought to bring Sikh values of seva, vand chakko, and sarbat da bhala to bare is in taking langar directly to people outside the context of the gurdwara, recognizing that in settings beyond South Asia few people are likely to spontaneously find their way into a gurdwara. In a 2015 article, “From the temple to the street: how Sikh kitchens are becoming the new food banks,” Jasjit Singh discusses the movement of langar from the gurdwara to the streets as a means of serving the needy on their turf. Singh’s article discusses efforts by a variety of Sikh organizations in Canada (Seva Food Bank), the United States (Khalsa Food Pantry, Khalsa Peace Corps, Sikhcess), and the United Kingdom (Midland Langar Seva Society, Kirpa Food Bank, Guru Nanak’s Free Kitchen, Bedford Langar Project, Sikh Welfare and Awareness Team, and Niskham Help),

204  Verne A. Dusenbery providing food relief to the needy. Singh concludes his short article with the following observation: Setting up langar-based organisations across the world and re-­ emphasising langar as a kitchen by the community, for the community, is a return to the teachings where the “community kitchen” exists to serve all. For these Sikhs in diaspora, rather than simply referring to members of a particular ethno-religious group, “community” refers to anyone they engage with at a local, national or even international level. This view extends the idea of langar to the whole world, and allows them to put into practice the ideal of “Sarbat Da Bhalla [sic]” or, “working for the betterment of all.”39 And, as noted at the outset of this chapter, efforts undertaken by Sikhs to feed the global community, where needed, have only expanded in the face of food insecurities caused by the coronavirus pandemic, a global economic slowdown, and incidents of social unrest. By virtue of their global reach, wide donor base, and sheer volume of undertakings, two transnational organizations, Khalsa Aid and United Sikhs, each founded in 1999, stand out as indispensable global mobilizers of twenty-­fi rst-century Sikh humanitarian efforts. Khalsa Aid, now Khalsa Aid International (KAI), describes itself as “a UK-based humanitarian relief charity providing support around the world to victims of natural and man-made disasters such as floods, earthquakes, famine and war.” It’s founder, Ravi Singh, says that he was inspired by the Sikhi ideology of sarbat da bhala and describes Khalsa Aid as “the first ever cross-border international humanitarian aid organisation based on the Sikh principles.” Over its 21 years of existence, Khalsa Aid’s humanitarian work has provided assistance touching the lives of millions of people in hotspots around the world.40 Founded in the United States, but with local chapters and local partnerships around the globe, United Sikhs describes itself as “a U.N. affiliated, international non-profit, non-governmental, humanitarian relief, human development and advocacy organization, aimed at empowering those in need, especially disadvantaged and minority communities across the world.” Its Sikh values are expressed in its core philosophy of “an unwavering commitment to civic service and social progress on behalf of the common good.” Through its humanitarian arm, Sikh Aid, United Sikhs has been a major supplier of global disaster relief and rehabilitation assistance.41 What might account for the recent proliferation of Sikh humanitarian activities and humanitarian organizations with global reach and visibility? Sangeeta Kaur Luthra suggests that “the events of 9/11 and the violent and prolonged backlash that followed were critical in spurring Sikh American activism and humanitarianism.”42 And Jasjit Singh asserts that in the face of

Sikh Humanitarianism in Global Perspective  205 post-9/11 “securitization” and western fear of Sikhs as “anti-assimilationist religious others,” Sikh humanitarianism demonstrates a face to non-Sikh publics that counters narratives of “Sikh extremism.”43 Certainly, over and beyond putting one’s Sikh ethical commitments into worldly practice, one impetus for diasporan Sikh involvement in humanitarian undertakings has been the positive value placed on and accruing to faith-based charity and voluntary service in their countries of residence. Sikhs organizations in the diaspora have themselves highlighted Sikh seva as congruent with local values. Thus, for example, the Sikh National Campaign’s award-winning “We are Sikhs” public relations campaign emphasized “community service” as a central shared Sikh and American value.44 And the Sikh American Float Foundation’s 2020 Rose Parade float featured a sculpture of Bhai Kanhaiya, while promoting ideals of “freedom, equality, compassion and service.”45 In turn, government officials have honored the humanitarian work of global Sikhs and Sikh organizations. At a February 2016 National Prayer Breakfast, President Obama cited the humanitarian work done by the Sikh community.46 The Queen’s Award for Voluntary Service was awarded in successive years to KRI’s Langar Aid (in 2018)47 and to Nishkam SWAT (in 2019).48 In April 2020, the Delhi Police, in vans and motorcycles with siren’s blaring, performed a Parikrama (ritual circumambulation) of Gurdwara Sri Bangla Sahib as a show of respect to Sikhs for their service to others during the coronavirus pandemic lockdown.49 And in November 2021, the British Columbia legislature honored Sikh Nation Blood Drive for 20 years of blood donations. 50 Because Sikhs are not proselytizers, Sikh humanitarianism has largely escaped the suspicion of ulterior motives that sometimes accompanies faithbased charitable work. While Sikh humanitarian undertakings may prove instrumental in raising a positive Sikh profile, they are not a means of converting non-Sikh recipients. However, like other faith-based and private voluntary charities, Sikh humanitarian organizations inevitably face concerns about accountability and priorities: Do their interventions serve as a band-aid for problems that require systemic changes more appropriately addressed by government or intergovernmental organizations? Do their priorities reflect the interests and priorities of wealthy donors and activists? Are they sufficiently transparent and accountable in their deployment of resources? Sikhs appear by-and-large supportive of the global humanitarian activities of KAI and United Sikhs, but some Sikhs have questioned why a greater priority should not be given to pressing Sikh and Panjab needs, including the economic, social, environmental, and political crises affecting Sikhs in post-Green Revolution Panjab51 and the plight of displaced, trafficked, and unhoused Sikhs outside Panjab.52 This has led spokespersons for the two groups to respond by justifying their organization’s humanitarian activities as reflecting Sikh values and serving Sikh interests through an inclusive humanitarianism attentive both to Sikh/Panjab-specific needs and to urgent needs of others elsewhere. 53

206  Verne A. Dusenbery

Conclusion Global Sikhs have demonstrated that they possess both the means and the motivation to contribute generously to humanitarian initiatives. 54 The Sikh Panthic institutions (the SGPC, local gurdwara societies, registered charities, international PVOs) discussed above have provided multiple channels for serving and sharing. But the initiatives undertaken and supported by these established institutions do not exhaust the imaginative and material resources that global Sikhs might bring to serving humanity. If every Sikh is expected to live a life incorporating “altruistic voluntary service” and ideally to contribute one-tenth of their earnings for the welfare of all, then much grassroot energy and considerable individual giving remains to be tapped from Sikhs globally. To that end, in the United States, the Dasvandh Network (DVN), an online giving platform, has over the past decade facilitated Sikh donor contributions to a wide variety of innovative humanitarian undertakings spearheaded by Sikh individuals and organizations. 55 While undertaken without expectation of reward, the selfless service of global Sikh humanitarians, giving of themselves for the welfare of others, has not gone unnoticed or unappreciated by the public at large. 56 But the greatest appreciation doubtlessly comes from the beneficiaries of global Sikh humanitarian assistance themselves, who may share the sentiment expressed in a recent headline in The Guardian reporting on United Sikh humanitarian responses to recent environmental disasters and the novel coronavirus pandemic in Australia: “If you want anything done, get the Sikhs.”57 In the end, all of this global Sikh humanitarian effort and the attendant coverage it has received has raised the global Sikh profile, introducing Sikhs to countless appreciative people with little prior knowledge of Sikhs and Sikhi, all the while providing a generation of global Sikhs new opportunities to live their values of Sevā, Vand Chakko, and Sarbat da Bhala.

Notes 1 Coverage of Sikh humanitarian activities during the pandemic came from major international and national media outlets, including CNN (https://www. cnn.com/travel/article/sikh-pandemic-food-support/index.html), The New York Times (https://www.nytimes.com/2020/06/08/dining/free-food-sikh-­ gundwara-langar.html), and the BBC (https://www.bbc.com/news/av/uk52966810/coronavirus-the-sikh-community-kitchen-feeding-thousands). The American Sikh Council links to a number of local media accounts from the U.S., the U.K., Canada, and Australia: https://americansikhcouncil.org/2020/05/01/ sikh-americans-serving-america-during-the-current-paramedic. And this India-­based media account discusses examples from both India and the diaspora: https://lokmarg.com/langar-in-the-time-of-covid-19. 2 Asia Samachar Team, “When Sikhs Led Volunteers to Help Aceh Tsunami Victims,” Asia Samachar, December 28, 2019, https://asiasamachar. com/2019/12/28/28780.

Sikh Humanitarianism in Global Perspective  207 3 Amarjit Thind and Mahesh Sharma, “Red Tape Holds Back Relief to Quake-Hit,” The Tribune, November 10, 2005, https://www.tribuneindia. com/2005/20051110/Panjab1.htm. 4 Preetinder Grewal, “‘It’s Our Duty to Serve Them’: This Is How an Indian Restaurant Is Helping Bushfire Victims in East Gippsland,” SBS Punjabi, March 1, 2020, https://www.sbs.com.au/language/english/audio/it-s-our-duty-to-servethem-this-is-how-an-indian-restaurant-is-helping-bushfire-victims-in-eastgippsland. 5 Teresa Mathew, “When Disasters Hit California, Sikh Temples Provide Meals and Refuge,” Atlas Obscura, January 2, 2020, https://www.atlasobscura.com/ articles/california-disaster-relief. 6 Times Now Digital, “Humanity above All! How Sikh Charity Khalsa Aid Is Helping Syrian Refugees,” Times Now, March 1, 2018, https://www.­ timesnownews.com/the-buzz/article/khalsa-aid-international-syria-syrian-­ refugees-civil-war-sikh-charity-lebanon-turkey/203924. 7 CBC News, “London Sikh Community Filling All Blood Donation Appointments on Boxing Day,” CBC, December 26, 2019, https://www.cbc. ca/news/canada/london/london-sikh-community-filling-all-blood-donation-­ appointments-on-boxing-day-1.5408265. 8 Nadeem Badshah, “Gurdwaras-Turned-Food Banks: Sikh Temples Are Catering for Rise in Britain’s Hungry,” The Independent, December 8, 2013, https:// www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/home-news/gurdwaras-turned-food-bankssikh-temples-are-catering-for-rise-in-britain-s-hungry-8991824.html. 9 Sikh service to others has merited two recent book-length journalistic accounts which seek to draw life lessons from examples of Sikh humanitarianism in action: Khanna (2021); Henderson (2021). 10 This section and the following draw upon Dusenbery (2008) and Dusenbery and Kaur (forthcoming). 11 Sikh Reht [sic] Maryada. Amritsar: Dharam Parchar Committee, SGPC, 1994 [1950]. http://www.sgpc.net/pdfs/rehat-maryada.pdf. 12 Bhai Gurdas, a relative and close associate of Guru Arjan, the fifth Sikh Guru, was the scribe and amanuensis for the Adi Granth, the initial 1604 compilation of what came to be the Guru Granth Sahib. Bhai Gurdas’s Varan was his commentary on Sikh ethics as expounded by the Gurus. 13 Guru Nanak was the first Sikh Guru. The Guru Granth Sahib, the Guru eternal for Sikhs, contains the musical poetry of Sikh Gurus and other divinely inspired saint-poets. While recognizing concerns about its English translations (see J. Singh 2018), I use here the Panjabi transliteration and English translation provided by www.srigranth.org, since this is the version most commonly used by Sikh search engines and projected to the sangat (congregation) in gurdwaras in the diaspora. 14 See Hira (1998). 15 See Singh and Sekhon (2001). 16 See Murphy (2004). 17 See Purewal (2009). 18 See Tatla (2016). 19 Dasvandh, the giving of one tenth of one’s earnings to the Guru, has not been formally institutionalized in contemporary Sikh practice. While a normative injunction for Khalsa Sikhs, it is up to individuals to make this contribution on their own. While the gurdwara is a key site of giving, contributions can go to other recognized Sikh organizations or beneficent projects. 20 See Mandair (2013: 25–37). Cf. Hawley (2014) for a somewhat less straightforward historical account of the institutionalization of langar.

208  Verne A. Dusenbery 21 See K. Singh (2014). The SGPC’s legal mandate covers historical gurdwaras and other registered gurdwaras in what was colonial Panjab. Although the SGPC projects itself as “Parliament of the Sikh Nation,” its voter rolls are limited to Sikhs within the prescribed constituency areas. And while it has considerable responsibility and power with respect to Sikh affairs, it lacks representation from and legal authority over most of the world’s gurdwaras. 22 In Dusenbery (2008) (reprinted in Dusenbery and Tatla 2009), I suggest that that there is something of a tension between, on the one hand, ego-less giving and selfless service as key aspects of Sikhi and, on the other hand, Panjabi Jat concerns for izzat (honor) and sardāri (supremacy of self). Hence, public shows of one’s gifts and service (“conspicuous philanthropy”), while they may raise the giver’s reputation and prestige, risk being seen as inappropriately self-­ interested or ego-inflating by other Sikhs. 23 Recent anthropological critiques of transnational humanitarianism have tended to be based on analyses of the workings of global North-based secular or Christian humanitarian organizations. Malkki’s analysis (2015) of the “neediness” of professional humanitarians from the global North working in global South settings, does not speak to the largely unprofessionalized humanitarianism of diaspora-based Sikhs discussed here. Nor does Fassin’s distinction (2012) between humanitarianism (based on “compassion”) versus human rights (based on “justice”) reflect a Sikh understanding of service for the welfare of all that encompasses both. See Tiktin’s (2014) overview for the larger anthropological conversation around transnational humanitarianism, including increased attention being paid to forms of humanitarianisms arising from non-Christian roots. 24 This description of “the gurdwara” as communal meeting place is not to deny that regional, caste, and factional differences among Sikhs have, in many diaspora settings, led to multiple gurdwaras being established rather than to maintaining a single gurdwara serving as gathering place for the entire local Sikh populace. 25 See Tatla (2009), where he provides an overview discussing various philanthropic projects in Panjab supported by diasporan Sikhs in the pre-1947 and post-1947 periods. This section draws heavily on Tatla’s historical account as developed there. 26 See Tatla (1999). 27 Dusenbery and Tatla (2009) provides an overview of Sikh diaspora philanthropy in Panjab. In addition to consideration of philanthropic projects undertaken, the contributors evaluate the effects of diaspora philanthropy on Panjab and discuss the ethical implications of recourse to private philanthropy as a means of providing local public goods and services under late capitalism. 28 I develop this argument in more detail in Dusenbery (2017). 29 One historical precedent for this form of Sikh humanitarianism is the account of Guru Hargobind’s release from Gwalior prison, in which he also managed to secure the release of 52 other political prisoners. Sikhs commemorate this occasion annually as Bandi Chhor Diwas. 30 Surjit Singh, “Sikh Human Rights Group Receives Status of United Nations Consultative Body,” Sikh24.com, September 1, 2015, https://www.sikh24. com/2015/09/01/sikh-human-rights-group-receives-status-of-united-nationsconsultative-body. 31 The World Sikh Organization of Canada currently describes its mission thusly: “The World Sikh Organization of Canada (WSO) promotes and protects the interests of Sikhs in Canada and around the world and advocates for the protection of human rights for all.” World Sikh Organization of Canada, “About,” accessed November 24, 2021, https://www.worldsikh.org/about. 32 “Through the community, courtrooms, classrooms, and halls of Congress, we are working towards a world where Sikhs, and other religious minorities in

Sikh Humanitarianism in Global Perspective  209 America, may freely practice their faith without bias and discrimination. . . . We strive to do this with a commitment to truth (sach) and service (seva), while knowing that our work is an unrelenting struggle (sangarsh) that requires perseverance over years and even decades.” Sikh Coalition, “Who We Are: Mission and Values,” accessed November 24, 2021, https://www.sikhcoalition.org/ about-us/mission-values. 33 “SALDEF is a national Sikh American media, policy, and education organization. Our mission is to empower Sikh Americans by building dialogue, deepening understanding, promoting civic and political participation, and upholding social justice and religious freedom for all Americans. We are grounded in our values of optimism (chardi kala), humility (nimrata) and service (seva), inspired by the community (sangat) for the benefit of all (sarbat da bhalla).” SALDEF, “Our Mission & Vision,” accessed November 24, 2021, https://saldef.org/ about. 34 See Luthra (2018). Some Sikh Americans have criticized the Sikh Coalition and SALDEF as elitist organizations not sufficiently committed to a broadbased social justice activism fully reflective of Sikh values. Rajbir Singh Judge and Jasdeep Singh Brar (2017) have argued that, in adopting a “rights-based discourse” to “carve an inclusive space within the United States,” the Sikh Coalition and SALDEF have fastened themselves to a project “inimical” to Sikhi. See Luthra (forthcoming) for a response. 35 Murphy (2004), quote on p. 338. 36 Luthra (2021). 37 J. Singh (2020). 38 For instance, Nicola Mooney finds similar Sikh ethical principles supporting environmental activism among young Sikhs in the diaspora (see Mooney 2018). 39 J. Singh (2015). 40 Khalsa Aid International, “Khalsa Aid – Who We Are & What We Do,” accessed November 24, 2021, https://www.khalsaaid.org/about-us. 41 UNITED SIKHS, “About Us,” accessed November 24, 2021, https://unitedsikhs.org/about. 42 Luthra (2021). 43 J. Singh (2019). 4 4 We Are Sikhs, “Our Values,” accessed November 24, 2021, http://www.wearesikhs.org/values. 45 Erin B. Logan, “Rose Parade 2020: Sikhs Roll Out a Float to Sow Seeds of Hope, Generosity and Harmony,” Los Angeles Times, January 1, 2020, https:// www.latimes.com/california/story/2020–01-01/rose-parade-2020-sikhs-float. 46 HT Correspondent, “Obama Cites Sikhs to Talk about Strength of Faith,” Hindustan Times, February 5, 2016, http://www.hindustantimes.com/Panjab/ obama-cites-sikhs-to-talk-about-strength-of-faith/story-hNRGmNSUIBMExIO8VWkR7K.html. 47 Khalsa Aid International, “Queen Awards Langar Aid Community Service Award,” accessed November 24, 2021, https://www.khalsaaid.org/news/ queen-awards-langar-aid-community-service-award. 48 Nishkam SWAT (Sikh Welfare & Awareness Team) is the first UK Sikh charity to take Langar to the street. Imogen Braddick, “Ilford Homeless Charity ‘Humbled’ to Be Recognised with Queen’s Award for Voluntary Service,” Ilford Recorder, June 6, 2019, https://www.ilfordrecorder.co.uk/news/nishkamswatcharity-in-ilford-receives-queen-s-award-for-voluntary-service-1-6089713. 49 Tribune News Service, “Delhi Police Perform ‘Parikrama’ of Bangla Sahib Gurdwara to Express Gratitude,” The Tribune, April 27, 2020, https://www. tribuneindia.com/news/Panjab/covid-delhi-police-perform-parikrama-­ofbangla-sahib-gurdwara-to-express-gratitude-77086.

210  Verne A. Dusenbery 50 Bhindra Sajan, “Sikh Nation Honoured at B.C. Legislature for Saving 160,000 Lives,” CTV News Vancouver, November 3, 2021, https://bc.ctvnews.ca/sikhnation-honoured-at-b-c-legislature-for-saving-160-000-lives-1.5651371.h. 51 Jodhka (2021) provides background to the post-Green Revolution agrarian crisis in Panjab and analyzes the current farmers protest movement. With respect to the latter, he notes “[s]olidarity protests … organized in different parts of the world, mostly led by the Sikh diaspora” and support for farmer sit-ins from: [a] large number of NGOs, local and global, [who] set up their stalls and facilities, providing the farmers with a range of services, from medical care and food, to bedding, clothing and other requirements of daily use. The langars are open to everyone, including the poor who stay in nearby slums and rural settlements. 52 Sikh activists have, in recent years, taken up the cause of rural Panjabis, primarily Sikh youth, caught up in irregular migration and global human trafficking networks. Kumar (2013) analyzes the roots of the crisis and the failure of the state to protect the vulnerable. Luthra (forthcoming) discusses how Sikh activists in the diaspora have taken up their cause. 53 Apparently responding to charges that United Sikhs has not done enough to help Sikhs threatened by displacement in Shillong (and earlier in Afghanistan), Gurvinder Singh, the International Humanitarian Aid Director for United Sikhs, sent the following email to supporters on 3 November, 2021: Standing with the humans of Shillong is a humanitarian endeavor in line with previous efforts by UNITED SIKHS volunteers. The UNITED SIKHS mission has traversed a tremendous journey from providing support for cremations, oxygen cylinders, vaccinations, bed allocations during the worst of Covid to education projects in India, medical and legal support for India’s protesting farmers, feeding the globe’s hungry, supporting projects in Africa, Bangladesh, and Indonesia, legal aid to illegally arrested Sikhs in Maharashtra, and facilitating life-saving immigration for Afghan minorities and Sikhs. [emphasis in the original] And KAI volunteer Harpreet Singh posted at the Sikh news site Baaz an impassioned defense of Khalsa Aid’s humanitarian work against “criticism of Sikh humanitarian organizations not focusing all of their efforts on Sikhs, and Punjab” (H. Singh, 2021). 54 A 2014 BBC survey found that, in Britain, the percentage of Sikhs giving to charitable causes exceeded that of all other faith (and non-faith) communities. (Punjab Timeline, “BBC Study: Sikhs Are More Generous than Other Communities,” Sikh24.com, July 14, 2014, https://www.sikh24.com/2014/07/14/ bbc-study-sikhs-are-more-generous-than-other-communities.) 55 “The Dasvandh Network is an online giving platform where donors and organizations can actively participate in the spirit of Dasvandh, or share part of one’s earnings towards the betterment of society…. The goal of the Dasvandh Network is to bring Sikh and community giving to the next level. The progress of our community remains stunted due to the lack of consistent funds available to both established organizations and community projects. We must reignite the spirit of Dasvandh and promote humanitarian ideals by supporting innovative projects & organizations.” Dasvandh Network, “About Us,” accessed November 24, 2021, https://www.dvnetwork.org/Page/about-us. 56 While much media coverage and public recognition of Sikh humanitarianism has been positive across the globe, the Government of India continues to harbor suspicions of some diasporan Sikh giving as being anti-national, as for example

Sikh Humanitarianism in Global Perspective  211 in branding some assistance delivered by international NGOs to farmers encampments as furthering “Khalistani” interests (see Jodhka 2021). One can reject that claim without denying any political dimensions to humanitarian interventions, including attempting to affect the community’s collective public standing and/or supporting causes that serve human needs perceived to be unmet by the state. 7 Matilda Boseley, “‘If You Want Anything Done, Get the Sikhs’: Community Wins 5 Admirers for Bushfire and Covid Aid,” The Guardian, June 13, 2020, https:// www.theguardian.com/australia-news/2020/jun/14/if-you-want-anything-doneget-the-sikhs-community-wins-admirers-for-bushfire-and-covid-aid.

References American Sikh Council. “Sikh Americans Serving America During the Current Paramedic!” May 1, 2020. https://americansikhcouncil.org/2020/05/01/ sikh-americans-serving-america-during-the-current-paramedic. Asia Samachar Team. “When Sikhs Led Volunteers to Help Aceh Tsunami Victims.” Asia Samachar, December 28, 2019. https://asiasamachar. com/2019/12/28/28780. Badshah, Nadeem. “Gurdwaras-Turned-Food Banks: Sikh Temples Are Catering for Rise in Britain’s Hungry.” The Independent, December 8, 2013. https:// www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/home-news/gurdwaras-turned-food-bankssikh-temples-are-catering-for-rise-in-britain-s-hungry-8991824.html. Boseley, Matilda. “‘If You Want Anything Done, Get the Sikhs’: Community Wins Admirers for Bushfire and Covid Aid.” The Guardian, June 13, 2020. https:// www.theguardian.com/australia-news/2020/jun/14/if-you-want-anything-doneget-the-sikhs-community-wins-admirers-for-bushfire-and-covid-aid. Braddick, Imogen. “Ilford Homeless Charity ‘Humbled’ to be Recognised with Queen’s Award for Voluntary Service.” Ilford Recorder, June 6, 2019. https:// www.ilfordrecorder.co.uk/news/nishkamswat-charity-in-ilford-receives-queens-award-for-voluntary-service-1-6089713. CBC News. “London Sikh Community Filling All Blood Donation Appointments on Boxing Day.” CBC, December 26, 2019. https://www.cbc.ca/news/ canada/london/london-sikh-community-filling-all-blood-donation-appointments-on-boxing-day-1.5408265. Dasvandh Network. “About Us.” Accessed November 24, 2021. https://www.dvnetwork.org/Page/about-us. Dusenbery, Verne A. “‘Through Wisdom, Dispense Charity’: Religious and Cultural Underpinnings of Diasporan Sikh Philanthropy in Punjab.” In Sikhs at Large: Religion, Culture, and Politics in Global Perspective, 136–162. New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2008. Dusenbery, Verne A. “The Sikh Diaspora and Sarbat da Bhala: Do Millennials Have Different Take on Diaspora Philanthropy, Humanitarian Assistance, and ‘Development’?” In Diaspora and Development: Emerging Multidisciplinary Dynamics of Indian/Panjabi Migration, edited by Tejinder Kaur, Pooja Gupta, and Pooja Sharma, 21–31. Patiala: Publication Bureau, Panjabi University, 2017. Dusenbery, Verne A., and Mandeep Kaur. “Sevā.” In Brill’s Encyclopedia of Sikhism, Vol II, edited by Knut A. Jacobsen et al., Leiden: Brill, forthcoming.

212  Verne A. Dusenbery Dusenbery, Verne A., and Darshan S. Tatla, eds. Sikh Diaspora Philanthropy in Punjab: Global Giving for Local Good. New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2009. Fassin, Didier. Humanitarian Reason: A Moral History of the Present. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2012. Grewal, Preetinder. “‘It’s Our Duty to Serve Them’: This Is How an Indian Restaurant Is Helping Bushfire Victims in East Gippsland.” SBS Punjabi, March 1, 2020. https://www.sbs.com.au/language/english/audio/it-s-our-duty-to-serve-themthis-is-how-an-indian-restaurant-is-helping-bushfire-victims-in-east-gippsland. Hawley, Michael. “Sikh Institutions.” In The Oxford Handbook of Sikh Studies, edited by Pashaura Singh and Louis E. Fenech, 317–327. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014. Henderson, Stephen. The 24-Hour Soup Kitchen: Soul-Stirring Lessons from Gastrophilanthropy. Rev. ed. New York: Radius Book Group, 2021. Hira, Bhagat Singh. Beacon-Light of Humanitarian Service & Apostle of Peace: Bhai Kanhaiya. Bathinda: Sewa Jyoti Publications, 1988. HT Correspondent. “Obama Cites Sikhs to Talk about Strength of Faith.” Hindustan Times, February 5, 2016. http://www.hindustantimes.com/Panjab/ obama-cites-sikhs-to-talk-about-strength-of-faith/story-hNRGmNSUIBMExIO8VWkR7K.html. Jodhka, Surinder S. “Why Are the Farmers of Punjab Protesting?” The Journal of Peasant Studies, 2021. https://doi.org/10.1080/03066150.2021.1990047. Judge, Rajbir Singh, and Jasdeep Singh Brar. “Guru Nanak Is Not at The White House: An Essay on the Idea of Sikh-American Redemption.” Sikh Formations 13, nos. 3–4 (2017): 147–161. https://doi.org/10.1080/17448727.2017. 1305944. Khalsa Aid International. “Khalsa Aid – Who We Are & What We Do.” Accessed November 24, 2021. https://www.khalsaaid.org/about-us. Khalsa Aid International. “Queen Awards Langar Aid Community Service Award.” Accessed November 24, 2021. https://www.khalsaaid.org/news/ queen-awards-langar-aid-community-service-award. Khanna, Jasveen Mayal. Seva: Sikh Secrets on How to be Good in the Real World. New Delhi: Juggernaut Books, 2021. Krishna, Priya. “How to Feed Crowds in a Protest or Pandemic? The Sikhs Know.” The New York Times, June 8, 2020. https://www.nytimes.com/2020/06/08/dining/free-food-sikh-gundwara-langar.html. Kumar, Suneel. “Exploring the Rural Agricultural Linkages of Human Trafficking: A Study of the Indian Punjab.” International Migration Review 51, no. 4 (2013): 116–129. https://doi.org/10.1111/imig.12096. Logan, Erin B. “Rose Parade 2020: Sikhs Roll out a Float to Sow Seeds of Hope, Generosity and Harmony.” Los Angeles Times, January 1, 2020. https://www. latimes.com/california/story/2020-01-01/rose-parade-2020-sikhs-float. Luthra, Sangeeta Kaur. “Sikh American Millennials at Work: Institution Building, Activism, and a Renaissance of Cultural Expression.” Sikh Formations 14 nos. 3–4 (2018): 280–299. https://doi.org/10.1080/17448727.2018.1485374. Luthra, Sangeeta Kaur. “Remembering Guru Nanak: Articulations of Faith and Ethics by Sikh Activists in Post 9/11 America.” Religions 12, no. 2 (2021): 113. https://doi.org/10.3390/rel12020113. Luthra, Sangeeta Kaur. “Sikhs in the United States.” In The Sikh World, edited by Pashaura Singh and Arvind-Pal Singh Mandair. London and New York: Routledge, forthcoming.

Sikh Humanitarianism in Global Perspective  213 Malkki, Liisa. The Need to Help: The Domestic Arts of International Humanitarianism. Durham: Duke University Press, 2015. Mandair, Arvind-Pal Singh. Sikhism: A Guide for the Perplexed. London: Bloomsbury Academic, 2013. Mathew, Teresa. “When Disasters Hit California, Sikh Temples Provide Meals and Refuge.” Atlas Obscura, January 2, 2020. https://www.atlasobscura.com/ articles/california-disaster-relief. Molekhi, Pankaj. “Langar in the Time of Coronavirus.” Lokmarg.com, May 1, 2020. https://lokmarg.com/langar-in-the-time-of-covid-19. Mooney, Nicola. “Sikh Millennials Engaging the Earth: Sikhi, Environmental Activism, and Eco-Enchantment.” Sikh Formations 14, nos. 3–4 (2018): 315–338, https://doi.org/10.1080/17448727.2018.1485330. Murphy, Anne. “Mobilizing Sevā (‘Service’): Modes of Sikh Diasporic Action.” In South Asians in the Diaspora: Histories and Religious Traditions, edited by Knut A. Jacobsen and T. Pratap Kumar, 367–402. Leiden: Brill, 2004. Punjab Timeline. “BBC Study: Sikhs Are More Generous Than Other Communities.” Sikh24.com, July 14, 2014. https://www.sikh24.com/2014/07/14/ bbc-study-sikhs-are-more-generous-than-other-communities. Purewal, Navtej K. “Gender, Sevā, and Social Institutions: A Case Study of Bebe Nanaki Gurdwara and Charitable Trust, Birmingham, UK.” In Sikh Diaspora Philanthropy in Punjab: Global Giving for Local Good, edited by Verne A. Dusenbery and Darshan S. Tatla, 205–215. New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2009. Reed, Jim. “Coronavirus: The Sikh Community Kitchen Feeding Thousands.” BBC, June 9, 2020. https://www.bbc.com/news/av/uk-52966810/coronavirus-the-sikhcommunity-kitchen-feeding-thousands. Sajan, Bhindra. “Sikh Nation Honoured at B.C. Legislature for Saving 160,000 Lives.” CTV News Vancouver, November 3, 2021. https://bc.ctvnews.ca/ sikh-nation-honoured-at-b-c-legislature-for-saving-160-000-lives-1.5651371. SALDEF. “Our Mission & Vision.” Accessed November 24, 2021. https://saldef. org/about. Sikh Coalition. “Who We Are: Mission and Values.” Accessed November 24, 2021. https://www.sikhcoalition.org/about-us/mission-values. Sikh Reht [sic] Maryada. Amritsar: Dharam Parchar Committee, SGPC, 1994 [1950]. http://www.sgpc.net/pdfs/rehat-maryada.pdf. Simko-Bednarski, Evan. “US Sikhs Tirelessly Travel Their Communities to Feed Hungry Americans.” CNN, July 9, 2020. https://www.cnn.com/travel/article/ sikh-pandemic-food-support/index.html. Singh, Harpreet. “Sikh Humanitarian Seva Is Neither Partial Nor Transactional.” Baaz, July 29, 2021. https://www.baaznews.org/p/sikh-humanitarian-neitherpartial-transactional. Singh, Jasjit. “From the Temple to the Street: How Sikh Kitchens Are Becoming the New Food Banks.” The Conversation, July 22, 2015. https://theconversation. com/from-the-temple-to-the-street-how-sikh-kitchens-are-becoming-the-newfood-banks-44611. Singh, Jasjit. “Lost in Translation? The Emergence of the Digital Guru Granth Sahib.” Sikh Formations 14, nos. 3–4 (2018): 339–351. https://doi.org/10.1080/ 17448727.2018.1485355. Singh, Jasjit. “Racialisation, ‘Religious Violence’ and Radicalisation: The Persistence of Narratives of ‘Sikh Extremism’.” Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies 46, no. 15 (2019): 3136–3156.

214  Verne A. Dusenbery Singh, Jasjit. “Narratives in Action: Modelling the Types and Drivers of Sikh Activism in Diaspora.” Religions 11, no. 10 (2020): 539. https://doi.org/10.3390/ rel11100539. Singh, Kashmir. “Shiromani Gurdwara Parbandhak Committee.” In The Oxford Handbook of Sikh Studies, edited by Pashaura Singh and Louis E. Fenech, 328– 338. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014. Singh, Patwant, and Harinder Kaur Sekhon. Garland Around My Neck: The Story of Puran Singh of Pingalwara. New Delhi: UBS Publishers, and Birmingham, UK: DTF Publishers, 2001. Singh, Surjit. “Sikh Human Rights Group Receives Status of United Nations Consultative Body.” Sikh24.com, September 1, 2015. https://www.sikh24.com/2015/09/01/ sikh-human-rights-group-receives-status-of-united-nations-consultative-body. Tatla, Darshan S. The Sikh Diaspora: The Search for Statehood. London: UCL Press, and Seattle: The University of Washington Press, 1999. Tatla, Darshan S. “Sikh Diaspora Philanthropy in Punjab: Origins, Growth, and Contemporary Trends.” In Sikh Diaspora Philanthropy in Punjab: Global Giving for Local Good, edited by Verne A. Dusenbery and Darshan S. Tatla, 30–78. New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2009. Tatla, Darshan S. S. Budh Singh Dhahan: Jivan ate Yogdan. Patiala: Publication Bureau, Panjabi University, 2016. Thind, Amarjit, and Mahesh Sharma. “Red Tape Holds Back Relief to Quake-Hit.” The Tribune, November 10, 2005. https://www.tribuneindia. com/2005/20051110/Panjab1.htm. Tiktin, Myriam. “Transnational Humanitarianism.” Annual Review of Anthropology 43 (2014): 273–289. Times Now Digital. “Humanity above All! How Sikh Charity Khalsa Aid Is Helping Syrian Refugees.” Times Now, March 1, 2018. https://www.timesnownews. com/the-buzz/article/khalsa-aid-international-syria-syrian-refugees-civil-­warsikh-charity-lebanon-turkey/203924. Tribune News Service. “Delhi Police Perform ‘Parikrama’ of Bangla Sahib Gurdwara to Express Gratitude.” The Tribune, April 27, 2020. https://www. tribuneindia.com/news/ Panjab/covid-delhi-police-perform-parikrama-ofbangla-­sahib-gurdwara-to-express-gratitude-77086. UNITED SIKHS. “About Us.” Accessed November 24, 2021. https://unitedsikhs. org/about. We Are Sikhs. “Our Values.” Accessed November 24, 2021. http://www.wearesikhs.org/values. World Sikh Organization of Canada. “About.” Accessed November 24, 2021. https://www.worldsikh.org/about.

10 Punj Pyarian Artistic Expressions of Sikh Existentiality Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh

As a matter of fact I think all art, not excluding religious art, has come into being because of sensuality: a sensuality so great that it overflows the boundaries of the mere physical. How can one feel the beauty of a form, the intensity or the subtlety of a colour, the quality of a line, unless one is a sensualist of the eyes? Amrita Sher-Gil, Letter to Karl Khandalavala, 1 March, 1937 New Delhi

This chapter aspires to stage five twentieth-century women painters: Amrita Sher-Gil (1913–1941), Arpita Singh (b 1937), Arpana Caur (b 1954), and the Singh Twins, Amrit and Rabindra Kaur (b 1966). For me, these five are the “Punj (five) Pyarian (cherished/beloved),” contemporary female analogues of the iconic Punj Pyare in Sikh history. Initiated by Guru Gobind Singh on Baisakhi 1699, the “beloved five” embodied the union of the spiritual and the corporeal envisioned by the founder of the Sikh religion.1 Guru Nanak diverged from his Yogi, Nath, Siddh, Jain, and Buddhist contemporaries who feared the body and went through arduous techniques to “master” their sexuality or “death” of their body. The first Sikh Guru categorically proclaimed, “dehi andar nam nivas’ – in the body dwells the divine Name” (GGS: 1026) and so his final successor adorned the body of the Punj Pyare by combining bani (transcendent verse) and bana (the five k-s or external items of faith). 2 But as I have said before, the sensuous-spiritual plenitude at the foundations of the Sikh religion has yet to be fully experienced.3 Some ongoing fear and anxiety about palpable flesh and blood dominates the psyche of both Sikh men and women, and hinders them from savoring the jouissance delivered by their Gurus in their daily life. Our Punj Pyarian unabashedly express the power of the physical body, for which a couple of them have even been labeled “irreverent;”4 “shockingly modern.”5 Materializing from their deep individual interests and proclivities, their canvases reveal the corporeal, textual, historical, diasporic, and multicultural richness of the human body. Their vibrant works provide embodied knowledge which provokes courageous actions. These five are dynamic

DOI: 10.4324/9781003281849-13

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216  Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh activists! Parallel to the historical male Punj Pyare who came from different regions and castes, our modern female Punj Pyarian were born and brought up in diverse cultural and historical contexts. Amazingly prolific with unique evolving styles, they expose covert sexist, racist, environmental, and religious injustice just as they reveal the underlying motif of our collective intimate bonds with beings biotic and abiotic. In their own distinct ways, they reinforce the integral unity of the corporeal and the transcendent, and project Sikh foundational transformative and liberatory currents in new and wholesome ways. Here we will explore five overlapping dimensions of the “body” in their works, but sequentially, so that we can discern the multifold colors of their existential threads. Furthermore, we will approach the five dimensions from the perspective of each artist so we get to appreciate their distinct aesthetic sensibilities. The challenge: each of them has produced a huge corpus of exquisite works which makes it incredibly tough to choose! Not only do our Punj Pyarian create a dynamic intersection of the past with the present global reality but they also propel its exciting momentum into the future. They courageously question and examine the relationship between gender and society, between the personal and the political, between the local and the global. Paradoxically, the more specific and unique their language of colors, the more universal its reach. They inspire us to reflect on issues of identity, sexuality, religiosity, community, home, family, nature, and nation. As their manifold mesmerizing visuals mnemonically unfurl, a vast and inclusive biophilic subjectivity comes to the surface that can expand our emotional and spiritual repertoires in significant ways. Tolstoy famously defined art as “means of union,” “indispensable for the life and progress toward well-being of individuals and of humanity,” and in this dangerously divided and polarized world, our Punj Pyarian are making vital contributions to the wellbeing of humanity.6

Amrita Sher-Gil: The Corporeal Body Daughter of a Sikh aristocratic “star-gazing” photographer father and a Hungarian Jewish opera singer mother, Amrita Sher-Gil produced stunning works. She combined new western traditions with the heritage of India in her own aesthetic style, and unraveled the metaphorical intensity and psychological tensions of the human body. A precocious youngster, Sher-Gil started her training at École des Beaux-Arts, and soon won numerous awards. While doing self-portraits and mastering European styles, she dismantled master Paul Gaugin’s master trope “for the colonial other” by asserting her own corporeality, confidently showing her bare full-bodied breasts in her Self-Portrait as a Tahitian (1934).7 The artist and model, the muse and maker, self-desiring—not object of desire, Sher-Gil experimented with gendered tropes to explore her own bicultural, biracial, binational, bisexual identity, and her deep-seated melancholy.

Artistic Expressions of Sikh Existentiality  217 Upon her return to India, she was captivated by the cave paintings at Ajanta. Thereafter she denounced the Orientalized romanticism dominating the Indian art scene, and took upon herself the challenge to bring in a bold new aesthetic with an existentialist realism to Indian painting. In her oft-quoted proclamation, “Europe belongs to Picasso, Matisse and Braque and many others, India belongs only to me.”8 During India’s nationalist phase, her Mother India (1935) exposes a poor, tragic, single, impoverished mother with her starving children; Sher-Gil’s painting repudiates the bountiful idealized Bharat Mata by the “son” of the Bengal School—a beautiful haloed goddess dispensing knowledge, clothing, food, and prayer-beads (Abanindranath Tagore in 1905). Sher-Gil would interpret the life of the poor Indian masses, “to paint those silent images of infinite submission and patience … their angular brown bodies … their sad eyes … with a new technique; my own technique … to a plane which transcends….”9 She lived up to her claim. Sher-Gil is the most celebrated artist of modern Indian painting. Her works are declared National Treasures. Stamps exhibiting her paintings have been issued. Streets in Delhi, and the Indian Cultural Center in Budapest, are named after her. UNESCO declared her birth centennial as the international year of Sher-Gil.10 Her inspiration goes beyond the world of painting. On the cover of Salman Rushdie’s latest Languages of Truth, Sher-Gil’s penetrating eyes from a black and white photograph tell readers Rushdie had “conjured up an imaginary Amrita” for his novel The Moor’s Last Sigh.11 The acclaimed actress Shabana Azmi acknowledges Sher-Gil as “the character I’ve enjoyed playing the most in my entire career” for her role in Tumahri Amrita (Hindi play produced by Feroz Abbas Khan).12 Indeed, “the sensualist of the eyes” continues to make extraordinary contributions to world art. In this segment, we zoom in on The Musicians (1940). Painted at the end of her tragically short life, it is charged with a unique Sher-Gil aesthetic, and surprisingly, this work has not received the attention it deserves. The painter depicts a trio of Sikh musicians in white turbans against a deep green background seated closely together on a typical Panjabi hand-woven cotton rug (durri) with geometric designs. A lover of music and an accomplished pianist, Sher-Gil joined the École Normale de Musique but gave it up to pursue her passion for painting.13 Thus a year before her death we find her return to her youth, to her pent-up love for music, and to her father’s Sikh heritage. This is the only painting that specifically stages a Sikh scene, a kirtan performance, although The Ancient Story Teller (painted the same year) also evokes the Janamsakhi genre and a Nanak-like figure. The dynamic motion, emotions, and aural resonance amongst the Sikh musicians produce Sher-Gil’s “ecstasy of aesthetic emotion,”—a symbiosis of the cognitive, sensuous, and spiritual planes; they reproduce Guru Nanak’s maxim “only the relisher of fragrance knows the flower” (GGS: 725). Sher-Gil’s musicians adorned in the Khalsa symbols of the kesha, kara, and kirpan reflect corporeal ease. Two of them are clearly sitting in a lotus

218  Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh

Figure 10.1 Musicians, Amrita Sher-Gil, 1940, Collection: National Gallery of Modern Art, New Delhi

position, the one in the middle seated behind them is only partially visible. Those large brown feet of the protagonists frequently spotted in Sher-Gil’s paintings are not visible in this composition. Perhaps this group is in some lofty sphere carried away by their spiritual joy. There are no elongated eyes of sadness or pathos either. The eyes of the two bearded men are taken in by something beyond, and the youngster’s eyes are blissfully closed. The

Artistic Expressions of Sikh Existentiality  219 ensemble exudes a transcendent plenitude. These simple ordinary men illustrate the extraordinary potential of the human body; simultaneously, they make its absence in the numerous dark-bodied, impoverished subaltern silhouette-like Indian figures painted by Sher-Gil, hauntingly visible (Figure 10.1). Seduced by Vincent Van Gogh, Sher-Gil’s painting surges with the Dutch artist’s outpour, “I want to express want to express, with Green and with Reds, the terrific, the terrific human passions.”14 Sher-Gil’s garland of marigolds ignites incandescent flames on the dazzling white shirt of the heavy-set musician playing the tanpura (stringed musical instrument). The glowing red blossoms replay the red design on his instrument and the red patterns on the cotton rug; they rebound the full red lips of the artist in her self-portraits just as they do the erotic desires of her numerous subjects. The surface image or “pheno-text” in Julia Kristeva’s idiom15 is the three musicians playing sacred music; its engendering “geno-text” I feel is SherGil’s robust muscular self-portrait (#7) she did as a seventeen-year-old in Paris in 1930. Here her thick halo of dark mysterious hair accentuates her flushed face buoyed by her exuberant smile with her pearly white teeth while her black and white necklace caresses her tantalizing neck as her sensual eyes sensuously touch the beholder. Sher-Gil’s passion, her rapture, her full bloodedness overflows the boundaries of the mere physical to the metaphysical sounds of her musicians. The elemental green marigold stems in the pheno-text also reach out to embrace the green shawl worn by the middle musician and the green backdrop shared by the trio. They too can be genetically traced to the emerald bracelet—right beside the bright red—circling Sher-Gil’s right wrist, her elbow resting on her fleshy thigh; in fact, the backdrop of her self-portrait is but hues of greens and blue, welcoming viewers to enter her luminous space and rejoice with her. The musicians form their rhythmic semi-circle, aesthetically inviting the audience to join their ecstatic song. Sher-Gil’s restlessness comes to rest here. Her Sikh heritage treasures the body glowing with the universal emotion of love denoted by myriads of Panjabi words—bhau, pyar, ishq, muhabbat, rang…, all pronouncing love as the supreme principle. A body in love is radiant, it is flushed, for “when we don’t blush with love or get drunk on its elixir, we only sear and scorch” said the founder Guru (GGS: 945). Starting as a teenager to the end, Sher-Gil’s “vital plane of line, color, form, and design” is a tribute to the body’s sentience.16 The spectacular white that begins to appear in her later paintings creates its own dramatic effect. Sher-Gil’s juxtaposition of the musical trio’s brown bodies playing their brown tanpura or brown dholak drum with their white turbans and white shirts parallels the spell-binding contrast between the brown Brahmacari male quintet and their white dhotis and sacred threads (painted in 1937). From the palette of a bi-racial artist, the brown complexions differ considerably in hue. The tanpura player is the darkest of the three. He is so dark that his long black beard or the kara on his right wrist

220  Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh is barely distinguishable. Yet his eyes possess a distinct mystery, drawing viewers into some unfathomable depth. Seated serenely, strumming his dark brown tanpura with his dark brown fingers, a bright marigold garland on his startling white shirt, he is sheer motion and movement. The youngest of the trio is the fairest; his beardless face has a yellow-golden hue. The young drummer’s wide horizontal dholak forms a rhythmic perpendicular to the dark-complexioned lead musician’s vertical tanpura. The middle musician in greens is a burnt sienna. The subtle range of color in the trio’s flesh tints illuminates their professional and spiritual bond. Afterall, skin is the “liminal, semi-porous boundary between inner and outer worlds, between self and world;” “skinscape” passes sensations, perceptions, emotions, knowledge, imagination, spirituality in and out from body to body, solidifying group cohesion and communality.17 There is a proximity, a fluidity in the figures, and a tonal equilibrium amongst Sher-Gil’s Musicians. Peace radiates from their faces, as do blissful notes from their instruments. They are a single body, that of humanity. Visibly and aurally celebrating the infinite in their finite bodies, they enjoin racially and culturally diverse audiences to take part in their sublime performance.

Arpita Singh: The Textual Body Born in pre-partitioned Bengal in 1937, Arpita Singh absorbed the local kantha embroidery technique with which she weaves (texere) designs in vibrant watercolors to illuminate the textual body, the Guru Granth Sahib (GGS). Core of Sikh philosophy, ethics, and aesthetics, this sacred body presides at all public and private ceremonies, rituals, and worship. How can the metaphysical word flowing spontaneously and speedily shape into such concrete symmetries, artistic designs, innovative similes, exciting paradoxes, and brilliant metaphors? In the Hymns of Guru Nanak Arpita Singh lyrically sets Panjabi folk tradition in Persian miniature layouts, and as these get inscribed in her modernist style reminiscent of the biblical illustrations of Chagall, the palpable and transcendent fibers of the Sikh literary body begin to show.18 Since the entire GGS is stylistically and thematically modeled on Guru Nanak’s compositions, Arpita Singh evocatively illustrates the warp and the weft of the 1430-paged scriptural text for us: its language of love, its musicality, unicity, pluralism, and woman-centered spirituality.

Language of Love The passionate voice of the author is recurrently heard across Arpita Singh’s visual constellation in The Hymns of Guru Nanak. Her inaugural image is that of a dark-bearded Nanak sitting cross-legged in an embroidered backdrop where stitches are raining down a blue-gray celestial dome. The kantha style can hold several layers of fabric together, and the painter in shades

Artistic Expressions of Sikh Existentiality  221 of blue, brown, sea-green, and white sews natural elements into textiles and architecture. With a smile on his face, his hands raised in marvel, and his soft eyes looking straight at the audience, Nanak seems to be sharing an ecstatic experience. Is Arpita Singh depicting his encounter with the divine One in the amniotic waters of the river Bein narrated in the Janamsakhis? Analogous to Mary Magdalene who witnessed Christ’s resurrection, sister Nanaki appears on the left of the composition witnessing this intriguing scene. We spectators too palpably see her brother drenched in love, and hear each pore of his body whisper “sasu masu sabhu jio tumara tu mai khara piara—my breath, my flesh, my very life is Yours, You are my absolute love” (GGS: 660). In the next composition, we see Nanak and a companion walking briskly with prayer rugs tucked under their left arms. Guru Nanak’s right hand is stretched up as though joyfully greeting the two white birds flying toward him. Thereafter all of Arpita Singh’s frames show a white-bearded Guru Nanak speaking the “language of infinite love—bhakhia bhau apar” (Japji stanza 4). Shared by the species, the scriptural language is enriched with images, symbols, analogies, and metaphors drawn from the domestic, economic, and political spheres along with the world of flora and fauna and the planetary movements. The onomatopoeic rhuṇ jhuṇ call of the peacocks is no different from the devout “chanting the true word” (GGS: 545) or “the unstruck melody constantly vibrating inside” (GGS: 1033). The mystical love call is made in the common language of love for the babiha-bird cries “prio prio—beloved! O’ beloved” (GGS: 1108). The sparrow is exalted as she calls out for the divine One in Persian, “khudāi khudāi” (GGS: 1286). The koel-bird sings melodious love songs from the mango tree (GGS: 455). Hearing the thundering clouds, birds and peacocks “talk” (bolat) day and night (GGS: 1265). Arpita Singh’s visual repertoire replete with soaring birds, paddling swans, popping flowers, hopping squirrels, lush trees, swimming fish, luminous planets … perfectly records the sounds, cadences, tones, and rhythms of the common language of love we heard in Sher-Gil’s Musicians.4 “Word” and “flesh” do come together in passionate love for the One. Shared by humanity and the cosmos at large, our Punj Pyarian colorfully etch love, the leitmotif of the GGS.

Musicality A major portion of the GGS (pp. 14–1353 of the 1430 paged text) is framed in 31 raga chapters. The term rāga means both “color” and “musical mode”, and ragas of the GGS represent the basic seasonal and temporal moods of the traditional Indian musical system which are also innovatively improvised with folk musical patterns, as well as regional Bhakti and Sufi forms. The origins of the musical framework of the GGS can be traced to the pluralistic Sikh-Muslim, word-music symphony: sublime songs surged from the first Guru’s lips to the music of his childhood Muslim companion

222  Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh Mardana’s rabab (stringed instrument). Aware of the mnemonic power and communal value of music, the expansive GGS musical framework was a vehicle to reach diverse and distant audiences and intensify the aesthetic appeal of the poetic compositions of the text. Like the scriptural ragas which innovatively combine both classical and regional musical styles, Arpita Singh draws upon traditional and modern, classical and folk art to augment the artistic impact of the sublime materials. Each raga has its specific characteristics: a season prescribed for its singing, time of the day, an emotional mood, and a particular cultural climate as each measure evolved in a specific region. Through her vibrant colors and tender forms, Arpita Singh evokes the specific emotion, distinguishing the respective compositions. For instance, her paintings accompanying Guru Nanak’s hymns from Sri Raga color the mind with a gentle m ­ ystery— characteristic of this evening melody, which is the first in the Guru Granth (Sri means supreme). Arpita Singh’s works are very different from the popular Ragamala genre of paintings where the musical modes are anthropomorphized as male and female parents, and depicted with their children and extended families. Instead, Arpita Singh’s paintings highlight the compositional elements of the textual body by tellingly stitching together the multiple emotional layers evoked by each particular raga. For Raga Tukhari Arpita Singh captures the emotional journey of the protagonist over the 12 months (Barah Mah) with enormous existential import. From Sanskrit tushar (meaning winter frost) the raga is sung in the morning, so its cooling impact emerges effectively in Arpita Singh’s compositions. In tune with the musical mode, the psyche of the protagonist changes during the different seasons. In the spring Arpita Singh shows the young woman sitting lonely on her terrace, her alienation augmented by the bountiful nature around her. Hearing the bumblebee buzzing beside the blossom boughs and the koel bird singing happily in the mango grove, the separated lover aches in pain. On Singh’s canvas shades of greens and pinks, the bright yellow scarf, and magenta shirt, illustrate the protagonist’s angst. The angular architecture draws up chasms and segregations. The perpendicular bricks on her terrace and the sharp steep stairway behind repeat the stripes on her dress to expose her psychic split. There is no harmony between her and the bird perched beside her; the bird faces the lush landscape, not the aching person. During the monsoon (following the scorching summer) when everybody buzzes with joy, the woman is frightened by thunder and lightning, and so with large anxious eyes, we see her leaning against a pillar as she faces the audience. Dark purples, blues, and greens, with a patch of dazzling white dominate the landscape. But a bird is reaching towards her, and Nanak has his hand raised, his palm facing outward—a gesture of dispelling fear, abhaya mudra associated with Lord Buddha. In her despair, the bird and the Guru’s hand bring hope to her. Right in the middle of the composition is a weeping willow. Again, on the one hand, its drooping form is a tragic

Artistic Expressions of Sikh Existentiality  223 reminder of the biblical passage, “By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion. We hanged our harps upon the willows in the midst thereof” (Psalm 137: 1–2). On the other hand though, the willow tree is a beacon of vitality, hope, and healing, with the capacity to grow strong and bold. Through her imaginative leap and artistic talent Arpita Singh makes Raga Tukhari—with all its complex emotions—visible to the naked eye. At the end of the lunar year (February–March), the woman discovers her Lover. During the tender coolness of the season, duality and its ensuing anguish, dissolve. She is at peace. Naturally, her pink shirt matches with and bounces off the flowers and fruit surrounding her. An active subject, she stands fully at home in her landscape. The smile on her face and the bountiful flowers and fruit in her hand sumptuously replay the textual verse, “she found her Beloved in her own self” (GG: 1109).19 The transcendent beyond is right within her body. Arpita Singh started with Guru Nanak’s divine rapture witnessed by Nanaki; in this concluding image, the equally

Figure 10.2  Arpita Singh, In Hymns of Guru Nanak, 1969

224  Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh elated white-bearded Guru is again facing viewers seated in the foreground, and a symmetrically positioned Bhai Mardana is strumming away his rabab. The Guru’s pointed hand chimes with Bhai Mardana’s joyous musical vibrations as they waft across to the accomplished woman, symphonically signifying her as the embodiment of spiritual legacy. In tune with different seasons, different times of the day, different regions, different human activities, different moods, Arpita Singh visually renders the wide-ranging musical modes of the GGS. Her brushstrokes achieve the objective of the raga framework—to inspire a recognition of universal humanity in each heartbeat (Figure 10.2).

Unicity Likewise, through Arpita Singh’s artistic genius, her inimitable palette of colors, her miniature painting conventions, we receive the quintessential textual oneness of Being. In an exemplary illustration, the celestial blue skies and the subterranean aquatic currents flow harmoniously together to reveal the singular dynamic life-circulating energy (#37, signed AS 90 by the artist). Amidst stunning swirling blues, the figure of a white-bearded Nanak in brown robes and a brown turban has his arms stretched wide to embrace the rich diversity of beings around him. The recurrent GGS melody “There is the One there is no other” resounds across the boundless horizon teeming with fish, flowers, swans, lotuses, humans, sun, moon, and ferns. We tend to see what is above us – millions of light years away, but do we ever think about what lies below our feet? The painter pushes us to see the unseeable, intuit the unintuitable. The rhythmic interaction amongst the various shapes and colors project the equivalence of all beings and things as well as their simultaneity and infinity. That they share chemical, biological, material, and spiritual reality becomes apparent: “all that exists exists in You—jeti hai teti tudh andar” (GGS: 1034). Clearly, the divine, nature, and humanity are linked together rather than tiered into hierarchical levels with humans in the middle distorting and oppressing the life-support system. Nothing in this world is a commodity to belittle or exploit. Who are we with our high-fluted anthropomorphism to destroy the intricate web of intimate relationships? Humans must partner with fellow beings and work to sustain the balance and diversity of our variegated community. The man or the woman or the golden orb of the dazzling sun or the sliver of the silver moon are no greater and no less than the lotus or the fish or the ferns. The bald man floating in a white dhoti-like outfit on the lower left of Arpita Singh’s frame and the woman in white with her head covered plunging from the upper right create a lovely diagonal: with their palms joined together these two different-­ looking figures are inviting us to celebrate our union with the cosmos at large. How can viewers deny the mutuality and inter-subjectivity of Nanak’s wide-open arms?

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Pluralism The Sikh textual body is pluralistic: its skeins, tissues, and membranes are made up of the sublime utterances not only of the Sikh Gurus, but also of Hindu Bhaktas, and Muslim Sufis. Correspondingly, Arpita Singh visually introduces men and women from different religions and ethnicities, and provides viewers vigorous mental and emotional exercises to flush out arteries clogged with fear and alienation of the other. She fosters a feel for the different features of our shared humanity. An example is her absolutely endearing image of baby Krishna with three women of Gokul. It literally translates the scriptural verse, “From arm to arm a baby is bounced around like Krishna in Yashoda’s home” (GGS: 75): a lithesome blue-black baby from the back is being tenderly hugged by mother Yashoda, but he is turning away from her towards the second woman who is reaching out to the youngster while the third, hunkered on her knees, is moving excitedly—ready to take the little one in her arms! Beloved of all, the nude baby Krishna has nothing on except for a diadem on his head. In Arpita Singh’s heart-warming choreography, pots of butter, metonymic markers of this pan-Indic butter-thief, are in the foreground. In the backdrop floats the author merged with wisps of clouds, brown terrain, and a host of cows associated with Krishna Gopal. Arpita Singh’s imaginary situates the Sikh textual body in timeless history: it belongs to the rich Indic past of the archetypal Hindu god as much as it belongs to our global future.

Woman-Centered Spirituality Arpita Singh’s visual translations appropriately depict the female figure at the center of the GGS, which is often neglected or even overturned into male syntax by translators and exegetes. 20 As discussed in the Barah Maha hymn, it is the woman who pulls the Timeless Beloved into her personal and historical world. Likewise, an illustration for Sri Raga shows two women, dressed in striking green, gold, red and white outfits embracing each other. 21 The verbal joy “come sisters and friends, let us embrace one another” reflects in their faces as they affectionately hold each other in their eyes and in their arms. They validate female bonds and human relationships vital to the Sikh scriptural worldview. In her illustration for Raga Vadhans, Arpita Singh depicts a woman in a pink scarf sitting on the ground in her courtyard, braiding her hair in front of a mirror. 22 The pillow and the neat bedspread, a basket of pink flowers, a tray with two cups—signify the presence of her absent Lover. She must dress herself in ways that will bring union with the Beloved. Arpita Singh’s scenario replays the textual affirmation of the feminine as a category of being with essential values and strength; she is the one who has the quest for her divine Lover, and her corporeal adornment is vital for spiritual refinement. In fact, the

226  Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh bana of Khalsa, the five k-s given to the Punj Pyare can be traced to her. 23 If we look into her mirror, we too can see who we are and what we might hope to become. Arpita Singh’s watercolors accompanying the hymns of Nanak make the textual body come out alive. Rightly deserving, this prolific painter has won numerous awards. Since her first solo show in New Delhi in 1972, Arpita Singh has exhibited frequently in India and many other countries, including England, Germany, France, the Netherlands, Greece, Turkey, Algeria, Kuwait, Australia, and the United States. Arpita Singh was honored with the Kalidas Samman in 1998–1999, she was awarded the Padma Bhushan by the Government of India in 2011.

Historic Body: Arpana Caur Daughter of the renowned author Ajeet Caur, Arpana Caur is among the foremost contemporary Indian painters. She is the recipient of many prestigious awards. Her works bring us face to face with a range of themes on Sikh subjects and provoke serious reflection and critical thought. In this space, we will focus on her rendition of the historical three-dimensional Nanak (1469–1539). On Caur’s canvas, we see a very different styled Guru Nanak from that of Arpita’s—though equally magnetic. He is also white bearded, but dressed in sheer black, has an orange mala, and glows brilliantly. 24 Through the play of exquisite colors, designs, spacing, and impressionistic figurations, Caur ushers her spectators into the life of Guru Nanak in medieval Panjab. Midst vibrant trees, flying birds, inebriated peacocks, we palpably feel Guru Nanak’s luminous presence, and like him we begin to think, we question, we rejoice. The more we recognize him, the more we cognize our larger community and society. Importantly, Caur juxtaposes the historic Nanak with the present times by exposing the tragic consequences of our contemporary consumer society. Five and half centuries after the founder Guru championed love and serenity, what have we done? Sexism, oppression, poverty, political violence, and environmental degradation are all around. Caur weaves social, economic, and political tragedies with philosophical themes of time, life, and death. By superimposing her modern sensibility on traditional folk drawings, the artist creates powerful psychological and visual tensions. Her works appear surrealist, almost Dada-like. They are widely exhibited in galleries and museums in Delhi, Mumbai, Chandigarh, Singapore, Hiroshima, Dusseldorf, Stockholm, Bradford, London, Boston, San Francisco…. From her voluminous portfolio, we will concentrate on just a few images, primarily from her 2003 exhibition of paintings devoted to Guru Nanak and her 2005 collaboration with Maya Dayal to illustrate Nanak: The Guru for children, but no less for adults. 25 Caur’s two recurring motifs are the Guru’s rosary and his footprints. The rosary is a universal symbol of spirituality; for men and women across cultures and centuries, the touch of

Artistic Expressions of Sikh Existentiality  227 the circular beads creates a synergy with their mental currents. The footprint is the marker of Guru Nanak—the traveler to places far and wide, the spiritual seeker, the discoverer of a new way of being in the world, the path setter…. As she draws upon the quasi-mythical Janamsakhis, stories or testimonies (sakhis) about Nanak’s birth and life (janam), Caur evocatively renders a postmodern perspective. Guru Nanak is not depicted with any cliché symbols like that of the halo, and yet with her consummate use of colors, designs, and her two motifs, Caur shows the infinite glow of each part of his animated body—from his toes to his head. In her painting entitled Within and Without (2002) she offers her nuanced perspective of his body. Like several other portrayals, most of Nanak’s alluring figure is here painted in abstract black against a black surface which creates depth and amplifies the dazzle of the bright orange framework of his body, his golden face and turban, and the shine of his silver eyes and beard. The mesmerizing composition relays a dynamic personality boldly facing his beholders. While Guru Nanak’s left foot is firmly on the ground in a horizontal position, the right is vertical—his toes touch the ground as though in dance en pointe. His knees create an interesting diagonal, sinuously repeated by his hands. While his right hand gently arcs his right knee, the right hand (as the left elbow rests on the left knee) unfurls intricate white foliage set in a vibrant green—an oval forming from the Guru’s chest through his lower body. And so, in Guru Nanak’s neon organs Caur’s delicate white floral arabesques spell out the infinity of each infinitesimal cell. After all, Nanak’s spiritual ache was rooted in his liver (karak kalejai mahi, GGS: 1279). Yes, the without is within; the infinite One is in flesh and bones. Caur’s pictorial constellation powerfully reiterates the material-­ transcendent nexus of the human body. Of course, the flames of greed blazing on either side of Guru Nanak can destroy the lush greenery too, cautions the artist (Figure 10.3). The depictions of the Guru in yellow against yellow backdrops are equally ravishing. Caur’s painting entitled “Sacred Thread” alludes to the Janamsakhi event of the upanayana, the Hindu initiation ceremony exclusively performed for the upper caste “twice-born” boys, during which a young Nanak refused to wear the thread spun by the Brahmin priest invited by his family. On Caur’s canvas, instead of a youngster discoursing with the priest, a glowing white-bearded Nanak midst various hues of yellows is spiritedly cutting the thread coming down his right shoulder across his chest and down his waist with a pair of scissors. On his other side appears a silhouette of Mardana with his rabab. In Guru Nanak’s performance, we see injustice and oppression spun in the age-old oppressive elitist and patriarchal rite of passage being shred asunder, and we hear the musical notes of Muslim Mardana’s rabab resounding beside the Sikh Guru’s body fill the air with joy and liberty. The many scissors speckled around are dancing, awaiting to be grabbed by human hands so Nanak’s liberating deed is re-enacted. In a viewer’s mind, the visual of Guru Nanak cutting off

228  Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh

Figure 10.3  Within and Without, Arpana Caur, 2002, Collection: Ernst W Koelnsperger, Munich

the marker of the upper caste Hindu male and Mardana’s arm rising perpendicular to his rabab gets spliced with the historic Statue of the Roman Goddess Liberty holding a torch in her right hand while broken shackle and chain lie at her feet. Likewise, Arpita Singh’s elated woman holding flowers and fruit in her hand (preceding section) flashes on the inward eye. East and West, past and present, spiritual, social, and political freedom, emotively fuse in Caur’s scene. That’s her genius: her translucent colors pour across her open canvas in delicate abstract designs and viscerally inspire audiences to action for the egalitarian world championed by her protagonist Nanak (Figure 10.4). Likewise, in “Mecca” (2000) Caur recreates the Janamsakhi where Nanak falls asleep in front of the mosque in Mecca with his feet turned towards the mehrab. The qadi in charge gets upset for the irreverence shown by the visitor and when he turns the Guru’s feet, so does the sacred mosque. Here Caur graphically registers the motion of circularity: a peaceful Nanak lying horizontally has his feet turned in a northward direction. Again, in sweeping yellows, her wide uncluttered canvas erases mental scratches. We enter a space where every bit is infused by the One—no direction is any more sacred than another. The scene spells out the sacrality of the whole body—the head is no higher or more privileged than the feet. Cartesian dualisms fall flat at our feet. Caur’s pictorial hermeneutics of the Janamsakhis

Artistic Expressions of Sikh Existentiality  229

Figure 10.4 Sacred Thread, Arpana Caur, 2004, Collection: Mahinder Tak, Washington

repeatedly renders Nanak’s supernatural miracles as most natural phenomena. Rather than miracles displaying his supernatural grandeur, they make viewers appreciate every body as “supernatural.” Her illustrations of the children’s book begin with the birth of Nanak. Against a midnight-blue backdrop lies an endearing baby on his back. His body is of a golden hue, his feet curl upwards, and both his hands reach up to a luminous full moon. The utterly normal human baby is intimately in touch with infinity! Spirituality flows out of his tiny toes and hands and open mouth. We marvel at baby Nanak, we marvel at the miracle of birth, and we marvel at his mother Tripta. The Guru duly exalts, “dhan janedi mai—blessed are the mothers” (GGS: 28). The final illustration is that of Nanak’s departure, replaying the Puratan Janamskahi account of the community left solely with a shroud and flowers. Caur’s grey patternist brushstrokes sweep across a horizontal white shawl, its tassels not quite reaching the end. At the center are yellow and orange flowers popping out of their green stems. These are not any fading or drooping bunch, they are hearty blossoms spreading in all directions— up and down, left and right, with no beginning or end. Recasting the Janamsakhi account that community members were free to take flowers and follow their own rites of passage, the Mala-Caur volume ends with the popular quotation “baba nanak shah fakir, hindu ka guru, musalman ka pir.” Thus in the public memory, Baba Nanak is an all-in-one guide for his

230  Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh society: greatest (shah) for sages (fakir), guru for Hindus, and pir for Muslims. Intriguingly, the way Caur arranges and places the spread of flowers on the shawl, we can trace the figure of Guru Nanak seated cross-legged on the funeral pyre he asked to be prepared in the B-40 Janamsakhi (1733). The modern artist visually translates the pre-modern Panjabi Janamsakhi text: They say when it was midnight, many fragrances of musk and incense purified the air. And the unstruck melody played by infinite musical instruments flooded the air. The supreme Baba got up sitting cross-legged…. 26 Rather than loss, the lingering impact is the perennial vibrancy of the first Sikh in this wondrous world of ours. The marigolds on the white sheet evoke exquisite beauty, fragrance, sensuousness, the soundless music the first Sikh experienced, and likewise, wished his society to re-experience. Guru Nanak lives on for all those who walk his way. Isn’t it a continuous journey the two footprints in motion on the facing page lead our eyes towards? The concluding image of a tiny marigold says it all. And between these two bookends is a sequence of incidents illustrating Guru Nanak’s love for and communion with his environment as he grows from childhood on. Caur interlaces the episodes in a variety of exquisite scenes, consistently unfurling the pluralistic threads of Guru Nanak’s biography. The marigolds that appear at the end on the shroud are in fact prefigured earlier—we saw them not spread out but threaded in symmetric garlands—metonymic markers of the joyous wedding celebration of Guru Nanak and Bebe Sulakhani. The artist strikingly conveys the first Sikh’s metaphysical worldview: the overlap of the transcendent and the sensuous, the finite and the infinite, life and death. Caur, whose grandparents were forced to migrate in 1947 and who lived through the 1984 riots, is a devoted philanthropist, one acutely aware of the absence of a biophilic and pluralistic consciousness. She effectively conveys the violence, sexism, and bigotry around us. Entitled 1947, Caur’s painting of her grandfather carrying the textual body, the GGS wrapped in green materials on his head, and a bundle of white cloud-like memories on his hunched back, registers the displacement and carnage during the Partition of the Panjab. Likewise, Caur’s 1984 is a traumatic reminder of the historic massacre at the Golden Temple by the Indian Government, and the killings of innocent Sikhs that followed the assassination of Prime Minister Indira Gandhi by her Sikh bodyguards. For Sikh spectators, the severed head in this painting entitled 1984 is also a reminder of their Ninth Guru’s sacrifice for the freedom of religion in 1675, and of the Five Beloved Sikhs who were ready to offer their heads to the Tenth Guru during his creation of the Khalsa in 1699. Religious pluralism is an important theme for this internationally renowned artist. For the fiftieth anniversary of India’s independence, she created Where Many Streams Meet. Sikh, Jain, Buddhist,

Artistic Expressions of Sikh Existentiality  231 Hindu, and Muslim figures converge on Caur’s canvas to evoke India’s rich legacy. Harmonium and tanpura melodies merge with the royal-blue river, and together they flow through the brown soil. Guru Nanak may have left this world, but as Caur reveals, lovely flowers on his shroud continue to blossom and spread their fragrance. A tragic contrast is her 1995 work for the Hiroshima Museum of Modern Art. Caur was commissioned to commemorate the 50th anniversary of the nuclear holocaust. In the last panel of her triptych, Where Have all the Flowers Gone, Caur paints a dark female figure crouched under a black cloud. Against a bright yellow backdrop, the matching darkness spells out her emotional and physical charring from the atomic bombings. The receding yellow imitates the first panel of the triptych with its flowers emerging from a river. In a horrifying way, a stem extends into the next panel, and becomes a strap of a gun of one of the many soldiers framed in the middle panel. Be they in garlands or in hands, at weddings or funerals, our Punj Pyarian make us see: our empathetically arid global society desperately needs blooming flowers.

Diasporic Body: Singh Twins The Sikh diasporic body acquires an exciting perspective in the paintings of Amrit and Rabindra Kaur Singh who identify themselves as a single artist and invariably twin their works. From their unique second-­generation diasporic locus, the twin sisters connect Sikh immigrants with their past in their homeland Panjab, they connect them with their host countries, and they strengthen the bonds amongst the diverse diasporic communities across the continents. By weaving in their personal narratives as British Asian Sikh women living in a predominantly western culture, they raise societal and political critiques. Their introspective compositions evoke complex strands of nostalgia, adaptation, prejudice, stereotype, hybridization, transnationalism, and multiculturalism in the diasporic existentiality, and they provoke reflections on the future of Sikhism in a rapidly shifting world. The Twins were born in a Sikh home in London in 1966, and attended a Catholic school. Close family and community ties were crucial in their development as artists. During Post-Graduate work on “Religion and the Arts” they were struck by the lack of non-Western aesthetic models in their curriculum. So they went on to create a genre call “Past Modern.” It is a skillful reworking of the traditional Indian miniature style and techniques developed in the Mughal imperial court with their contemporary postcolonial diasporic experience. In minutely recorded details and multivalent symbols, the Twins paint people, objects, and scenes that have personal relevance for them. They have been highly successful exhibiting their works in several solo and group shows in the United Kingdom, Europe, India, and North America. Here we will focus on their painting of the last Maharaja of the Panjab, Duleep Singh (1838–1893), nicknamed “The Black Prince of Perthshire”. Commissioned by the National Museum of Scotland to accompany the

232  Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh museum’s collection of the Duleep Singh jewels and artifacts, the Twins produced an emotionally and politically charged image of this most popular personification of the Sikh diasporic body. It is entitled “Casualty of War” and dated 2013. Residency in Britain was not the Sikh Maharaja’s choice by any means: dethroned by the British, his property seized, separated from his mother Queen Jindan and community, he was exiled – first sent to Fatehgarh in Uttar Pradesh and then shipped to London in 1854 where he was to settle on a pension provided by the Crown. Sikh migration from the Panjab has increased robustly since then, nevertheless, Duleep Singh continues to feed the political and cultural identity of the global Sikh diaspora. His life story for the Twins, is on the one hand, …inextricably tied to and helped shape British-Indian, Punjabi, Anglo-­ Sikh history, politics and culture, past and present … On the other hand, it depicts Duleep Singh as the tragic, human figure. An innocent individual and victim of circumstance who became a casualty of war, caught up in the power games and politics of the British Empire. 27 Encountering their handsome figure in all his royal splendor writing with a bejeweled pen in his hand bound in chains, wonder and excitement, anger and pathos pour out all at once (Figure 10.5). The Twins’ kaleidoscopic Casualty of Wars is blatantly different from British Raj’s iconic trophy of war, a full-length imperial projection of a subjugated, romanticized Duleep Singh by the German artist Franz Winterhalter; commissioned by Queen Victoria, it continues to be on display at Osborne House where Duleep Singh spent many summers entertained by Victoria and her family. During the week he was modeling for Winterhalter (July 10–17, 1854), the Queen sat across with Prince Albert and composed her own sketches of her exotic subject, attracted most by her own miniature portrait strung in his pearl necklace. 28 Unlike Winterhalter’s optically jarring scene of an ornately attired Maharaja in glittering gold robe and chooridar pants, a heavy multi-folded shawl tied around his waist, and gold-woven jutti-style shoes standing on an empty dusty shadowy terrain, the Twins ground his body firmly on the longitudes and latitudes of his history, sensibilities, desires, and legacy. Indeed they dismantle the dominant Victorian narrative. Their protagonist’s lavish portrait is surrounded by his micro-narratives. On either side of Duleep Singh flow the rivers Sutlej and the Ganges, their waters bleeding with the bloodshed during the Anglo-Sikh wars (1845–1846, 1848–1849) and the Indian Mutiny (1857) respectively. The Sutlej marked the boundary between the Sikh Kingdom of Panjab and the British Empire. Behind Duleep on the left, edged by the Sutlej are the gateway and a pavilion of the Lahore Fort, mnemonic structures of his luxurious childhood in his father’s formidable empire that stretched across from the Sutlej on the South to Afghanistan in the North, Kashmir and Ladakh on the East to Sind on the

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Figure 10.5 C asualty of War: A Portrait of Maharaja Duleep Singh, The Singh Twins, 2013, Collection: National Museums Scotland

West. The empty golden throne in front of the son is an acute reminder of the loss of that vast kingdom. Symmetrically on his other side are the sites in Fatehgarh, the cantonment located on the south bank of the Ganges, where the youngster was held prisoner by the Raj. The buildings in Fatehgarh show a white mansion belonging to his guardians, the devout Scottish Christian couple John and Lady Login. The celebratory fireworks sparkling above must have been heart-wrenching: what joy could they possibly bring the deposed captive on his birthday? His English toys and puzzles and books gifts from the Logins indicate the Panjabi Sikh’s western upbringing. The church with steeples and the bible in front of him are markers

234  Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh of Duleep Singh’s adopted Christian faith. Right beside the blood-bathed Ganges, the church in Fatehgarh is caught in the Mutiny fires. Duleep Singh is writing a letter with his bejeweled pen; in the Winterhalter painting, his hand rests inertly on the sword alongside him on the empty ground—gilded like its companion and equally effete. It is dated 1887 with Elveden as the address—an Italian-styled country house with a lavish Mughal interior that Duleep Singh had modeled on his childhood palaces. In a defiant cursive, the exiled ruler is reclaiming his identity and dynastic honor, “…Sovereign of the Sikh nation, and proud implacable foe of England….” The artists here are re-writing their version of Duleep Singh’s letter to Queen Victoria cited by A. Martin Wainwright. 29 The Maharaja in this phase of his life had reembraced his Sikh identity and was rebelling against British colonialism. From his left side his courageous mother’s black and white sketch emits empowering impulses; from the grave of his guardian Login on his right protrude emotional, psychological, and religious chains. Decked in sumptuous jewels of the Lahore treasury, Duleep Singh is showcased as the rightful heir to the Sikh kingdom. In contrast with the pendant of Queen Victoria studded in pearls around his neck in Winterhalter’s depiction, Duleep Singh wears the famous Timur Ruby necklace. Conspicuous also is the pendant of the mythic Indic goddess Durga riding her lion. A part of the National Museums in Scotland, it evokes the tenth Sikh Guru’s admiration for the invincible female champion of justice. 30 The Twins also restore the royal seal of the “Lion of the Punjab” in his son’s ring—no more Queen Victoria as in his ring painted by Winterhalter). And the Kohinoor, the quintessential symbol of sovereignty and power that Duleep Singh had placed on Queen Vicotria’s hand during the Winterhalter week, is strikingly visible on his body. Set between two teardrop diamonds the surrendered jewel adorns his left arm. The portrait is a powerful deconstruction of colonial subjectivity. History and imagination fuse in the Twins’ work. They even imprint Duleep Singh’s grave with the Sikh symbol of the Khanda. Countless other metanarratives connect the first Sikh immigrant to British-Indian and Anglo-Sikh history, politics, and culture in the past and present. For the second, third, and fourth generation of Sikhs, the distant kingdom beyond the Sutlej becomes a part of their own history planted on British soil; they are not the marginalized other. The dominant orb of the sun in yellow and red high above the Lahore Fort in the Twins’ composition continues to radiate the Sikh desire for sovereignty, Raj Karega Khalsa.

Multicultural Body As the Twins share their history, cultural values, and experiences, they foster awareness and appreciation of multicultures, multireligions, multiethnicities, multimedia … in most profound ways. Drawing upon Leonardo da Vinci’s mural painting of Jesus, their Last Supper (1994/1995) is a brilliant

Artistic Expressions of Sikh Existentiality  235 representation of the “Multicultural Body.” The Singh Twins with their family and friends are enjoying Christmas dinner in a space bursting with food, activities, clothes, icons, decorations belonging to the West, the East, and the Middle East. The dining table extending beyond borders is in dialogue with the terrestrial globe facing it from the back window: how could humans draw borders? Indian map on its face is a cartographic reminder of the horrific 1947 division of Panjab into the nations of Pakistan and India. The painting projects an imaginative geography of the earth without maps—everybody from all over the globe living together authentically, enjoying their individual styles, ideologies, persuasions, genders, and cultures. Its array of jellies, trifle, Christmas cake, and Panjabi treats distinctly

Figure 10.6  The Last Supper, The Singh Twins, 1994–1995

236  Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh set in the foreground on the dessert table is all so tempting, so viscerally pluralistic (Figure 10.6). The festive scene is infiltrated by bright reds and greens. The colors extolled by the Dutch Van Gogh and the Hungarian-Indian Sher-Gil, the colors symbolic of Christ’s crucifixion and his eternal life, adorn Sikh bodies. The Twins wear stylish red and green salwar-kameez, a handsome fellow combines his red turban with his green pants, another a red sweater with green shirt, their father dons a red sweater … DaVinci’s The Last Supper in the background evokes the significance of Christmas often lost in its commercial hype. But the egalitarian vibrations of langar, the central Sikh institution of the community meal cooked and eaten together, also resonate in this traditional Christian meal being partaken. We see no head of the table. The Panjabi male in the white turban and the female on his right wearing an embroidered pink sweater are balanced, their seating erases hierarchies and sexism (in the langar meal men and women sit in rows on the floor, and nobody from any caste or sex or religion is excluded). As the father beside the decorated Christmas tree carves a turkey, a cousin wearing a tee shirt with an Egyptian pharaoh tries to catch a spilling bottle of coke. A plurality of images from different religions—Guru Gobind Singh, Lord Buddha, Lord Ganesha, the Virgin Mary, the Taj Mahal—surround the table spread with international cuisine. TV, stereo, video recording, cracker-pulling are abuzz. The typical plump snowman outside the window happens to be a sleek Sikh with a saffron turban and black beard. Facing the Christmas party, he seems to raise issues of hybridization, globalization, and postmodernity. Clearly, multiple currents are at work: Sikhs in the diaspora ardently maintain their culture, adopt the customs of their new neighbors, and dynamically forge new ways of being in our multicultural world.

Conclusion The sumptuous diversity of the Punj Pyarian’s multilayered visual syntax presents audiences sensuous skin in so many complexions; sonorous rababs, dholaks, tanpuras, stereo systems; fragrant marigolds; delicious treats; historical personalities. Senses intensify. The rapture is here and now, in our very body, in the bodies around us, in the body of our infinite multiverse. A multi-sensorial Sikh existentiality comes out forcefully in each of their brushstrokes. Painting their imagined images, our Punj Pyarian are on to shaping reality itself.

Notes This chapter is a birthday gift for my friend and co-editor of this volume, Doris Jakobsh. I want to thank my student research assistant Abigail Carson for her superb support.

Artistic Expressions of Sikh Existentiality  237 1 See Lou Fenech’s excellent volume, The Cherished Five in Sikh History (Oxford 2021). 2 Nikky-G.K. Singh, Birth of the Khalsa: A Feminist Re-Memory of Sikh Identity (SUNY, 2005). 3 Nikky-G.K. Singh, “Corporeal Metaphysics: Guru Nanak in Early Sikh Art” in History of Religions, Vol. 53, No. 1 (August 2013), pp. 28–65. 4 Chitra Ramaswamy, “The Singh Twins” in The Guardian, Wednesday, November 26, 2014. 5 Aravind Adiga, “Shockingly Modern” in Time, Monday, June 26, 2006. 6 Tolstoy, L. What is Art? Trans. By A. Maude. (New York: Thomas Y. Crowell, 1899), p. 43. 7 Saloni Mathur has a fascinating paper, “A Retake of Sher-Gil’s Self-Portrait as Tahitian” in Critical Inquiry, Spring 2011, Vol. 37, no. 3, pp. 515–544. 8 Popularly cited, for example, Mary-Ann Milford-Lutzker, “Five Artists from India” in Woman’s Art Journal, Vol. 23, No. 2 (Fall 2002/Winter 2003), p. 21. 9 In Vivan Sundaram, (ed.) Amrita Sher-Gil: A Self-Portrait in Letters and Writings, Vol. 1 (2010), p. 325. 10 https://www.nytimes.com/2018/06/20/obituaries/amrita-shergil-dead.html. 11 Salman Rushdie, Languages of Truth: Essays 2003–2020 (NY: Penguin Random House), p. 303. 12 Shabana Azmi quoted by Anjali Muthanna, The Times of India, Nov 27, 2009. 13 N. Iqbal Singh, “Amrita Sher-Gil” in India International Centre Quarterly, Vol. 2, No. 3 (July 1975), pp. 209–217. 14 Van Gogh cited by Amrita. In Sundaram, Amrita Sher-Gil: A Self-Portrait in Letters and Writings, p. 255. 15 Discussed by Roland Barthes, “The Grain of Voice” in Image, Music, Text, Essays selected and translated by Stephen Heath (London: Fontana Press, 1977), pp. 181–189. 16 In Sundaram, Amrita Sher-Gil: A Self-Portrait in Letters and Writings, p. 325. 17 Plate, S. Brent. June 2012. “The Skin of Religion: Aesthetic Mediations of the Sacred” in CrossCurrents, Vol. 62, No. 2, pp. 164–166. 18 Khushwant Singh & Arpita Kaur, Hymns of Guru Nanak (Orient Longman, 1991). 19 Arpita’s painting in Hymns of Guru Nanak, p. 109. 20 Discussed in my earlier work, “Contesting Subjectivities: Feminist Hermeneutics of Sikh Scripture” in N. Reilly and S. Scriver (eds.) Religion, Gender, and the Public Sphere (Routledge NY and UK, 2014), pp. 83–96. 21 Hymns of Guru Nanak, p. 27. 22 Hymns of Guru Nanak, p. 81. 23 For an analysis of the five k-s’see Chapter 4 in my Birth of the Khalsa: A Feminist Re-Memory of Sikh Identity. 24 Displayed at the National Gallery of Modern Art in New Delhi. 25 By Arpana Caur and Mala Kaur Dayal (New Delhi: Rupa, 2005). 26 B-40 Janam Sakhi Sri Guru Nanak Dev Ji (Amritsar: Guru Nanak Dev University, 1974), p. 155. 27 F. Voigt, R. Nicolson, L. Bennison, “Panjab Connections: A Young Roots Heritage Project at National Museum, Scotland” in Journal of Museum Ethnography, No. 30, April 2016 (2017), p. 31. 28 See Brian Axel’s insightful chapter, “The Maharaja’s Glorious Body” in The Nation’s Tortured Body: Violence, Representation, and the Formation of a Sikh “Diaspora” (Duke University Press, 2001).

238  Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh 29 A. Martin Wainwright, “Queen Victoria and the Maharaja Duleep Singh: Conflicting Identities in an Imperial Context,” from Ohio Academy of History 2001 Proceedings, p. 77. 30 For more see my Chapter 4 “Durga Recalled” in The Feminine Principle in the Sikh Vision of the Transcendent (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), 1993.

Part III

Identities Diversity, Representation, and Belonging Anjali Gera Roy - Speech Unites, Script Divides Jasjit Singh - Not Asian Enough? The Racialization of Sikhs in Southeast Asia Himadri Banerjee - The Other Sikhs and their journeys outside Punjab in eastern and north-eastern India Karen Leonard - Panjabis, Panjabi Mexicans, and Sikhs in the United States Sangeeta Luthra - Sikh Studies and Sikh Institution Building in the United States: Some reflections on academic research, public scholarship, and advocacy in post 9/11 America Ronki Ram – Understanding Diversity and Deras within Sikh Society: Some Critical Reflections

DOI: 10.4324/9781003281849-14

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11 Speech Unites, Script Divides Destruction of Panjab’s Shared Cultures of Piety by Religion, Language and Script Anjali Gera Roy Introduction “Na Koi Hindu na Musalman”, the words Guru Nanak is believed to have uttered on attaining enlightenment have often been cited to attest to the long history of pluralism in Panjab, a region that has simultaneously been represented as a conflict-ridden zone (Bigelow, 2009: 435). Parallels drawn between the Islamic faqiri, the Hindu sant and the Sikh guru devotional traditions (Ballard, 1993) have brought to light the porous, fluid and intersecting boundaries that prevailed in Panjab until the end of the nineteenth century but were destroyed by the emergence of formal religions (Barrier, 1967; 1968; Oberoi, 1992; van der Veer, 1994; Kalra & Purewal, 2019). The destruction of the overlapping boundaries between Islam, Hinduism and Sikhism has been attributed to the twin assault of specific Islamic, Hindu and Sikh religious formations (Oberoi, 1992; Ballard, 1993; van der Veer, 1994) and ethnoreligious nationalisms (Brass, 1974). Textual interpretations have been enlisted in the service of establishing the difference, rather than similarity, of the faiths practiced by ordinary people in Panjab by vested political and religious interests. New evidence has, however, revealed that despite the construction of religious boundaries, these composite, syncretic, shared spaces may still be found at the level of practice and popular memory in recesses hidden from the prescriptive gaze of divisive politics and religion (Bigelow, 2009; Malhotra & Mir, 2012; Kalra & Purewal, 2019; Snehi, 2019). This chapter will trace the shared cultures of piety in nineteenth-century Panjab to demonstrate that the emergence of religious nationalisms that co-opted script, language and culture in mobilizing national identities resulted in the destruction of these overlapping religious boundaries. It concludes by locating the trace of these overlapping boundaries in Sindhi mandirs and suggests that they can serve as sites of memory of the shared pre-partition spaces of the Indus Valley.

Cultures of the Indus Valley and the Syncretism Thesis Syncretism is defined as the combination, amalgamation or attempted amalgamation of different forms of beliefs, religions, cultures while blending DOI: 10.4324/9781003281849-15

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242  Anjali Gera Roy practices of various schools of thought. The etymology for syncretism is derived from the Greek verb synkerannumi, meaning “to mix or join together” based on its nineteenth-century usage. Luther H Martin argues that syncretism signified a pattern of relationship in the ancient world rather than the monotheistic or essentialist tendency implied by “mixing together” in the nineteenth century when it became imbricated with a theological politics of orthodoxy in which it was used to disparage heterodox others. However, the idea of syncretism is believed to have developed in Religious Studies from Droysen’s Hegelian category “Hellenistic” that signified the “east-west mixture of people” through Verschmelzung, a process of fusion, resulting from the interaction between Greek civilization and those Oriental cultures incorporated by Alexander into his empire. Although religious syncretism is the most talked about kind of syncretism, it is also possible to speak of cultural, political, musical, linguistic, culinary or other forms of syncretism. Religious syncretism often involves the blending of two or more religious belief systems into a new system, or the incorporation of beliefs from unrelated traditions into a religious tradition. Scholars such as Peter van der Veer go further to inquire if syncretism can be part of a religious tradition itself and have identified certain syncretic religious formations (1994). Whether the regions of Panjab and Sindh that may be called the cultures of the Indus Valley exhibit blending of diverse religious, cultural and linguistic traditions or multiple religious and cultural belongings needs to be investigated in depth. Panjab’s axiomatic syncretism or overlapping cultural and religious boundaries have been attributed to its long history of contact with others both through movements to and out of Panjab of conquerors,1 nomads, traders and proselytizers. In view of the fact that Hellenism is historically traced to the conquest of Alexander the Great (fourth century BC) and his successors that brought together diverse religious and philosophical views, Alexander’s invasion of Panjab in 326 BC and his settlement of Greeks in cities between Panjab and Central Asia engendered the Graeco-Buddhist culture. This culture saw its fruition with the emergence of Indo-Greek kings and the Kushan dynasty. The process of Hellenization through the fusion of local cultures, philosophical concepts and even gods, with the Greek produced a culture of openness and accommodation in the region of the Indus Valley. In contrast to Graeco-Buddhist syncretism whose traces are visible in Graeco-Buddhist art, the cultures of Islamic conquerors beginning with the Arab conquest of Sindh appear to have been completely absorbed by local ones. Although conquerors’ religions, as opposed to cultures, have traditionally met stronger resistance in subjugated populations on the subcontinent, the Sufi cults throughout Panjab and Sindh offer a classic example of religious accommodation and sharing. The view of Sufism as a flexible sect tolerant of diverse religious affiliations, the peregrinations of Sufi pirs between Central Asia and the region of the Indus Valley during the medieval

Destruction of Panjab’s Shared Cultures  243 period and the emergence of Sufi shrines that attracted followers of all faiths are cited as evidence of religious syncretism of the cultures of the Indus Valley (Suvorova, 2004; Boivin, 2019). The strong influence of Sufi pirs in Panjab and Sindh not only accounts for the relative unimportance of normative forms of both Islam and Hinduism but also the appeal of intersecting devotional traditions such as those of faqirs, sants, bhagats, babas and jogis. 2 The surprising consensus between Hindus, Muslims and Sikhs in medieval Panjab notwithstanding the persecution of Sikhs by Muslim rulers (Bigelow, 2009) may be explained only through reference to the dominant sant culture. K A Nizami views the khanqahs3 of the Sufi pirs as centres of cultural synthesis through being the sole spaces that facilitated the intermingling of people of different opinions, faiths and languages (1973). The encounter between these groups was marked by mutual respect, dialogue and inter-borrowing of ideas, rituals and symbols that facilitated their cross-religious appeal.4 The presence of religious syncretism is most commonly illustrated through evidence of inter-borrowing between diverse mystical sects irrespective of their religious difference.

Shared Practices: Sant Veneration The sant tradition that demonstrates a strong degree of inter-borrowing and interfaith dialogue has often been examined as a syncretic space and interfaith dialogues between sants, faqirs and bhagats across boundaries of region, language, ethnicity and religion identified in depth by a number of scholars. However, while identifying shared spaces and practices, they point out that these informal structures of piety cannot be grasped through the Eurocentric understanding of religion since formal or normative religious identities had not yet crystallized in the region (Oberoi, 1992; Ballard, 1999; Mir, 2012; Kalra & Purewal, 2019).5 Following Harjot Oberoi’s (1992) revelation of the existence of shared spaces in pre-partition Panjab, several niches in popular and folk region have been isolated by a number of scholars (Bhatti & Michon, 2004; Bigelow, 2009; Mir, 2012; Kalra & Purewal, 2019; Snehi, 2019) to testify to the presence of fields of piety that transcend the barriers of Hinduism, Islam and Sikhism. Harwinder Singh Bhatti and Daniel Michon’s observations on a form of veneration of ancestors practiced by Hindu and Sikh Jats known as jatheras, worship of mother goddesses like Naina Devi not only by Hindus and Sikhs but also by Muslims confirm the openness of folk religions to intercommunal dialogue (2004). Farina Mir examines three shrines of Baba Farid at Pakpattan, of Sakhi Sarwar at Dera Ghazi Khan and Mian Bibi in Hoshiarpur district to argue that the trends and practices documented for these three shrines were in evidence across colonial Panjab (2006: 110). She argues that the audience for performances of poetry at these shrines included men and women of all religions (2006: 110). Anna Bigelow shows how Haider Shaikh’s tomb shrine, or dargah, “is also the

244  Anjali Gera Roy location of a vibrant multireligious cult, among the most popular such sites in Indian Panjab” (2009:436), which is visited by Muslims, Hindus and Sikhs, both resident and nonresident, daily and at festival times. Mirroring the Hindu and Sikh following of Baba Farid and Sakhi Sarwar is the worship of Gugga Pir, a snake-god of Rajput origin, by both Hindus and Muslims who know him by the name of Jahar Pir. The veneration of various saints at innumerable shrines in Panjab that serve as the sites of Panjabi folk and popular religion similarly offers opportunities for intercommunal dialogue through a contestation of organized religion (Snehi, 2019). These scholars’ findings on sant veneration find support in a number of colonial documents and accounts of colonial officials. The Imperial Gazetteer of India Vol 20, states that Hindus in Muslim-­ dominated Panjab, deprived of access to major shrines or pilgrimage centres other than major Hindu ones like Hardwar, flock to minor temples and shrines, even those of Muhammadan pirs. It mentions the existence of Shivalas or Shiva temples, of Thakurdwaras or temples of Vishnu and the worship of Vishnu by the Banias of the south-east and by the ­Rajputs. However, it states that the cults of Gaga [Gugga], the snake-god, and of Sakhi Sarwar, the benevolent fertilizing earth-god, whose shrine is in Dera Ghazi Khan and is the object of regularly organized pilgrimages, are more popular and widely spread. According to the Gazetteer, “Giga’s [Gugga’s] legend also makes him a Rajput prince converted to Islam, and Sakhi ­Sarwar has been metamorphosed into a Muhammadan saint (1908: 290).” It also mentions “countless minor cults, such as that of Sitla, the ‘cool one,’ the small-pox goddess, and those of the siddhs or ‘pure ones’” (1908: 290) and explains that “ancestor-worship is very common among the Jats (1908: 290).” Denzil Ibbetson, in Glossary of the Tribes and Castes of the Panjab and North West Frontier Province (1911), expresses his consternation at the fuzzy religious and sectarian boundaries that made the task of classifying groups in the 1881 census more challenging. It is Ibbetson who provides concrete evidence of shrines of Sufi pirs being frequented by both Hindus and Muslims. Speaking of Fariduddin Shakar Ganj, the revered Sufi pir of Pak Pattan, he observes that an annual festival was held at his shrine every year and that the objective of every pilgrim to the shrine was to get through the narrow gate of the shrine on the afternoon or night of the fifth day of Muharram. Ibbetson’s testimony about the pir being “adored by Hindus as well as Mussalmans” (1911: 162)6 confirms the presence of shared spaces of worship up to the early part of the twentieth century. Ibbetson also mentions the overlap between Hindu, Muslim and Sikh piety in the shrine of Khwaja Nur Mohammed, which is the site of Panjan Peeran di Jaund, the sacred tree that the Sikh Guru Nanak is believed to have blessed. Here both Hindu and Muslim devotees offered prayers even though they propitiated the pirs with different objects for bringing them their desired wishes.

Destruction of Panjab’s Shared Cultures  245 But Miles Irving uncovers a more complex intermingling of Hindu and Muslims at the shrine of Baba Farid at Pakpattan by regarding Pakpattan as the seat of an ancient shrine of Hindu worship dedicated to a Hindu jogi, which had traditionally served as the centre of resistance to the oncoming waves of Islamicization in the south-west (1973: 407).7 The memory of the jogi who is believed to have been converted to Sufism by Farid is reaffirmed in the performance of the ceremonies related to the celebration of the urs8 of the Sufi pir. Irving points out that the ceremony could begin only with a Hindu Brahmin ringing the bell before leading the shrine’s incumbent through “the Gate to Paradise”, a narrow 5 × 2 and a half feet opening in a wall adjoining the shrine. The incumbent was required to pass the jogi’s tomb to get to the shrine and had to perform a part of the ritual while being seated on the jogi’s tomb (1973: 412). Although Irving elaborates the rituals at the urs in great detail and concedes that respect for the pir might have helped preserve communal harmony, he maintains that the shrine has never attracted Hindu devotees like Sakhi Sarwar does and that no Hindu ever passes the door of Paradise (1973: 413).9 Although Sakhi Sarwar is not included in the major Sufi orders of South Asia and did not have adherents from other parts of India, his popularity in Panjab, where pilgrims belonging to various classes, castes and sects thronged to visit his shrine, confirms his status as a Panjabi Sufi (Mir, 2006: 108). Richard C Temple attests to the multi-faith composition of his adherents through the reparation of the shrine, originally constructed by a certain Isa during Aurangzeb’s time, by non-Muslim Lakhpat Rai and Jaspat Rai around 1730 A.D (Temple, 1894 quoted in Mir 2006: 109). But it is colonial officer Max Arthur Macauliffe’s account of his visit to the urs of Sakhi Sarwar where he notes that “Hindus and Musalmans make offerings at the grave, and invoke the divine intercession of God’s Musalman favourite” that is routinely cited to establish Sakhi Sarwar’s popularity among people of all faiths (1875). Macauliffe observes that the shrine was visited by pilgrims from all over India and that Hindus, who composed about half of the visitors to the urs, made offerings at both the chom and moja where the Prophet’s son-in-law is believed to have left the imprints of his palm and foot (1875: 88). In 1911, Major Aubrey Brien reports that “men, women and children, Sikhs, Hindus and Mohammedans alike, came from all districts in Panjab (1911: 108),” thus confirming that the character of Sakhi Sarwar’s followers remained unchanged until the beginning of the twentieth century.10 The tradition of worshipping at the shrines of the Sufi saint Sakhi Sarwar or Syed Ahmed Sultan in Dera Ghazi Khan or Gugga Pir of Hindu-Rajput lineage by Hindus, Sikhs and Muslims till the beginning of the twentieth century has been co-opted in the arguments about the inherent syncretism of folk religions. van der Veer’s view of Sufi shrines as centres of Hindu-Muslim syncretism is modified by his warning that despite their attendance at Sufi shrines, Hindus, or Sikhs, remain at the edge of the rituals

246  Anjali Gera Roy (1994). Agreeing that Hindus and Muslims come to see and touch the saint the way they come to see and touch the tomb and might have similar ideas about power and spirituality, the participation of Hindus is restricted. He explains that while Hindus are permitted to benefit from the pir’s urs that is an occasion of power, they can do so within strictly defined limits (1994: 36). Arguing that the veneration of pirs and their shrines creates a community that is hierarchized in terms of the degree of involvement in its brotherhood, he holds that Hindus remain on the outer fringe of ceremonies such as the pir’s urs (1994: 3).7

Islamicization, Arya Samaj, Singh Sabhas The emergence of formal religious identities in the region of the Indus Valley at the end of the nineteenth century is believed to have signalled the end of the overlapping, porous, fluid boundaries that prevailed until then. The eruption of religious reform movements with their commitment to the differentiation of socio-religious identities and their rigorous polarization is believed to have destroyed the easy going pluralism that permitted different communities to live in peace and harmony (Ballard, 1967; Barrier, 1967; 1968, Jones, 1973, Oberoi, 1992). Oberoi argues that religion “as a systematized sociological unit claiming unbridled loyalty from its adherents is a relatively recent phenomenon in the history of Indian peoples” and that “its reification in the nineteenth century turned into something separate, distinct and concrete” (1992: 141) what is now recognized as Hinduism, Sikhism, Buddhism. Concurring with Oberoi’s thesis about religion being “primarily a highly localized affair, often even a matter of individual conduct and individual salvation (1999: 140),” Roger Ballard shows the asynchrony between the western notion of religion and Panjabi understandings through reinterpreting Mark Juergenmeyer’s terms panth (the mystical and spiritual dimension), dharm (moral and/or social dimensions) and qaum (the capacity of religious ideas and loyalties to act as a vehicle for ethno-political mobilisation) to which he adds a new term kismet (1999: 4). He notes the dominance of the panthic and kismetic domains, the relative unimportance of the dharmic and the non-existence of the qaumic in Panjabi popular religion during the pre-British period. He avers that this changed with each of Panjab’s religious traditions organizing itself “ever more emphatically in qaumic terms” and steadily reinforcing “its dharmic distinctiveness” at the cost of “ever-growing hostility to the panthic and kismetic dimensions (1999: 4).” It is tempting to agree with Kenneth Jones that Panjab’s history offers “a dramatic case of religious competitiveness between two minority communities, concerned more with their sense of identity than with questions of power and dominance (1973: 457).” Viewing this process of identity formation in late nineteenth-century Panjab as the effect of the attempt of the new anglicized elite to redefine the world around them, Jones argues that

Destruction of Panjab’s Shared Cultures  247 “each group within a given religious community, Hindu, Sikh or Muslim, sought to project its own concepts and in the process struggled with others within their own community and beyond (1973: 457).” Jones’s point about the “ideological and religious conflict amidst an increasingly polemical atmosphere” (1973: 457) is developed by other scholars in relation to the emergence of Islamic, Hindu and Sikh religious formations. In his book Religious Nationalism: Hindus and Muslims in India (1994), van der Veer examines the role of reform movements in the production of religious nationalism to offer a sophisticated understanding of the relation between religious and state formation. Conceding that the formation of religious communities is affected by state formation, he proposes that religious identities must be seen as historically produced in religious institutions that are in a state of constant transformation (1994: 30). Viewing a parallel between the formation of religious communities and state formation or nation building, he regards the expansion of Sufi brotherhoods as a crucial element in the Islamicization of South Asia since Sufism was coextensive with Islam till the nineteenth century and identifies a link between Muslim state formation and Sufi expansion. He shows that Islamization of the subjugated people in the region was accomplished both by force and by the soft persuasion of the Sufi pirs in view of the fact that adherence to the Sufi code also implied a socialization into the order of Islam. There is no denying that Sufi pirs, whose visits often preceded those of the conquerors, played a major role in the Islamicization of the region. While dissociating Farid from any overt attempt at conversion of non-­Muslims, Nizami concedes that several clans in the region such as the Sials, Sarhanwalians and Khokkars became the adherents of the shrine cult impressed by the exhortations of the pir (1973: 352–353). Eaton, however, contests the Islamic conversion thesis by suggesting that “peoples on the ecological and political frontier of an expanding agrarian society became absorbed into the religious ideology of that society (2009: 11).” He points out that “for those Indians who adhered to Islam, the symbols, rituals, and practices of local religion” served as “models of or descriptions of the social order and its religious life” (2009: 123). Eaton finds a unique quantitative method to substantiate the increasing Islamicization of the region. He traces the shift from Panjabi secular names to Islamic names over the centuries to show that the percentage of Islamic names multiplied between the sixteenth and nineteenth century (2009: 13). The mushrooming of shrines and tombs of Sufi pirs at the end of the nineteenth century and the ensuing Islamization of the region is believed to have stimulated the birth of Hindu and Sikh religious formations. The growing Islamicization of the region and the threat perceived by Hindus and Sikhs reduced to a minority accounts for the appeal of the Arya Samaj, a Hindu reformist movement founded in 1877 by Dayanand Saraswati, a proselytizer from Gujarat, who travelled across Panjab to convert Hindus to the cause of the Arya Samaj. In Jones’ view, the Samaj provided

248  Anjali Gera Roy Panjabi “an ideology of militant Hinduism that had a wide appeal to ­ ­Hindus,” a minority in Panjab “who, in the past, experienced ­Muslim and Sikh rule and who suffered from the effects of proselytization by ­Muslims, Sikhs, and Christians (1968: 52).” Christopher Jaffrelot adds that the number of socio-religious reform movements that emerged and gathered support amongst Hindus could be viewed as “a reaction to the threat of western domination and especially to a two-fold cultural challenge, the utilitarian reformism and Christian proselytism (1993).” In being critical of normative Hinduism and dismissing its idolatry, polytheism and elaborate rituals as superstition, Arya Samaj not only borrowed the British high moral tone and attitude but also followed the orientalist constructions of India in its proposing Vedic religion as the true Hindu religion and the Vedic texts as the source of true knowledge. This supports Jaffrelot’s thesis about the “strategic syncretism” of Hindu nationalists. As he puts it, “the content of this ideology has been supplied to a large extent by material taken from the cultural values of groups who were seen as antagonistic towards the Hindu community (1993: 517)”. Barrier maintains that the Arya Samaj answered three important needs of the mercantile classes who dominated education and the new professions, namely the opportunity for enhancing social status, protecting Hinduism from Christian and Muslim missionaries and distancing themselves from the “superstitions” of Hinduism reviled by the British. However, the reformist zeal of its proponents, the educated elite, led to vituperative attacks on co-religionists that included followers of orthodox Hinduism, dubbed by them as sanatan dharm, and Sikhs in addition to ­Muslims. Jones’ & Barrier’s detailed examination shows that the Arya ­Samaj’s rejection of the practices of normative Hinduism or sanatan dharam and onslaughts on the Sikh guru alienated both groups, particularly educated Sikhs who had lent active support to the Arya Samaj in its initial years. Jones provides a lucid overview of the emergence of the Arya Samaj movement, which began as a positive movement within Hinduism whose agenda was reform and education, the birth of the radical movement led by Guru Datta, Munshi Ram and Lekh Ram, the growing dissension between conservative and radical Samajis over the Arya Samaj’s agendas over the decades with the conservatives committed to the promotion of education and Dayanand Anglo-Vedic institutions and the radicals to aggressive forms of proselytization. Noting the Arya Samaj’s role is hardening divisions between Hindus and Muslims (1967: 363), Jones argues that the proselytizing drive of the radicals through the training of pracharaks, ­Munshi Ram’s shuddhi movement in 1893 aimed at reconversion of M ­ uslims and Sikhs and their vituperative attacks on Muslims and Sikhs contributed to the rise of communalism in Panjab (1968).11 He observes that the Arya Samaj grew more communal after the 1907 disturbances and that the Samaj’s shuddhi movements directed at reintegrating other communities into the Hindu fold offended the sensibilities of sanatan Hindus.

Destruction of Panjab’s Shared Cultures  249 Similarly, in its attempt to elevate Sanskrit as an ancient knowledge that enshrined the wisdom of Hindu civilization, the Arya Samaj crossed its limits with its founder Dayanand Saraswati casting a doubt on the Sikh founder Guru Nanak’s spiritual authority through citing the guru’s lack of grounding in Sanskrit and his use of vernacular languages. For other Aryas, however, Sikhism resonated with Arya Samaj in its rejection of idolatry, caste and the evils of priestly dominance that accounted for the support it received from Sikhs like Bhai Jawahir Singh. Jawahir Singh roped in Bhai Ditt Singh Giani, Bhai Maya Singh and Bhai Basant Singh, who went as far as stating that the objective of Sikhism was to revive the Vedic principles. It was the Arya Samaj’s attempt to elevate its founder over the Sikh Guru who they condemned as uneducated and Radha Kishen Mehta’s publication of Nuskha-i-Granthi-Phobia (Prescription for the Disease of Granth-­ Phobia) that infuriated the Sikhs and resulted in Jawahir Singh, Ditt Singh and Maya Singh joining the Lahore Singh Sabha in 1879. Finally, it was the Arya Samaj’s shuddhi drive in which they reintegrated a group of rahtia12 outcaste Sikhs into the Hindu fold that was not only disapproved of by orthodox or sanatani Hindus but also by young, educated, anglicized reformist Sikhs who had hitherto supported the Arya Samaj’s inclusive gesture towards mazhabi Sikhs in opposition to the pollution taboos practiced by orthodox Sikhs. The split between radical and moderate “college” Arya Samajis in their differences between propagating an aggressive form of Hinduism and the denunciation of the Sikh Granth and gurus resulted in a complete rupture in Hindu-Sikh relations (Jones, 1973: 466). By the 1890s, the rift between Hindus and Sikhs converged on the fundamental question of whether Sikhism was part of Hinduism, as maintained by the Arya Samaj through the publication of pamphlets such as by Arya Samaj’s Sikh member Jagat Singh’s Risala Satyarth Prakash and Thakar Das and Bawa Narain Singh Sikh Hindu Hain (1899), or not, as argued by Kahn Singh Nabha in his Hum Hindu Nahin (1899). Ballard agrees that the setting up of a rival chain of Singh Sabhas by the Sikh elite was motivated by the desire “to defend themselves against the encroaching force of Arya Samaji criticism (1991: 23).” Harjot Oberoi, in From Ritual to Counter Ritual: Rethinking of Hindu-­ Sikh Question (1988), reignites a debate that raged at the beginning of the twentieth century with respect to Sikh identity. The widely held view of Sikhism as a reform movement within Hinduism and of Sikhs being no different from Hindus was challenged with the birth of newly formed Sikh consciousness signalled through the publication of Kahn Singh Nabha’s Hum Hindu Nahin. Arguing that identities based on region, lineage, caste, sect were more important than religious identities, Oberoi maintains that Sikh identities were multiple encompassing a plurality of sects until the end of the nineteenth century and most “Sikhs moved in and out of multiple identities (1988: 137).” The competing definitions of what it meant to be Sikh as in the Udasi,13 Nirmala,14 Suthreshahi,15 Sangatshahi, Mihanshahi,

250  Anjali Gera Roy Nanakpanthi,16 Jitmali, Bakhatmali, Sahajdhari,17 Kuka18 and Sarwaria sects that did not adhere to the Khalsa strictures related to the five Ks or the rahit code of conduct were closed through the rise of the Tat Khalsa. Arguing that the “elaborate cultural code in which members of the two traditions adhered to the same rules for social organization and rites de passage” explained the lack of acrimony between the two communities (1988: 139), Oberoi examines the cultural and semantic sources of Sikh separatism. He holds Singh Sabhas emerging at the beginning of the twentieth century as complicit in the production of a homogeneous, unitary, fixed narrative of Sikh identity as prescribed by the Tat Khalsa that was posited as different from that of the Hindu. Holding that Sikhs shared the language, rites de passage, life cycle rituals, dietary taboos, festivals, key theological doctrines with Hindus (1988: 136), he shows that the invention of Sikh rituals separate from those of the Hindus by the Tat Khalsa facilitated the construction of a separate Sikh identity. The Tat Khalsa’s recognition that a separate Sikh identity could not be carved as long as Hindu life cycles continued to be adhered to by the faithful, the Tat Khalsa launched a massive campaign through the organizational structure of the Singh Sabhas using newspapers, pamphlets and lectures to replace Hindu rites with new Sikh rites (Oberoi, 1988: 150) thus providing the Sikhs a symbolic universe necessary for the constitution of an autonomous identity. As Jones points out, it was the Tat Khalsa’s prohibition of the performance of Hindu rituals to idols within the precincts of the gurdwara as inimical to the monotheist Sikh formation that began the alienation of Hindus. In particular, Sardar Arur Singh’s removal of Hindu idols lodged in the shrine for several generations at the Harmandir Sahib in 1905, of Brahmin priests who had traditionally been revered by Hindus and Sikh patrons alike and the prevention of Hindus from partaking in the rituals associated with the Sikh temple completely closed the space that facilitated the Hindu participation in Sikh practices. Ballard offers a more nuanced explanation of the Tat Khalsa narrative. He argues that the mounting pressure faced by mahants, usually members of the Udasi sect, who had long served as guardians of the gurdwaras and bestowed with large grants of land, either to conform to neo-orthodox expectations or to abandon their offices drove them to resist the threat to their positions of power and wealth. The Tat Khalsa’s drive to oust all alternative interpretations of Guru Nanak’s teachings as a compromise with Hinduism succeeded with the British agreeing to hand over the management of the gurdwaras to the Shiromani Gurdwara Prabhandak Committee in 1925. According to Ballard, it was the polarising processes set in train by the imposition of British rule that the Sikhs routinely began to perceive themselves as members of a coherent and socially autonomous ethnic group, and as followers of a distinct and a wholly independent religious tradition of their own. (1991: 17)

Destruction of Panjab’s Shared Cultures  251 As Ballard points out, as each of these traditions set out to revamp its dharmic order and the logic of qaumic dimension required homogenization, the deviant panthic and kismetic dimensions found themselves subjected to vicious criticism. He concludes that “the easy-going pluralism which still underpins the greater part of popular belief and practices is wholly antithetical to the dynamics of qaumic polarisation, as well as to the politically driven vision of dharmic orthodoxy (1999: 22).” Jones apportions equal blame to Aryas, who in their quest to forge a new identity based on a reformed Hinduism “contributed to the destruction of bonds between the Sikh and Hindu communities,” and to similar processes within the Sikh community that led to a heightening of Sikh identity. He asserts that growing Samaj independence within the shuddhi movement not only resulted in the Sikh disillusionment with Arya Samaj but also in a rise in Sikh self-consciousness (1968: 50). He concludes that “the shuddhi movement acted on relations between Hindus and Muslims, not to clarify overlapping identities, as with Hindus and Sikhs, but to reinforce existing communal separatism (1968: 50)”.

Script Communities Despite frequent allusions to the Hindi-Urdu and Hindi-Panjabi divide in languages debates on the subcontinent, particularly in couching the demand for a Sikh state as a linguistic demand, their co-option in the consolidation of Islamic, Hindu and Sikh identities in the religious nationalisms has not been rigorously explored. Paul Brass’s classic study on the relation between language, religion and nationalism offers an informed analysis of the relationship between language, script and ethnoreligious formations. Arguing that the process of nationality-formation is one in which “objective differences between peoples acquire subjective and symbolic significance, are translated into group consciousness, and become the basis for political demands,” Brass demonstrates how language and script became complicit in the emergence of religious nationalism (1974: 23). Asserting that language and symbol are major symbols of group identity in South Asia, Brass shows that “political elites tend to emphasize one symbol or line of cleavage above others and then strive to bring other symbols into congruence with the primary symbol in the formation of group identities” (1974). He takes up three case studies from North India to substantiate his argument and meticulously reveals how Urdu, Hindi and Panjabi language and script were manipulated as symbols by the Muslim, Hindu and Sikh elite in mobilizing ethnoreligious identities at the end of the nineteenth century. In contrast to speech that did not pose a barrier to communication across religious communities, script was manipulated by political elite to drive a cleave between Hindus, Muslims and Sikhs. Brass demonstrates how the symbols of language and script were mapped on religion and nation over the decades preceding the Partition of India. As a consequence, Urdu and

252  Anjali Gera Roy Persian script that was the language and script of both Hindus, Muslims and Sikhs, was now equated with Muslims and Islam, Hindi and Devanagari with Hindus and Panjabi and Gurmukhi with Sikhs. Even those scholars who have reservations about accepting Brass’ thesis in totality would find it difficult to question the logic of his neatly worked-out equation. Scholars exhibit a tendency to hold one group culpable for the linguistic cleavage through aggressively promoting their ethnoreligious or ethnonationalist agendas. But the history of the linguistic movements equally implicates the Hindu, Muslim and Sikh political elite in mobilizing and consolidating their constituencies. In his well-researched historical overview of this cleavage in Panjab, ­Atamjit Singh elucidates how “religion, politics and language were intermixed in Panjab, resulting in ongoing communal conflict between Hindus and Sikhs, giving birth to Sikh separatism (1997).” According to Singh, while Urdu was the language of literary expression in British Panjab, P ­ anjabi was spoken by all communities. Panjabi Hindus, a mercantile class, “were enthusiastic users of Urdu” which was “the language of administration, commerce and journalism” (1997). Singh views the Hindi-Urdu split as a political exercise by Hindu and Muslim leaders to enable Hindus gain “numerical precedence over Muslims and Urdu” while Muslims fought to “maintain Urdu’s official status on the lower and middle rungs of civil administration and education (1997)”. His view of Hindus’ listing Hindi in successive censuses as their mother tongue as an act of betrayal that minoritized Panjabi is shared by majority of Sikh scholars. The undeniable role of English and Urdu-educated Panjabi Hindus, particularly the Arya Samaj, in the Hindi movement of the nineteenth-century Panjab was motivated by their belief, however misguided, that political solidarity demanded the spread of the Hindi language in Devanagari script. Singh’s view of the Hindi movement as “a religio-political or sectarian movement” ushered in by the Arya Samaj and Hindu nationalists’ political aspirations to displace the official status of Urdu in the Persian script is shared by scholars of Panjabi. The cleavage between Hindi and Urdu began in 1882 with the Hindu nationalists in Bihar demanding that Urdu in Arabic script, the official language of administration, be displaced by Hindi in the Devanagari. Even though both sides saw this as a manifestation of the Hindu-Muslim communal conflict, it was picked up by Hindu leadership in Panjab and became the plank of Hindu nationalism, including of a leader like Lala Lajpat Rai, who could not read the Devanagari alphabet. Although Urdu retained its official status and the Simon Commission had earlier rejected the demand of making Hindi or Panjabi the medium of instruction at primary level in the schools of British Panjab, denominational educational institutions run under the aegis of the Chief Khalsa Dewan and Arya Samaj respectively took up the promotion of Panjabi and Hindi as their agenda. In their attempt to differentiate themselves from Hindus, Sikh nationalists turned Guru Nanak’s lack of Sanskrit that diminished the Guru’s stature in the Arya Samaj’s perception

Destruction of Panjab’s Shared Cultures  253 into an advantage and celebrated the Guru’s use of the Panjabi language and the Gurmukhi script as a means of transmission of his ideas as “highly positive markers of their distinctiveness” (Ballard, 1968). K L Tuteja provides a comprehensive view of the language controversy by situating it within the meta Hindi-Urdu debate in the United Provinces before moving to the language agitations in Panjab and emphasizing Arya Samaj’s lead role in promoting Hindi in the region. His central argument is that “the Hindi movement in Punjab under the leadership of the Arya Samaj and later the Punjab Hindu Sabha undoubtedly led to a weakening of composite culture (2019: 33)”. He points to the irony of Panjab’s becoming a major centre of Hindi agitation in 1881 “even though Hindi in Nagari script was almost non-existent in the late nineteenth century (2019: 41)”. In his systematic reading of Arya Samaj’s complex and changing standpoint on the teaching of Hindi and Devanagari, including in its own Dayanand Anglo Vedic institutions due to the instrumental advantages that learning Urdu offered to Hindus, particularly Hindu males, in securing employment during the colonial rule when Urdu served as the official vernacular. His close reading of the statements and speeches of Lala Lajpat Rai, the most vocal proponent of Hindi in Panjab, who himself could not read Devanagari offers an illuminating insight into the dissonance between Hindus’ ideological position and actual practice. He makes the important point that Lajpat Rai went on to place Urdu language outside the ambit of religious affiliation by arguing that the root cause of the linguistic dispute was “not religious” and that the quarrel was not on the issue of language but of “of two scripts Arabic and Nagari 2019: 48)”. Tuteja shows that Lajpat Rai’s stand on Hindi/Nagari, however, underwent a radical change only in the 1920s when he began to take a “keen interest in promoting Hindi in Nagari script as a cultural resource for unifying the Hindu community and also to establish its claim as the national language of the country (50)” but remained strongly opposed to the idea of the Hindu Rashtra till the end.

Continuity of Shared Spaces: Sindhi Mandir Yogesh Snehi’s book on Sufi shrines spread across East Panjab at which these faiths are still practiced demonstrates their resilience (2019). Ajay Bhardwaj’s trilogy similarly documents the practices of mixed followers at the shrines of Baba Rattan in Bhatinda just as Anna Bigelow engages the shared embodied practices of the pilgrims in Haider Shah’s dargah in Malerkotla. Their uncovering of the resilience of pre-partition spaces of veneration is mirrored in the visits of Muslim devotees to the pre-Partition shrine of Hardo Sahari, outside the city of Kasur as well as the Hindu shrine of Ram Thamman a few kilometres away.19 Unlike Sufi shrines, the Sindhi mandir has escaped academic attention in the tracing of pre-partition syncretic traditions partially because of the geographical boundaries of Sikh and Panjab studies. The history of Sikhism in

254  Anjali Gera Roy Sindh and the appeal of particular forms of Sikhism among Sindhi mandir can provide a glimpse into the co-existence of Sikh and Hindu practices in the Sindhi mandir. It was Richard F. Burton who, in his book Sindh & the Races that Inhabit the Valley of the Indus, “describes the curious mix of Hindu and Sikh practices among Sindhi Hindus (1851).” He observes that “they show a general tendency towards the faith of Nanak Shah, and that many castes have so intermingled the religion of the Sikhs with their original Hinduism, that we can scarcely discern the line of demarcation (1851).” The historical reason for the prevalence of these syncretic practices in Sindh was due to the Sindhis being introduced to Sikhism by the Udasi panth popularized by Guru Nanak’s son Sri Chand whose followers are known as Nanakpanthi Sikhs in Sindh. Nanakpanth refers to Sikhs who follow the teachings of Guru Nanak without observing the five Ks prescribed for Khalsa Sikhs and do not find Hinduism as conflictual with Sikhism. 20 ­Unlike Nanakpanthis who follow the rituals of Hinduism, performed idol worship and are Hindus except that they kept Guru Granth Sahib in their places of worship, new categories of Sikhs in Sindh who describe themselves as Gursikhs claim to bow their heads only in front of the Guru Granth Sahib. Himadri Bannerji’s “Sindhi Sikhs” (2023) mentions the Sindhi Gurdwara in ­Ulhasnagar as a similar space in which the syncretic boundaries of pre-Partition Gurdwaras are still visible. Steven Ramey, in his study of the Shiva Shanti Ashram and other institutions in Lucknow, points out that Sindhi Hindus in India at Lucknow and other places who came inside the place of worship would all bow to Guru Granth Sahib but some would miss bowing in front of idols and Bhagwad Gita (2008). He also observed the performance of ardas and langar at the places of worship and that the Guru Granth Sahib Ji was given more respect than others. A little-known Sindhi mandir tucked away in the Sindhi Colony in Cox Town in Bangalore where Sindhis arrived in 1947–1948 still displays traces of Nanakpanthi practices in which Hindu practices are not incompatible with the worship of Guru Granth Sahib. A visit to the Sindhi Guru ­Mandir in 2019 revealed the Guru Granth Sahib placed under a canopy in a rectangular hall was flanked by images of Hindu gods and goddesses on walls on either side and a little mandir with idols of Hindu gods on the side. On that particular evening, the gathering of women sang bhajans in Hindi led by the priest’s wife before the performance of the aarti in the temple in which ­Sanskrit chants were interspersed with bhajans in both Hindi and Sindhi. Each woman turned to the idol and performed the aarti in the ­Sindhi way before turning back and handing over the thali to the next and the aarti concluded with the priest offering holy water that was received by the women in the unique Sindhi way of spreading the aanchal of their saris or dupattas. However, at the conclusion of the prayers, the importance accorded to the Guru Granth Sahib by the priest foregrounded the central position of the Guru in the prayer hall. As the mandir calendar reveals, the days of all the Sikh Gurus are celebrated with recitations from the Guru Granth Sahib.

Destruction of Panjab’s Shared Cultures  255

Conclusion The practices described above compel a rethinking on the meaning of terms like syncretism and composite culture. Syncretism, in particular, has been critiqued for its imposition of an alien colonial category on a religion and region that does not conform either to the Western notion of religion or practices. The discourse of syncretism has been predicated on the presumption of discrete, formal, religious categories and the amalgamation of heterogeneous religious ideas. Oberoi’s thesis about the absence of shared spaces of worship and about meanings of Hinduism, Sikhism and Islam being different until the end of the 19th century when the emergence of formal religions constructed boundaries between shared, overlapping, intersecting practices of people at the village level offers a novel perspective on syncretism. van der Veer analyses the same sacred practices to reiterate the foreignness of the category of syncretism and tolerance adding that syncretism was a political ­category. In the recent times, uncovering of shared cultural or religious spaces has been used to buttress the ideal of intercommunal harmony and tolerance that is seen as being threatened by religious fundamentalisms. In view of these contestations over the meaning of syncretism and composite culture, a definition that does not attempt to blend the differences between dissimilar faiths and practices into a harmonious whole but is based on openness to difference might be more useful in promoting intercommunal dialogue.

Notes 1 Alexander the Great’s crossing of the Indus and Jhelum rivers after his conquest of Asia Minor and Central Asia in 334 BCD set in motion the interaction between Hellenistic Greece and Buddhism. The Diadochoi (successors) founded their own kingdoms in Asia Minor and Central Asia and General Seleucus set up the Seleucid Kingdom, which extended as far as India. The Eastern breakaway part of the Seleucid Kingdom became the Greco-Bactrian Kingdom (third to second century BCE) and it was followed by the Indo-Greek Kingdom (second to first century BCE), and later the Kushan Empire (first to third century CE). Greek and Buddhist cultures continued to interact over several centuries until the fifth century CE with the invasions of the White Huns and, subsequently, with the expansion of Islam. 2 Although the categories of faqirs, sants, bhagats and jogis intersect in their rejection of orthodox religion as well as in their renunciation of all worldly possessions and adherence to devotion as the path to attaining wisdom, scholars have pointed out the specific differences partially emanating from their diverse origins. The most significant distinction is that between the Islamic and Hindu devotional traditions and between the saguna [with attributes] and nirguna [without attributes] within the Hindu. In contrast to faqirs and sants who have an Islamic or Hindu provenance respectively, bhagats, may belong to any sect. 3 Khanqah or kaˉnaqaˉh, in Persian ˉ literally a ‘dwelling place,’ or a ‘place of residence,’ refers to an Islamic institution and physical establishment, principally reserved for Sufi dervishes to meet, reside, study, and assemble and pray together as a group in the presence of a Sufi master (Arabic, šayk, Persian, pir), who is teacher, educator, ˉ and leader of the group. (Böwering & Melvin-Koushki, 2010)

256  Anjali Gera Roy 4 K. A. Nizami shows that Farid is the first Indo-Islamic sant whose contacts and discussions with Hindu religious thinkers, such as the jogis, he is believed to have met in his jamaat khana, are documented in Persian texts such as Fawaidul-fuad and Siyar-ur-Auliya (1973: 350). According to Yogendra Sikand (2004), while one approach to Sikhism (Hughes, 1885; Pincott, 1979) concedes a certain definite Sufi or Muslim impact on Nanak’s thoughts (1113), the fourth (Duggal, 1994, Nizami) goes as far as to say that Nanak was regarded “by many Muslims as a waliullah’ (‘friend of god’) in his own lifetime, a term of respect reserved for spiritually exalted Sufi saints in the Muslim mystical tradition (1114).” 5 Farina Mir (2006), Virinder S. Kalra & Navtej Purewal (2019), Yogesh Snehi (2019) and others have uncovered the continuity of the shared cultures of piety in the villages of Panjab. At the same time, however, they (Mir, 2006; Bigelow, 2009; Kalra & Purewal, 2019), warn against the use of Eurocentric categories like syncretic and composite in describing these shared spaces. 6 Although Alexander Cunningham throws light on the exalted position of Ajodhan or Pakpattan due to the presence of the shrine of Baba Farid and of Hindus being spared by Timur due to the invader’s respect for the Sufi saint, he does not delve into the shrine culture (1973). 7 Patrick J. Fagan states that Farid’s progress through Panjab was stopped at Ajodhan by the Hindu jogi Birnath who he converted and renamed Pir Kamal (1973: 402). 8 Urs (Arabic; wedding), is the death anniversary of a Sufi sant, which is usually held at the sant’s dargah (shrine or tomb). 9 An interview conducted in 2019 as part of the author’s project on Partition with Dr Chander Trikha, whose family migrated from Pakpattan after Partition, confirms the sacral status of the shrine continued to have for Hindu families like his. 10 In the 1891 census, 729,131 people in the province—“Hindus”, “Sikhs” and “Muslims”—stated that they were followers of Sakhi Sarvar. 79.085 Sikhs registered themselves as followers in 1911. 11 In particular, Lekh Ram’s self-conscious and militant form of Hinduism and participation in activities, which were either directly or indirectly anti-Muslim, led to the aggravation of Hindu Muslim relations. Of the three causes he took up on joining the Samaj in 1880 namely (1) cow protection, (2) advocacy of Hindi as a medium of instruction and (3) anti-Ahmadiya propaganda, the third led to his conflict with Mirza Ghulam Ahmad, founder of the Ahmadiyyas (1968). 12 Rahtias, weavers by professions, were lower caste Sikhs who were regarded as outcastes. After their unsuccessful appeals to be absorbed into the Sikh community that professed to be casteless, they agreed to be reabsorbed into the Hindu fold through the Arya Samaj shuddhi movements. The elevation of these mazhabi Sikhs to a higher caste not only invoked the ire of Khalsa Sikhs but also of sanatan Hindus (Jones, 1973). 13 Udasi (“Detached Ones”) are monastic followers of Srichand (1494–1612), the elder son of Nanak (1469–1539), the first Guru and the founder of Sikhism who advocated ascetic renunciation and celibacy in contrast to his father. https:// www.britannica.com/topic/Udasi. 14 Nirmala (“those without blemish”) is an ascetic order of the Sikh whose members wore only white garments in the beginning but subsequently adopted the ochre robes worn by Hindu ascetics and shared some other practices with Hindus. https://www.britannica.com/topic/Nirmala. 15 Suthrashahi is a mendicant order which owes its origin to Suthra Shah (1625–1682), a disciple of Guru Hargobind.

Destruction of Panjab’s Shared Cultures  257 16 Nanakpanthi, meaning a follower of the teachings of Guru Nanak (1469–1539), signifies any person, regardless of any religious affiliation, who follows Guru Nanak and believes in his teachings. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nanakpanthi. 17 Sahajdhari Sikh(literally “slow adopter”) is an individual who has chosen the Sikh panth, but has not yet become an Amritdhari (an initiated Sikh). https:// en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sahajdhari. 18 Kuka or Namdhari, an austere sect within Sikhism, was founded by Balak Singh (1797–1862), who did not believe in any religious ritual other than the repetition of God’s name (or nam) including the worship of idols, graves, tombs, gods, or goddesses. https://www.britannica.com/topic/Namdhari. 19 The shrines embodied diverse local cultural identities, whose variety reflected both the diversity of ecological, social and kinship organizations in Panjab and the diversity in the spiritual needs of the people. 20 In the later 1911 Census Report, Shahpur District (Panjab) reported that 12,539 Hindus (being 20% of the total Hindu population) identified as Nanakpanthi along with 9,016 Sikhs (being 22% of the total Sikh population).

References Atamjit, Singh. “The Language Divide in Punjab.” South Asian Graduate Research Journal, Vol. 4, No. 1 (Spring 1997), pp. 1–20. Banerjee, Himadri. “Sindhi Sikhs.” In Regional Perspectives on India’s Partition: Shifting the Vantage Points. ed Anjali Gera Roy & Nandi Bhatia. Routlege, 2023. pp. 121–135. Ballard, Roger. “The Politicisation of Religion in Punjab.” In Rohit Barot (ed.). Religion and Identity: Minorities and Social Change in the Metropolis. The Hague: Kok Pharos, 1993, pp. 80–95. ———. “Panth, Kismet, Dharm te Qaum: Continuity and Change in Four Dimensions of Punjabi Religion.” In Gurharpal Singh & Shinder Thandi (eds.). Punjabi Identity in a Global Context. Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1999, pp. 1–25. Barrier, Norman Gerald. “The Punjab Government and Communal Politics, 1870– 1908.” The Journal of Asian Studies, Vol. 27, No. 3 (1968), pp. 523–539. https:// doi.org/10.2307/2051154. Bharadwaj, Ajay. Milange Babey Ratan De Mele Te (Let’s Meet at Baba Ratan’s Fair); 2012. ———. Rabba Hun Kee Kariye (Thus Departed Our Neighbours). 2007. ———. Kitte Mil Ve Mahi (Where the Twain Shall Meet). 2005. Bhatti Harwinder Singh and Daniel Michon. “Punjabi Folk Religion.” Journal of Punjab Studies, Vol. 11, No. 2 (Fall 2004), pp. 139–154. Bigelow, Anna. “Saved by the Saint: Refusing and Reversing Partition in Muslim North India.” The Journal of Asian Studies, Vol. 68, No. 2 (May 2009), pp. 435–464. Boivin, Michel. The Hindu Sufis of South Asia. Partition, Shrine Culture and the Sindhis of India. London, I.B. Tauris. 2019. Böwering, Gerhard and Matthew Melvin-Koushki. Kaˉnaqaˉh Encyclopedia Iranica online https://www.iranicaonline.org/articles/kanaqah. Brass, Paul. Language, Religion and Politics in North India. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1974.

258  Anjali Gera Roy Burton, Richard F. Sindh & the Races that Inhabit the Valley of the Indus. London, W. H. Allen, 1851. Cunningham, Alexander. “Ajodhan or Pakpattan,” Baba Sheikh Farid Ganj-IShakar. The Panjab Past and Present. Edited by Ganda Singh Patiala, Vol. vii, Part ii, Serial No. 14, October, Patiala: Publication Bureau Punjabi University, 1973. Das, Lala Thakar. Sikh Hindu Hain, Hoshiarpur: Khatri Press, I899. Duggal, Kartar Singh. The Sikh People: Yesterday and Today. New Delhi: UBS, 1994. Eaton, Richard. “Shrines, Cultivators, and Muslim ‘Conversion’ in Punjab and Bengal, 1300–1700.” The Medieval History Journal, Vol. 12, 2009, pp. 191–220. Fagan, Patrick. “Pak Pattan — Ancient Ajudhan.” Baba Sheikh Farid GanjI-Shakar. The Panjab Past and Present. Edited by Ganda Singh Patiala, Vol. vii, Part ii, Serial No. 14, October, Patiala: Publication Bureau Punjabi University, 1973. Hughes, Thomas Patrick. Dictionary of Islam. New Delhi: Rupa, 1885/1988. Hunter, William Wilson. Imperial Gazetteer of India Vol 20. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1908. Irving, Miles. “The Shrine of Baba Farid Shakarganj at Pakpattan,” The Panjab Past and Present. Edited by Ganda Singh Patiala, Vol. vii, Part. ii, October, ­Patiala: Publication Bureau Punjabi University, 1973. Jaffrelot, Christophe. “Hindu Nationalism: Strategic Syncretism in Ideology Building.” Economic and Political Weekly, Vol. 28, No. 12/13 (March 20–27, 1993), pp. 517–524. Jones, Kenneth W. “Ham Hindu Nahin: Arya-Sikh Relations, 1877–1905.” J­ ournal of Asian Studies, Vol. xxxii, No. 3 (May 1973), pp. 457–475. ———. “Communalism in the Punjab: The Arya Samaj Contribution.” The Journal of Asian Studies, Vol. 28, No. 1 (November 1968), pp. 39–54. Kalra, Virinder and Purewal, Navtej K. Beyond Religion in India and Pakistan: Gender And Caste, Borders And Boundaries. Bloomsbury Studies in Religion, Gender, and Sexuality. London: Bloomsbury Academic, 2019. Macauliffe, Max Arthur. “Baba Sheikh Farid Ganj-I-Shakar.” The Panjab Past and ­ ctober, Present. Edited by Ganda Singh Patiala, Vol. vii, Part ii, Serial No. 14, O Patiala: Publication Bureau Punjabi University, 1973. Malhotra, Anshu and Farina Mir (eds), Punjab Reconsidered: History, Culture and Practice. New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2012. Mehta, Radha Kishen. Nuskha-i-Granthi-Phobia. In Jones, Kenneth W. “Ham Hindu Nahin: Arya-Sikh Relations, 1877-1905.” The Journal of Asian Studies, Vol. 32, No. 3 (May, 1973), pp. 457–475. Mir, Farina. “Genre and Devotion in Punjabi Popular Narratives: Rethinking Cultural and Religious Syncretism.” Comparative Studies in Society and History, Vol. 48, No. 3 (July 2006), pp. 727–758. Nabha, Kahn Singh. Hum Hindu Naheen (We are not Hindus). Amritsar: Khalsa Press, 1899. Narain Singh, Bawa. Sikh Hindu Hain. Amritsar: Matbakarnuni Press, I899. Nizami, Khaliq Ahmad. “The Life and Times of Shaikh Farid-u’d-Din Ganji-Shakar.” In M. Ikram Chaghatai (ed.). Babaji, Lahore: Sang-e-Meel Publications, 2006.

Destruction of Panjab’s Shared Cultures  259 Nizami, Khwaja Hasan. Da ‘i-i slam, Amritsar. (nd): Sikh Qaum Aur Uske Bani Ke Nisbat Mussalmano Ki Muhabbat Amez Ra ‘i, Ahmad Wujudi Nizami, Batala. 1923. O’Brien, Aubrey. “The Mohammedan Saints of the Western Panjab,” The Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland, Vol. 41 (July–December 1911), pp. 509–520. Oberoi, Harjot. The Construction of Religious Boundaries: Culture, Identity and Diversity in the Sikh Tradition, Delhi: Oxford University Press. 1992. ———. “From Ritual to Counter Ritual: Rethinking the Hindu-Sikh Question.” The Sikh History and Religion in the Twentieth Century, Toronto, University of Toronto, 1988. Pincott, Fredrick. “Sufi Influence on the Formation of Sikhism.” The World of the Sufis. London: Octagon Press, 1979, pp. 121–145. Rai, Lajpat. Young India: An Interpretation and a History of the Nationalist Movement from Within. Lahore: Servants of the People Society, 1927. Ramey, Stephen. Hindu, Sufi, or Sikh: Contested Practices and Identifications of Sindhi Hindus in India and Beyond. Houndmills, Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008. Suvorova, Anna. Muslim Saints of South Asia: The Eleventh to Fifteenth Centuries. Routledge. 2004. van der Veer, Peter. Religious Nationalism: Hindus and Muslims in India. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994. Sikand, Yoginder. “Sikh-Muslim Harmony: Contributions of Khwaja Hasan Nizami.” Economic and Political Weekly, Vol. 39, No. 11 (March 13–19, 2004), pp. 1113–1116. Snehi, Yogesh. Spatializing Popular Sufi Shrines in Punjab: Dreams, Memories, Territoriality. India: Routledge, 2019. Tuteja, Kundan Lal. “‘Hindi–Hindu’ Discourse in Late Colonial Punjab.” Studies in People’s History, Vol. 6, No. 1 (2019), pp. 33–51. doi: 10.1177/2348448919834776.

12 Not Asian Enough? The Racialization of Sikhs in Southeast Asia Jasjit Singh

Introduction As a visible religious minority, Sikhs present an interesting case study when examining questions about racism in Western and non-Western contexts. Scholars examining the racialization of Sikhs in Western Societies (Sian 2017, Singh 2013, 2019) have noted how the post-9/11 environment has seen an increase in the level and types of securitization faced by religious and ethnic minorities in Western democracies (Cesari 2009) with securitization being ‘far more commonly experienced by Muslims and Sikhs than by Christians’ (Bramadat and Dawson 2014: 12). The post 9/11 environment has also seen Sikhs increasingly become victims of racism and hate crime, particularly in the US as a result of the racialization of turban wearing Sikhs (Ahluwalia 2011). Indeed, in her examination of the impact on Sikh bodies as a consequence of the ‘War on Terror’, Sian (2017) argues that Sikhs in Britain have been racialized in three ways, first as a ‘martial race’ where Sikhs are ‘celebrated by the British as exemplary soldiers whose “martial” characteristics were both cultivated and regulated by the logics of empire’ (Sian 2017: 41). Second as a ‘model minority’ where Sikhs are seen to be ‘upwardly mobile, law-abiding, and integrated into the host society’s culture and values’ and finally as ‘crypto-Muslims’ through which Sikhs represent ‘one of the most prominent examples of, “Muslim looking” people  … demonstrated most clearly by the phenomenon of “mistaken identity” in which mainly turbaned Sikhs have been “mistaken” for being Muslim (and through a reductive extension “terrorist”)’ (Sian 2017: 43). In addition, I argue that the framing of turban wearing Sikhs as ‘anti-assimilationist religious others’ continues to impact on Sikhs today, leading to questions around loyalty and belonging (Singh 2019). In this chapter, I examine issues of racism faced by non-white religious minorities (Sikhs) in non-white settings (O’Connor 2012: 157) focusing on how perceptions of race (Boehler 2013), concerns about ‘anti-­assimilationist religious others’ (Singh 2019) and securitization policies (Sian 2017) impact on these communities. Despite their long presence in Southeast Asia as Sikhs were placed by the British to ‘help provide internal security in the colonial plural society being

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DOI: 10.4324/9781003281849-16

The Racialization of Sikhs in Southeast Asia  261 created on the Malay peninsula’ (Dusenbery 2008: 194) from the 1880s ­ nwards, Southeast Asia has not been a site for sustained investigation of o Sikh communities. As Ballantyne (2011: x) explains, this has meant that ‘models of Sikh diasporic experience tend to be grounded in British, North American or even East African case studies’. With their presence particularly in Singapore, Malaysia and Hong Kong being a direct consequence of their framing by the British as a ‘martial race’, I examine how Sikhs have been racialized and impacted by racism in these regions and by ‘the relationship between the state and its ideologies, policies, and practices of ethnic management on the one hand and local Sikh institutions and their political aspirations on the other’ (Dusenbery 2008: 227). This examination of how and why Sikhs are racialized in non-white-majority settings will extend our understandings of race and migration which have primarily been focused on white-majority contexts. Tatla (1998:69), Kaur (2011) and others have outlined how a crucial element leading to the presence of Sikhs in Southeast Asia was their recruitment into the police and other security forces by the British. The first batch of such Sikhs joined the Hong Kong Police service in June 1867 and impressed their British officials so much that by 1871, there were 182 Sikhs in Hong Kong (Tatla 1998: 70). By 1952 however, Sikhs had been removed from the Hong Kong police force, leading many to be hired by private firms or by security services. In Malaysia, a small number of Sikhs were recruited by the British in 1873 to combat Chinese insurgency in the tin mines of Perak. Again, although some of these recruits formed the nucleus of police and parliamentary forces in Malaysia, the Sikh Police contingents were disbanded by 1926. Similarly, Yin (2017: 13) notes that from the 1880s onwards, thousands of Sikhs flocked to Shanghai, mainly employed as policemen or watchmen with 513 policemen being employed in the Sikh branch of the Shanghai Municipal Police force by 1920 (Vathyam 2016). However, by 1945 the Shanghai Municipal Police was disbanded, with the last Sikhs leaving Shanghai in 1973. Finally, the Sikh presence in Singapore can be traced as far back as the 1850s, as the first Sikhs arrived as convicts, most notably Bhai Maharaj Singh, the leader of an anti-British insurgency in the Panjab (Mishra 2017: 551). Following this initial influx, the first wave of Sikhs to arrive in Singapore (as part of Malaya) occurred between the 1870s and World War I, when Sikhs, who had proved their worth in Hong Kong, were brought to Singapore to serve in the paramilitary and police forces leading to the creation of the Singapore Sikh Police Contingent in 1881 (Mishra 2017: 551). Sandhu (1969: xxiii) highlights how even at this time, Sikh police recruits in the late nineteenth century were racialized primarily as Indians and referred to as ‘Mungkali kwai: Cantonese, literally “Bengali” devil, but in popular speech used to denote all North Indians and especially Sikhs’. Despite these long histories of settlement, recent media reports in Singapore, Malaysia and Hong Kong highlight how Sikhs in these countries

262  Jasjit Singh continue to face race-related issues. In September 2019, Sheena Phua, a ­social media influencer from Singapore posted a message on Instagram about two turban wearing Sikh men who were obstructing her view at the Singapore Grand Prix. Her post triggered a huge social media response leading to media accusations of racism (Yong 2019). In response, the Young Sikh Association (YSA) of Singapore invited Phua to the Central Sikh Temple on Towner Road, in order to introduce and educate her about the Sikh tradition (Yong 2019). In Malaysia, a Sikh turban-related issue hit the headlines in September 2018 when Raja Petra Kamarudin (RPK) wrote a post on his blog, Malaysia Today, about the Commercial Crime Investigation Department (CCID) director Datuk Seri Amar Singh entitled Amar Singh’s Turban Must Be Too Tight (Kumar 2018). Amar Singh accused Raja Petra of using ‘a demeaning and derogatory statement to ridicule a person due to race’ (NST 2018) while the Communications and Multimedia Minister, Gobind Singh Deo condemned Raja’s remarks for undermining ‘the most basic values we Malaysians uphold … We are a multiracial and multireligious society. We cannot and must not allow such attacks against any one of us to go unnoticed’ (Landau 2018). In Hong Kong in May 2019, a report appeared about a Hong Kong Sikh looking to change attitudes towards ethnic minorities in the city (Tsui 2019). Sukhdeep Singh, a trainee doctor explained how as a turban wearing Sikh: The sad reality is, when I’m wearing scrubs and a lab coat, I get treated differently. If I’m wearing normal clothes, no one would believe I am a medical student … Patients might develop a different perspective on people with turbans in Hong Kong when they see me, a turbaned ­doctor, and, hopefully, start to view other ethnic minorities differently. (Tsui 2019) Sukhdeep Singh’s account highlights the importance of language in overcoming prejudice explaining how ‘Patients look at me strangely, and that’s normal. But whenever I speak to them in their own dialect, their faces light up’ (Tsui 2019). He also noted the need to manage his appearance, as ‘you don’t want to scare sick patients even more. As a community, we still need to address these sensitive issues through education’ (Tsui 2019). These recent headlines which all relate to Sikh turbans highlight how racism, racialization and the wearing of religious dress continue to raise issues for Sikhs in different Southeast Asian contexts.

Racism, Racialization and Sikhs in Singapore, Malaysia and Hong Kong As Ghani (2008: 1113) explains, racism is the belief in the superiority of one race over another which manifests itself in prejudice, discrimination,

The Racialization of Sikhs in Southeast Asia  263 or antagonism because they are of a different race or ethnicity. For Barot and Bird (2001), ‘racialization’ allows scholars to move beyond questions of the validity of racial theories, when examining issues to do with race and is particularly useful in understanding the relationship between racism, religion, community identity, stereotyping and socio-economic location (Meer and Modood 2009). Using ‘racialization’ to refer to ‘a process of categorisation, a representational process of defining an Other’ (Miles 1989: 75) which entails ‘ascribing sets of characteristics viewed as inherent to members of a group because of their physical or cultural traits … such as language, clothing, and religious practices’ (Garner and Selod 2015: 12), I now examine how processes of racialization have impacted on Sikhs in the various countries in Southeast Asia in which they have had a long presence. Although ‘Christianity and whiteness generate social norms against which other religions and races are measured’ in Western societies (Joshi 2006: 212) I explore which societal norms other religions and races are measured against in countries with established Sikh populations in Southeast Asia. Sikhs and the Racialization of Religious Dress As I have discussed elsewhere (Singh 2019), the racialization of religious dress has its origins in the colonial period, as European colonizers ascribed characteristics to those they encountered (Banton 1977). As the British encountered the Sikhs during and following the first (1845–1846) and second (1848–1849) Anglo-Sikh Wars leading to the annexation of Panjab, colonial accounts describing the Sikhs, emphasized the ‘fanatic’ nature of those wearing outward symbols of religiosity. For instance, writing in 1845, Leech describes the Akali Nihang Sikhs as ‘the fanatics of the Sikh religion literally covering themselves with iron, generally wearing, besides 2 swords at their side, from 1 to 7 quoits on their turbans’ (Singh 2019). Indeed, British colonial commentators often described those ‘turning to tradition to resist colonial modernity’ (Doyle 2016: 86) as ‘fanatics’ as their wearing of religious symbols was regarded as an ‘encroachment of religion into a supposedly secularised public sphere’ (Toscano 2010: xiii). Cavanaugh links this invention of fanaticism with the ‘myth of religious violence’, ‘a type of Orientalism that opposes Western reason against the irrational, benighted, non-Western world’ (2011: 228). Analysing the construction of the concept of ‘religion’ during the colonial period, Cavanaugh (2011: 228) argues that the religious/secular distinction is a modern invention, created to aid in the transfer of loyalty of the citizen from religion to the nation-state. The ‘myth of religious violence’ which emerged at this time ‘continues to help facilitate this process by making the secular nation-state appear as necessary to tame the inherently volatile effects of religion in public life’ (Cavanaugh 2011: 228). Those wearing ostentatious religious symbols are to be viewed as ‘anti-assimilationists’, representing ‘a resistant anti-assimilationist stance … which can never become civilised’

264  Jasjit Singh (Puar 2008: 54). In this regard, as visible religious minorities wherever they live, turban wearing Sikhs are continually impacted by views on religious dress as being ‘anti-assimilationist’.

Sikhs as Indians/South Asians in Southeast Asia The issue of the representation of Indians/South Asians in Southeast Asia was highlighted in media critiques of the 2018 film Crazy, Rich Asians as although the film was: billed as an Asian movie, it is made up almost entirely of east Asians … [and] the few brown people featured in it are seen in service positions to the glamorous and wealthy Chinese characters. The dominance of east Asia in the worldwide imagination of who constitutes the idea of Asia is troubling, especially since brown Asians make up a sizable portion of the continent. (Ellis-Peterson and Kuo 2018) Having understood the impact of the racialization of religious dress, I now examine how Sikhs in Southeast Asia are impacted by stereotypes of their predominantly Indian heritage. Sikhs in Singapore In his examination of racial discrimination in Singapore, Velayutham (2009: 271) highlights a variety of different types of racism experienced by Singaporean Indians including ‘name-calling, racist jokes, use of expletives, covering of noses, avoidance of close contact and differential treatment.’ He argues that this everyday racial discrimination shifts ‘between old and new forms of racism based on biological inferiority and cultural differences respectively’ (2009: 271). In her examination of racialization in Singapore, Poole (2016) argues that these ideas manifest themselves through the Singapore State privileging the Chinese-Singaporean majority (Muigai 2010) as stereotypes about different ethnic groups established by the British based on a hierarchy of the ‘whiteness’ of skin colour continue to be reproduced in Singapore’s post-colonial society. Singapore is an ‘immigrant society consisting of a Chinese majority (74.1%) followed by Malays (13.4%), Indians (9.2%) and “Others” (3.3%) (Singapore Census 2010)’ (Velayutham 2017: 455), where the Sikh community comprise about 8 per cent of the Indians in Singapore, and they have been an energetic and upwardly mobile minority group … [however] despite the generally positive attitudes of Sikhs towards their position in Singapore society, there was increasing concern during the 1980s that, while the government was active in promoting

The Racialization of Sikhs in Southeast Asia  265 Chinese values, and in responding to Malay grievances … it had failed to treat the Sikhs with the consideration commensurate to their contributions to society. (Brown 2003: 71–72) A 2014 news article about Singapore’s rental discrimination problem highlights how Indians and those from Mainland China are often discriminated against due to ‘stereotypes that people have about different immigrant groups and how responsible they are in terms of the upkeep of a rented apartment’ (Cheung 2014). Indeed, writing about the formation of the Young Sikh Association Singapore (YSAS/YSA), Malminderjit Singh (2009: 83) explains how part of the reasoning behind the establishment of Sikh organizations in Singapore was to challenge some of these stereotypes as ‘there was a general sentiment within the community that their fellow Singaporeans did not fully understand them, a problem that undoubtedly boiled down to a lack of visibility.’ In addition, Singh (2009: 83) highlights that some turban wearing Singaporean Sikhs, ‘felt ostracised and peculiar about their different physical appearance and shed these representations of their identity in an attempt to reduce the differences with other ethnic groups’. Indeed, the treatment of religious dress-related issues in Singapore raises interesting questions. While the banning of the hijab in Singapore schools has been a contested issue since 2002 (see CNN 2002), there have not been similar debates about banning Sikh turbans. As Tschacher (2017) notes during the debate of 2002, it was commonly pointed out that Sikh boys and men were not required to remove their turbans in school or at work … [however] while the Sikh turban is limited in Singapore to men counted as ‘Indians’, Sikhs as a minority differ perceptibly from the hegemonic Singaporean Indian image that is Tamil. The main difference between the two symbols therefore is that while the turban is not seen as being representative of ‘Indian’ dress in comparison to the sari, the tudung (hijab) ‘is identified not only as a “Muslim”, but also as “Malay”’ (Tschacher 2017). In this regard therefore, it is clear that state discourses around which groups count as ‘others’ contribute significantly to how visible differences are perceived. Singh (2009: 83) notes that despite various turban-related issues, ‘it was their structured and collective presence as a community that was lacking in the socio-political landscape of Singapore. It was against this backdrop of community-wide issues that YSAS was formed in August 2003.’ As stated on their website, YSAS [YSA] seek to ‘enhance mutual understanding on issues of common concern and foster friendships across ethnic groups in Singapore, the region and the world’ (see http://ysas.org/about-us/, accessed 03/01/2020). As part of the celebrations of their tenth anniversary

266  Jasjit Singh in 2013, the YSA highlighted how with ‘inter-racial harmony embedded in its ­philosophy and practice … YSA acts as a conduit to promote cultural understanding between the Sikhs and other ethnic groups in Singapore’ (2013: 26) through lecture series, ministerial dialogues and bhangra competitions (YSA 2013: 11) based on the following objectives: • • • • •

To enhance understanding of national issues among young Singaporeans and to encourage them to contribute to the betterment of our society as thoughtful and responsible citizens To provide platforms for young Singaporeans to strive for professional and intellectual development To strengthen inter-racial friendship and harmony by organizing and actively participating in inter-community activities To foster community spirit among young Singaporeans through community service at home and abroad To build networks with local and international young groups so as to foster national identity and a global mindset among young Singaporeans. (ibid)

These objectives indicate how the YSA is addressing some of the concerns raised by Singaporean Sikhs around race-related state policies, including the incorporation of Sikhs into the Indian category of the CMIO (Chinese, Malay, Indian, Others) framework, which Sikhs strongly resisted in the lead up to and following the events of 1984 (Dusenbery 2008: 281). Even though Sikhs in Singapore were placed under surveillance under the Internal Security Act following the events of 1984, as the Singapore government ‘over-estimate[d] the security threat posed by Singaporean Sikhs’ (Dusenbery 2008: 283), they were able to use their professional leadership of key institutions, ‘to make a strong case for recognition and reinforcement of their distinctive Panjabi/Sikh heritage as congruent with the national agenda’ (Dusenbery 1997: 746). Through this, the government of Singapore accepted Sikh claims of distinctiveness outside the largely Tamil-derived ‘Singaporean Indian’ identity, ‘to the point of recognizing Sikhs as a distinct “race” (as well as “religion”) … granting support for Sikh-initiated projects in language, education, welfare, and heritage’ (Dusenbery 1997: 749). This allowed Sikhs to challenge the two-language policy in Singaporean schools in which students would learn English and an ‘Asian’ language, which at the time would be one of Mandarin, Malay and Tamil, enabling Sikhs to gain permission for Panjabi to be considered a testable second language to take place outside school time. For Chua, the ‘high visibility of race and racial divisions enables the Singapore state to set itself structurally above race, as the neutral umpire that oversees and maintains racial peace and racial equality’ (2003: 61). As a result, discussions of experiences of racism mostly take place in the private

The Racialization of Sikhs in Southeast Asia  267 realm, although in recent years these have been aired through social media as in the case of Sheena Phua. For Barr and Skrbiš (2008) an ethno-racial hierarchy permeates every aspect of Singapore society based on the supremacy of the Chinese. They argue that as the majority community, the Chinese dominate Singapore’s political, social and cultural landscape (Tan 2004) reinforcing the hegemony of the Chinese in Singaporean society. This ‘Chinese supremacy’ manifests itself in the emphasis on language for instance in cases where employers have discriminated on the basis of prospective employees being unable to speak Mandarin without penalty even though this discriminates against Malay and Indian job applicants (see Seow 2015). Sikhs in Hong Kong The status of Indians in Hong Kong is somewhat similar to those in Singapore, with O’Connor (2012: 157) presenting examples of the everyday racism faced by South Asian Muslims in Hong Kong due to their skin colour and non-Chinese appearance. Indeed, the issue of racism in Hong Kong has been highlighted in various media articles and blogs including Castle (2012) who highlighted a case where a young Sikh had been rejected from a school for wearing a turban, even though he had the necessary grades and Boehler (2013) who found South Asians in Hong Kong complaining of racial profiling by the police. Similarly, Navjot Singh (2012) concludes his piece on racism in Hong Kong by questioning if language is in fact the main issue preventing South Asians from obtaining good jobs, as many jobs go to ex-pat bankers and lawyers who are generally unable to communicate in Cantonese. Singh (2012) argues that racism faced by South Asians is partly down to stereotyping, as a consequence of the role and reputation of Chungking Mansions, a large building ‘full of South Asian touts selling all kinds of things from fake Rolex watches to homemade Armani suits’. Although Mathews (2011: 98) found businesses in Chungking Mansions being run by Sikhs, and one Indian man who had lived their entire life in Hong Kong (Mathews 2011: 69) he argues that many Hong Kong residents view the occupants of Chungking Mansions as ‘outsiders’ (Singh 2012). The issue of racism in Hong Kong has been addressed by a number of organizations including the Zubin Foundation, whose CEO, Shalini Mahtani notes that hijab or turban wearers regularly face discrimination as they’re often told they’re smelly, people don’t want to sit next to them on public transport, … at the workplace, other employees may complain about ethnic minorities bringing in food that ‘smells funny’ or ‘bad’ … [and] many local kindergartens would not welcome ethnic minority children because they believe they are ‘lazy’, ‘stupid’ and require too much attention from teachers. (Tsui 2019)

268  Jasjit Singh Furthermore, for Ku (2006), despite Hong Kong presenting itself as a ­vibrant, international centre of commerce and enterprise, ‘the dominant Chinese culture largely ignores the position of resident, minority ethnic (ME) groups by attempting to maintain an ethnically homogenised monoculture’ (Ku 2006). As Chan and Wong (2005) found in their 2004 survey of public attitudes to minorities over 60 per cent of their 512 respondents agreed that Hong Kong Chinese people have negative perceptions towards ME groups (Vetter 2018). Studies of Hong Kong Sikhs have tended to be contained in studies of Indians, including Vaid’s (1972) study of the overseas Indian community, and White’s (1994) examination of the South Asian communities in Hong Kong. As in Singapore and Malaysia, Sikh migration to Hong Kong begins with large numbers of Sikhs recruited to the Hong Kong police force in the late nineteenth century (Plüss 2005: 156). From the start, the Sikhs’ relations with the Chinese population ‘were strained because the Chinese perceived them to be largely auxiliaries of the British, brought to the territory to defend British interests’ (Plüss 2005: 166). Although Sikh and Indian soldiers defended the New Territories against the Japanese during the Second World War, they were gradually replaced with Chinese policemen from the 1950s onwards. Despite this change in colonial policy, Cheuk (2008: 56–57) describes how large numbers of Sikhs migrated to Hong Kong after the 1947 partition of Panjab, followed by further migration in 1949 following the Chinese Communist Party’s takeover of Mainland China when many Sikhs, especially those living in Shanghai also moved to Hong Kong. Cheuk (2008: 70) found many established Sikhs in Hong Kong holding foreign citizenships, granting them flexibility to leave Hong Kong if necessary. He also found that many of the recent Sikh migrants from India arrive on visas organized by their companies in India. Most plan to work in Hong Kong for at least seven consecutive years, after which time they would be eligible for permanent residency. During my own fieldwork in Hong Kong in 2013, I observed and participated in the main Sunday service at the only Sikh Gurdwara in Hong Kong, the Khalsa Diwan Sikh Temple. At the end of the packed Sunday service, a representative of the Hong Kong welfare service spoke to advertise a seminar on ‘Housing, Education, Medical and Employment ­Services’ being held at the Gurdwara that afternoon. As the representative spoke in English, her speech was translated into Panjabi, indicating the continuing importance of Panjabi rather than English or Cantonese. This supports the conclusions suggested by Lock and Detaramani (2003) in their examination of language usage among the Sikhs and Sindhis in Hong Kong in which they found, based on a questionnaire survey of 169 Sikhs (59 female/109 male), that over 90% of their Sikh respondents spoke more than one language quite well, particularly English and Panjabi combined with some

The Racialization of Sikhs in Southeast Asia  269 Hindi or Cantonese Lock et al. (2003: 255–257). For Sikhs in Hong Kong, the heritage language (Panjabi) appears to be the preferred language choice ­ nglish. in speaking with family and friends, despite widespread use of E The continued use of Panjabi was explained as being a consequence of the Sikh tendency to educate their children in local schools, in particular the ­Ellis Kadoorie school which ‘allows Indian students to take Hindi (which is closely related to Panjabi) as a subject’ (Lock et al. 2003: 252) and also because Sikhs in Hong Kong continue to maintain strong links with the ­Panjab through visits, family reunions, continued immigration and marriage, particularly given the geographical proximity of South Asia and South East Asia. Unsurprisingly, language ability also depends very much on exposure to language with Cheuk (2012: 6) observing that although some third-generation Sikhs speak fluent Cantonese, ‘there are also new Sikhs migrants who are struggling with their very first lesson of this local Chinese language’ (Cheuk 2012: 6). In her examination of migrants in Hong Kong, Plüss found that the relatively low economic status of the Sikh community has led to ‘exclusion from the richer Indian business communities in Hong Kong, and to disapproval from the Chinese majority, who are not very accepting of poorer ethnic minorities’ (2005: 215). Although Sikhs have sought to stress elements of their tradition that Hong Kong society aspire to, the likelihood of Sikhs improving their economic and social positions remains low … [because] the public education system in Hong Kong, which reverted to teaching in Chinese after 1997, puts children of ethnic minorities at a disadvantage, given their difficulty in performing in the Chinese language. (Pluss 2005: 215) Cheuk (2008: 72) also found that many Sikhs in Hong Kong find that ‘their working opportunities were also constrained by such factors as racial discrimination’. Many of the children attending the gurdwara Panjabi school at the gurdwara highlighted experiences of racism, particularly bullying in school ­primarily as a consequence of wearing the turban, an issue compounded by the lack of instruction on Sikhism in Hong Kong schools. In his examination of the identity issues faced by Hong Kong Sikhs, Cheuk (2010) found his Sikh respondents highlighting issues of racism and of a lack of knowledge about Sikhism in wider Hong Kong society. One respondent described how ­people ‘will always ask why I wear a turban. It seems they don’t know it is related to my religion. It is because they don’t know what Sikhism is’ (Cheuk 2010:  159). Even though many of the Sikhs he interviewed described themselves as Chinese, it appears that they are not regarded as Chinese by the wider Hong Kong population, unless they are

270  Jasjit Singh ethnically Chinese, no matter how long they have lived in Hong Kong. One of Cheuk’s Sikh respondents applying for a job explained: Even if I see myself as a Chinese, people won’t recognize me as one. I called the agent and said I’m a Chinese. The agent said ‘Fine, you’re Chinese, please come for an interview.’ But when they saw my face, [the agent said] ‘you’re not a Chinese … you look like an Indian!’ Maybe it was because I was wearing a turban: was because I was wearing a turban. Then, [the agent said] ‘I’ll let you know later.’ But they never replied. (Cheuk 2010: 167) Many of the Hong Kong Sikhs I spoke to wished to raise further awareness in Hong Kong about Sikhs and the Sikh tradition. As I found in my research into Sikhs, hair and the turban (Singh J. 2010) the perception of turbaned Sikhs changed following the events of 9/11 with some of my respondents highlighting increased instances of racism against turbaned Sikhs (Singh J. 2010). Similar issues were found by Cheuk (2010: 160) among his Hong Kong Sikh informants who were unhappy at being mistakenly linked with Osama Bin Laden. He observes that although this does not appear to have had a serious negative impact on the lives of Hong Kong Sikhs, it is obvious that they are not happy to be associated with the derogatory image of a fierce Muslim terrorist by society at large … [and are] frustrated at having a negative identity that had nothing to do with their indigenous culture and religion be imposed on them. (Cheuk 2010: 161) Indeed, in an attempt to help non-Sikhs distinguish between different turban wearing communities, a page of a recent bilingual publication produced by the Khalsa Diwan Gurdwara in Hong Kong (2004: 23) to celebrate the 400th anniversary of the installation of the Guru Granth Sahib, is dedicated to outlining the differences between the turban worn by a Sikh and those worn by members of other traditions, in particular Afghanis and Iranians. Cheuk concludes that many Hong Kong Sikhs downplay their identities in public, in order to minimize the possibility of suffering racist experiences. They instead feel confident to present their Sikh and Indian identities within their ethnic enclaves, such as in the Khalsa Diwan Gurdwara. These instances of racism further highlight the importance of the gurdwara as a ‘safe haven’ for Sikhs in diaspora. The idea that members of visible minority groups often do not feel that they fully belong in host societies is further explored by Joshi (2006) in her study of religion, race and ethnicity among second-generation young Indian Americans. Joshi found that many of her Indian respondents felt like ‘perpetual foreigners’ (2006: 110) in the US as their non-white appearance led to the assumption that they were from another country manifesting itself in questions such as ‘Where are

The Racialization of Sikhs in Southeast Asia  271 you really from?’. It is clear from the accounts above that similar questions are asked in Hong Kong of minorities who do not belong to the majority Chinese population. A report in the South China Morning Post in May of 2016 highlights that only one in five job adverts in Hong Kong caters to non-Chinese speakers or readers (Zhao 2016). Vetter (2018) highlights the story of Balwinder Singh Brar who remembered his early days at the finance company where he worked as an adviser. Everyone in the office was Chinese, and he stood out not only as the only non-Chinese but also as a Sikh with a beard and long hair under his turban. When his workmates eventually asked about his appearance, Singh who was born and raised in Hong Kong and speaks fluent Cantonese, was only too happy to tell them about his South Asian and Sikh background. Sikhs in Malaysia Goh (2009) describes how in Malaysia, the combination of Ketuanan Melayu (‘Malay supremacy’) with Ketuanan Islam (‘the supremacy of ­ ­Islam’) ‘is materially consequential for Indian-Malaysians who, in the intersections of race, religion and class, have been marginalized in Malaysia’s rapid post-1969 development’ (Goh 2009: 216). As Belle (2008: 67) explains, ‘the issue of religious identity has been rendered urgent by the post-1969 Islamic resurgence in Malaysia … creating a clear dichotomy between Malay/Muslim and non-Malay/non-Muslim (Muzaffar 1987)’. The unsympathetic response to the so-called Kerling Incident, during which 28 Hindu temples were desecrated by the end of August of 1978 (Ramanathan 1996) helped mould a view that the Malaysian government could not be relied upon to guarantee the security and preservation of religious minorities (Belle 2008: 68). The ideology of ‘Malay supremacy’ asserts that the Malay people are the rightful Tuan (masters) of ­Malaysia  … [where] their supremacy entitles them to ‘special rights’, understood as privileged access to state and market resources. The non-Malays, even though born in Malaysia, remain pendatang (recent immigrants) and hence are regarded only as ‘guests’ in Malaysia. (Chin 2015: 403) Indeed, the Chinese often complain of being discriminated against by the country’s laws, which give ethnic Malays preferential treatment. For instance, in 2011, a Malaysian TV channel, 8TV, withdrew a series of public-­ service messages about the Muslim holy month of Ramadan, after viewers complained they were racist against the Chinese (BBC News 2011). Indians in Malaysia appear to face similar issues to those in Singapore, particularly around stereotyping. In 2016, a module published by a leading Malaysian university, Universiti Teknologi Malaysia (UTM), depicted Hindus in India as unclean and dirty while a slide aimed at teaching the origins

272  Jasjit Singh of Sikhism claimed that founder Guru Nanak had a poor understanding of Islam and had combined it with his surrounding Hindu lifestyle in forming the early foundation of the Sikh faith (Ali, A. 2016). In his examination of concerns raised by Sikhs in Malaysia, Dusenbery highlights issues relating to both ‘Malay supremacy’ and ‘Islamic supremacy’: 1 The promotion of Malay as the lingua franca and preferred language of commerce, education and administration 2 Preferences in scholarships and college admissions for Malays 3 Sharp limits on public sector employment for Malaysian Indian and Chinese citizens 4 Applications for non-Muslim places of worship turned down 5 No provision for non-Islamic teachings or teaching about non-Islamic civilizations in state-run schools 6 Insufficient entry permits for religious resource personnel from overseas 7 Islamic copyright of certain exclusively ‘Islamic words’ 8 Power to act against any religious group deemed a danger to public order (2008: 285). These concerns were further illustrated during the establishment of the Malaysian Consultative Council of Buddhism, Christianity, Hinduism, ­ Sikhism and Taoism (MCCBCHST) Sofjan (2016: 55) describes how ‘the Muslims preferred not to join on the basis that participation in this multi-­ religious forum would erode the supremacy of Islam, and therefore reduce its status to that of being equal with the other faiths’ (Sofjan 2016: 55). As a religious and ethnic minority in Malaysia therefore, Sikhs in M ­ alaysia are aware that their religious status is not equal to that of their fellow M ­ uslim Malaysians as they face discrimination along both ethnic and religious lines.

Conclusion Although much has been written about Sikhs in Southeast Asia, there has been little focus on issues of racism. As I have demonstrated in this chapter, despite their long history of settlement in Southeast Asia, particularly in Singapore, Malaysia and Hong Kong, the inheriting of the colonial legacy of race relations in these postcolonial states continues to impact on Sikhs in these countries. As a visible ethnic minority population wherever they settle, I have demonstrated how Sikhs in Southeast Asia are prone to issues of racism and discrimination around four key factors: 1 Minority/Supremacy – as the dominant majority benefit most from perpetuating racial prejudices and discrimination against ethnic minorities, the supremacy of the majority population plays a key role in issues faced by Sikhs. Whether living in a context of Chinese (Singapore, Hong Kong) or Malay (Malaysia) supremacy, as a minority population, Sikhs are constantly having to ‘prove’ their loyalty and belonging.

The Racialization of Sikhs in Southeast Asia  273 2 Religious Dress – the fact that many Sikhs wear turbans or are represented as such, making them visible religious minorities, links to colonial perceptions around ‘religious dress’ and the fact that these symbols encroach into what should be a secularized public sphere particularly in Hong Kong and Singapore. The interesting differences in the ways in which the turban and the hijab are viewed in Hong Kong, S­ ingapore and Malaysia highlight how although some religious dress may be viewed as ‘anti-assimilationist’ (Singh J. 2019), this depends on how religious and cultural groups, particularly minorities, are defined as ‘others’ by state and cultural discourses. 3 Racial Stereotyping – Negative perceptions of Indians based on racial stereotyping continue to disadvantage Sikhs. Although state policies aim to ensure that all races are fully included in society, these policies offer no guarantees that discrimination and exclusion does not occur in everyday life. Indeed, it most often appears that although there is little discrimination in the public sphere, discrimination is more likely to occur in the private sphere, for example in the rental market, often going unreported. 4 Linguistic differences – as shown, the issue of language plays an important role as South Asians are stereotyped as not having mastery of local languages, for example Mandarin and/or Cantonese. Based on these stereotypes that Sikhs will be unable to converse in the local language, discrimination also occurs along linguistic lines. Despite these four issues, it is important to note that although this chapter has demonstrated that Sikhs face various types of racism in Southeast Asia, this has not yet taken the form of violent hate crime, unlike in the West where for example hate crimes in the UK have doubled in the past five years (Quinn 2019). While Sikhs have been literally murdered in the US post9/11 (Gumbell 2018), the types of racism faced by Sikhs in Southeast Asia appear to be more focused on minority/majority differences, rather than on xenophobic narratives around ‘othering’ fuelled by white supremacy. Further research in both Western and non-Western contexts is required to understand how racism differs in both contexts, particularly around understanding the impacts of racism, and how this drives and fuels violent hate crimes.

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The Racialization of Sikhs in Southeast Asia  277 Vathyam. 2016. “Sikhs: A Piece of History that Remains Fragmentary”, Shanghai Daily, November 16th, https://archive.shine.cn/feature/art-and-culture/Sikhs-Apiece-of-history-that-remains-fragmentary/shdaily.shtml (accessed 17.09.2019). Velayutham, S. 2009. “Everyday Racism in Singapore.” In Everyday Multiculturalism, edited by A. Wise and S. Velayutham, 255–273. Hampshire: Palgrave Macmillan. Velayutham, S. 2017. “Races without Racism?: Everyday Race Relations in Singapore.” Identities 24 (4): 455–473. Vetter, D. 2018. “How Ethnic Minority Workers are Shunned in Hong Kong, and whether a New Equality Charter for Companies Will Change This”, South China Morning Post, 1st December, https://www.scmp.com/news/hong-kong/ society/article/2175813/how-ethnic-minority-workers-are-shunned-hong-kongand-whether (accessed 27.05.2019). White, B. S. 1994. Turbans and Traders: Hong Kong’s Indian Communities. Hong Kong & New York: Oxford University Press. Yin, C. 2017. From Policemen to Revolutionaries: A Sikh Diaspora in Global Shanghai, 1885–1945. Leiden: Brill. Yong, C. 2019. “Sikh Group Reaches Out to Instagram User Who Made Insensitive Post”, Straits Times, Sept 30th, https://www.straitstimes.com/singapore/ sikh-group-reaches-out-to-instagram-user-who-made-insensitive-post (accessed 14.10.2019). Zhao, S. 2016. “Only One in Five Hong Kong Job Adverts Cater to Non-­Chinese Speakers or Readers, Research Finds”, South China Morning Post, 2nd May, https://www.scmp.com/news/hong-kong/education-community/article/1940573/ only-one-five-hong-kong-job-adverts-cater-non (accessed 11.09.2019).

13 Sikh Journeys beyond Panjab Experiences from Eastern and North-Eastern India Himadri Banerjee

Introduction At the threshold of the twenty-first century, it is estimated that Sikhs residing beyond Panjab in India represent a little over one-fifth of the community’s population.1 It is the result of several Sikh voyages following the birth of the tradition around the mid-fifteenth century. Much of its credit goes to the Sikh Gurus of several Khatri sub-castes, 2 respected for their tolerant, mobile and multi-local perceptions, cutting across religious boundaries. They were busy in missionary works and stimulated others to participate in trade. Their message fell on receptive ears and scores of the Gurus’ followers were not reluctant to mix their commercial passage with missionary work. Some of these routes led to the birth of small settlements, spacious enough to accommodate Sikhs of diverse territorial background, practicing dissimilar religious practices. In the absence of other convenient words, they are bracketed in this chapter as Indian Sikhs. These Sikh sites merit credit of accommodating two of the five Sikh takhats (seats of temporal authority) and a few hundred of historic gurdwaras associated with memories of Gurus. Their popular traditions claim that four of five pyare came to Anandpur from distant corners beyond Panjab to commemorate the birth of the Khalsa (1699). The community memories offer traces how these long Sikh journeys have evoked dissimilar responses from distant parts of the Indian subcontinent. The chapter examines these experiences, albeit restricting it to six provinces of eastern and north-eastern India, namely, Bihar, Odisha, Bengal, Assam, Meghalaya and Manipur (Map 11.1). These locations are selected for several reasons. To begin with, how colonists of dissimilar social background look forward to Panjab from divergent settlement sites. Second, these settlements represent a continuous block of territories, extended from the Bihar plains situated on both sides of the River Ganga in the east to the Imphal Valley (Manipur) in extreme north-east sharing of India’s political boundaries with Myanmar. Their interlinked territorial sites facilitate diverse forms of exchange and resettlement of Sikhs from one location to another precipitated by disparate factors. Third, the role of Nanakpanthis and other

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DOI: 10.4324/9781003281849-17

Sikh Journeys beyond Panjab  279

Map 11.1 Six states of Eastern and North-eastern India.  Map courtesy of Tapan Dhar, used with permission

groups of the community who were later militarized, merit special attention in outlining pre-modern days Sikh journeys. On the other hand, four of these settlement locations, namely, Assam, Meghalaya, Manipur and Bengal, largely grew out of numerous British interventions. Colonial rule not only added some fresh directions to these Sikh voyages but eroded the dominance of Khatris by inducting other castes like Jats, Ramgarhias and Dalits. The same process continues in the post-Independence years with certain modifications. Fourthly, each of these Sikh settlements has its distinctiveness and difference from the other. Their comparison and contrast may offer new-fangled perspectives to studying Sikhs. Fifthly, some of these settlements often hit headlines of national dailies and for different reasons. These are mostly in two of the three north-eastern states (Manipur and Meghalaya), where immigrants are commonly viewed as denizens and suffer from social segregation and ethnic persecution. They are perceived as ‘outsiders’ and bear the brunt of its unfortunate implications. One may argue why intensity of racial aggressions becomes more bitter and intense as one would be moving beyond the Brahmaputra Valley. Sixthly, the Panjab Tragedy (June 1984) and the Sikh Pogrom (October–November 1984) had their complicated fallouts on some of these sites. Two of their important urban centres – one from Rourkela in Odisha and the other from Kolkata in

280  Himadri Banerjee West Bengal – are selected out of these sites, to point out how repercussions of the Sikh ­Pogrom differed from one location to another.

Review of Some Primary Sources of the Study Materials of history of these settlements are wide-ranging and scattered. Assessment of Panjabi sources like the janam-sakhis (birth stories of Guru Nanak), the varas (long poems), the hukamnamas (orders of letters) of Gurus and Matasahibans, and above all, Bhai Kahn Singh Nabha’s magnum opus Mahankosh (Sikh encyclopaedia) are some of its important starting points. These provide glimpses of medieval days’ Sikh dispersal and emergence of a few sangats (Sikh congregations) engaged in combining community’s material and spiritual activities outside Panjab. Careful scrutiny of some Persian texts studied in several scholarly ­studies3 offers fragmentary information regarding community’s scattered settlements from Patna (Bihar) to Puri (Odisha). Some of these sources point to varieties of land grants to holy men. They were known by different names, such as, Nanakpanthi Faqirs, Bairagis, Sannyasis, Sains and Sanyogis who utilized these grants for running religious establishments, such as akharas, deras, mathas and dharamsals. It largely explains why the name Sikh was not in wide circulation even in the early nineteenth-century Patna city4 which was destined to immerge as one of the most important centres of the community’s pilgrimage over the course of the next two centuries. Information of the colonial period is available in the volumes of decennial census reports, district gazetteers, statistical abstracts, settlement reports, travel narratives, memoirs and scholarly works of British civilians, tourists, etc. These underline how journeys by Sikhs had widened their residential locations since the late eighteenth century. Compared to these printed materials, unpublished archival records would be possibly less significant, except for the three decades following the commencement of World War I (1914) to the end of colonial rule (1947). As Sikhs became politically important at the all-India level, colonial bureaucracy was found more meticulous in recording their activities outside Panjab. The wide range of modern Indian vernacular sources emphasizes how perceptions of a section of authors, particularly those coming from women, were assertive following the harrowing Panjab experiences of the 1980s. 5 Otherwise, the bulk of these creative writings available in Hindi literary archive6 and its contributions mostly came from male authors. A sizable section of these sources portray how Sikh-Hindu relationship grew more ruffled and complicated, following the Delhi Sikh massacre. Non-Hindi vernaculars examine some of these issues, but their numbers are comparatively few and far between. Finally, Indian Sikhs’ oral traditions have their distinct richness.7 With a tilt in favour of selectivity, amnesia and forgetfulness, they represent interesting signifiers of the community’s identity; provide important channels

Sikh Journeys beyond Panjab  281 of the community’s mobilization and introduce researchers to many gruelling field experiences. Any historian would need to incorporate tools of allied disciplines like folklore and anthropological approaches to decode immigrants’ layered oral narratives.

Reviewing Secondary Literature and Other Varieties of Sources There are a few interesting research studies focusing either on the history of the community’s residence in a particular province or any specific Indian Sikh group or groups. With detailed archival documentation reinforced by other printed sources, the long history of Sikhs in Bihar is examined by Ved Parkash.8 It was published when a section of Sikhs of Panjab were struggling to redefine community’s identity and locate it beyond Indian territorial limits since the early 1980s. The author neither responded to such Sikh transnational dreams nor did he examine any Hindi sources on Sikh history written by authors from Bihar. Finally, his silence about the birth of native Sikh groups traced in distant corners of the province makes his study dated in the context of other research focusing on some of these issues identified in other Indian locations beyond Panjab. There is a set of four essays authored by a freelance Sikh scholar.9 His essays portray the history of a few Bihari Sikh settlements scattered between Sasaram in the west and Katihar in the east. Based on detailed fieldwork extended over a decade, the author seemed enthusiastic in focusing on a homogenized Sikh profile in Bihar and its regenerating role in rallying different native Sikh groups on a common platform. Despite intimate links with some of these minuscule settlements, Gill seemed not adequately interested in elaborating their dissimilar social backgrounds with divergent notions of community identity, social celebrations and conflicting ideas of gurdwara practices. Odisha’s encounter with Sikhs and Sikhism goes back to medieval days and represents many encrusted narratives. There is Guru Nanak’s purported visit to Jagannath Puri and his encounter with Sri Chaitanya, mentioned in texts authored long after the passing away of both religious leaders.10 In the absence of contemporary sources, historians who prefer critical study of textual sources, these remain elusive claims. However, this historical blind spot can be shrunk if one takes note of the collective memory of the people, acknowledges the import of oral traditions as an important source of history and admits the possibility of going beyond the one-time presence of the first Sikh Guru’s presence in Puri in the early sixteenth century. The present study proposes to scrutinize how certain Odia vernacular texts like Mughal Tamsa11 and Puri-Boli12 had portrayed immigrant Sikhs’ response to the dominant regional bhakti tradition of Lord Jagannath in coastal Odisha.13 It would examine whether immigrants round the year participation in various temple rituals and celebrations of Lord Jagannath

282  Himadri Banerjee had modified some of their religious beliefs and practices. Reactions of the Khalsa to some of these assimilative encounters would become a recurrent domain of bitter contention in the twentieth-century temple town of Puri and Cuttack, another important administrative centre of Odisha. In Bengal, the process of Sikh presence is significantly different from medieval Bihar and Odisha. During the seventeenth century, some Nanakpanthis were dispersed from Dinajpur to Dhaka while a few others were traced in early eighteenth-century Kolkata. As the East India Company consolidated its rule, the city (Kolkata) witnessed the coming of Agraharis (a native Sikh group from Bihar). With their wider presence in the metropolis, it led to the foundation of a few sacred spaces in some of its older locations during the second half of the nineteenth century. These institutions owed allegiance to the Patna Takhat and reproduced numerous Bihari Sikh rituals and celebrations. Panjabi Sikhs’ large-scale recruitment in the British-Indian Army and their exit via Kolkata port to different transnational destinations, witnessed their growing presence in the city since the late nineteenth to twentieth century. A chain of post-World War I injustices such as their large-scale demobilization, price rise, widespread influenza deaths, British repressive measures culminating in the Jallianwala Bagh massacre of 1919 prompted many not only to move towards Kolkata but participate in the city’s on-­ going anti-colonial struggle. These led to replication of varied experiences of the contemporary Akali Movement in the streets of the city. The provincial bureaucracy was quick enough to record their history of hostile encounters with Bihari Sikhs in its Intelligence Branch Department’s secret noting. The coming of Panjabi Sikhs in the city intermittently figured in Bangla literary works and newspaper sources but their counterparts from Bihar are missed in these materials but may be gathered from archival sources.14 Otherwise, a significant section of the history of both immigrant groups is scattered in decennial census reports, other governmental publications and gurdwara tracts published on the occasions of gurpurabs. Sikh presence in the Brahmaputra Valley has received comparatively more wide-ranging attention of scholars not only from Panjab but also at the local level. There is a significant amount of writing in Assamese published over a century which is essentially meant for popular consumption. But Bimal Phukan’s monograph on Assamese Sikhs marks a departure from the prevailing trend of scholarship. An Engineer by profession, he provides a critical account depicting the community’s origin through different channels of immigrations and settlements since the late eighteenth century. He traced them to their rural settlement in a few Nagaon villages, situated around sixty miles away from Guwahati, the capital of Assam.15 The author elaborates how the community intermittently participates in enriching its mother tongue (Assamese). It delineates the community’s intimate link with Assam, their native place. Despite his close contact, Phukan refrains

Sikh Journeys beyond Panjab  283 from scrutinizing Assamese Sikhs’ areas of difference with their Hindu counterparts who represent the dominant group of the Brahmaputra Valley. The second study is authored by Birinder Pal Singh, a Professor of Sociology of Panjabi University.16 On the invitation of the National Commission for Minorities, New Delhi, he drafted a report detailing socio-economic plight of Assamese Sikhs of Nagaon villages and Panjabi Sikhs of Shillong, the capital of Meghalaya. The scholar made a brief halt to study these Sikh sites from a close range. His report, based on materials gathered through field research was enlarged to write a few scholarly essays. These were subsequently revised to constitute chapters of his book. Singh argued that Assamese Sikhs of the Brahmaputra Valley were descendants of Panjabi Sikh soldiers. Without sufficient scrutiny, he relied upon Assamese Sikhs’ oral tradition not only to elaborate their origin but those of Dalit Sikhs who are long-time residents of Shillong. His uncritical dependence upon Assamese Sikhs’ oral tradition was determined by his pre-determined conviction that all Sikhs would either be born in Panjab or be descendants of Panjabi-speaking Sikhs. Despite batting for Assamese Sikhs’ origin to a battalion of five hundred Panjabi Sikh soldiers, it stimulated a few unanswered questions that need fresh interrogations.17 British Assam18 and other locations of the north-east witnessed emigration of different ethno-religious groups and there are a few significant studies examining their passages.19 Otherwise, these immigrant Sikhs missed attention of scholars owing to their insignificant number. An account of their journeys may begin after examining some of these sources, detailing reasons and routes of other non-Sikh immigrant communities, settled in different parts of the Brahmaputra Valley and beyond. Besides archival records, scholarly writings of colonial officials and different newspaper clippings, there are two important collections of private papers20 and different weekly issues of the Ramgarhia Gazette published from Shimla 21 offer glimpses of the causes and pattern of Sikh presence in different parts of the north-east since the late nineteenth century.

Emergence of Sikh Settlements in Medieval India Sikh journeys stimulated settlements in a few urban trading centres. Known as sangats, these sites evolved over centuries (Map 11.2). Nanakpanthis were the first to reach the plains of Bihar sometime in the sixteenth century and engaged them in cotton, silk, rice, saltpetre and other articles of trades. They were not only experts in hundi 22 transactions but also combined missionary work with quasi-military exercises in these journeys. There were other Sikh groups like Udasis and Satheras who had overlapping goals, travelled beyond Bihar – in Odisha and Bengal – to set up sangats to remember Gurus’ banis after they had completed secular activities during daytime.

284  Himadri Banerjee

Map 11.2 Some important Sangats of Eastern India.  Map courtesy of Tapan Dhar, used with permission

Bihar stood at the centre of their long-standing commercial network. Patna, its capital, served as one of their important trading marts that were connected not only with other Indian cities such as Lahore, Delhi, Allahabad and Benaras in the west but embraced Dhaka, the Mughal capital of Bengal, in the east. Patna’s brisk trading network stimulated the birth of new sangats in Bihar. One of them was Munger (Bihar) which finds mentions in different hukamnamas of Guru Tegh Bahadur while Rajmahal is remembered in the vars 23 of Bhai Gurdas. Some of these sites included a few permanent Sikh residents who lived with their families, after marrying local women. Extended stay in the city of Patna offered Guru Tegh Bahadur the opportunity of knowing them better and encouraged him to leave his family in the city. It led to the birth of the last Sikh Guru which not only gave Sikhs their second highest takhat but stimulated city’s rise as an important centre of religious pilgrimage. Sikhism’s message of social mobilization turned the local Sikh space wider, facilitating the presence of diverse social groups, of which two, namely, the Khulasa and the Khalsa, in the early nineteenth century, merit special attention. In Odisha, Sikh journeys passed beyond Cuttack and led to the foundation of a hospice in the temple town of Puri. Popularly known as the

Sikh Journeys beyond Panjab  285 Mangu Matha, it accommodated a handful of Sikhs who participated in Lord Jagannath’s varied temple rituals, enjoyed land grants and offered bhog (sacred food) to the central temple. Long residence enabled them to communicate with local people in a mixed language during Ramnavami (celebration associated with Lord Ram’s birth) wearing military dress during their performance in a folk form of proscenium theatre. In Bengal, there was a colony of Khatri merchants in Dhaka engaged in rice and cotton piece goods trade. They were not missing in Maldah, Dinajpur and Murshidabad of central Bengal. In Assam, the sacred space founded by the Ninth Guru (1671) was run by Sikhs from Bihar. It had an akhara (gymnasium). In local parlance, it was called Doomdumiya and lodged barkandazes (militiamen) in the late eighteenth century who were soon to participate in lower Assam’s civil war of the early 1790s. Largescale involvement of mercenaries from Doomdumiya akhara popularized the civil war as Danduya Droh.

Changes in the Direction and Social Composition of Immigrants during Colonial Rule and Beyond If these pre-modern sangats grew out of individual or group initiatives, colonial interventions gave a few fresh directions to immigrant Sikh journeys. In the first place, Panjabi Sikhs reached distant urban centres where they had never before. Beyond British Assam’s Brahmaputra Valley with its capital in Shillong in the Khasi Hills, a few reached as far as Imphal (Manipur) and resided around the present Thangal Bazaar, situated nearly 2,000 km away from Panjab. A handful of them were engaged in driving bullock carts to carry cheaper qualities of rice from Imphal to distant locations along the hilly Imphal-Dimapur road and supplied them to distant British military outposts of Assam. Second, medieval Sikh passages were primarily composed of Khatris, immigrants of the colonial days were of varied caste backgrounds. Sikh soldiers, who were mostly Jat agriculturists, represented the most important segment among them, followed by Ramgarhia, a composite caste of carpenters, blacksmiths and masons. Even a handful of Dalits stigmatized as untouchable scavengers, engaged in carrying night soils and sweeping village streets in rural Panjab, were encouraged to reach Shillong in Khasi Hills to serve British military needs. The city of Kolkata (West Bengal) became another significant location since it offered Sikh Jats varied opportunities for employment in the first half of the twentieth century. As the metropolis was getting ready to introduce a modern surface transport system, its direct railway connectivity with Panjab, sprawling industrial hinterland on both sides of the River Ganga, busy harbour conditions, easy availability of food and other articles of daily needs, facilitated their arrival. Among immigrants, Jats constituted the largest number, though technically savvy Ramgarhia were not missing in their rank. Many were accommodated in

286  Himadri Banerjee industrial workshops and building of bodies of different types of carriages. A handful of Khatri and Arora traders were traced in selling cotton cloth, spare parts of automobiles while some Ahluwalias were identified in hotel industry. Finally, the Partition of 1947 unleashed a wave of Sikh refugees who flocked to nearly all important urban centres of eastern and north-­eastern India. Besides, the city of Kolkata which had always been a special attraction among immigrants, Odisha’s different urban and industrial locations like Cuttack, Bhubaneswar, Sundargarh and Rourkela drew skilled Ramgarhia white Jats engaged them in mining, transport and hotel industries. A handful of Sonars (goldsmiths) were traced as far as Shillong. A few were already there since the early twentieth century. It encouraged their kinsmen from Abbottabad, Mirpur and other distant places to undertake one of their longest journeys in the years immediately following the division of the country. 24

Birth of Native Sikh Groups Sikh passages stimulated the birth of a few native Sikh groups, two of which merit attention. One of them is from Bihar, who are Agraharis. Their oral tradition claims that Agraharis had embraced Sikhism at the time of Tegh Bahadur’s visit to Bihar on way to Assam in the second half of the seventeenth century. They are from Sasaram, long known for trading contacts with distant places of the province as far as Patna and beyond. It had possibly brought them into contact with Panjabi Sikh settlers residing in different towns of Bihar. The message of Sikhism was indigenized over centuries through different channels, like the long settlement of Sikhs of Panjab in different sangats; they married local women and allowed entry of other social groups into Sikhism. Later on many embraced the tenets of Khalsa in the eighteenth century, geared with the five Ks they came to be known Singh Agraharis (Figure 13.1). A significant number were engaged in different trades, grew comparatively prosperous and embraced Sikhism with an eye to raise their social status. As traders they moved to distant places in the eighteenth century. Their mother tongue remained Hindi, participated in the celebration of chhat, a local festival in the honour of the Sun; respected sanatani (traditional) rituals like putting tilak (marker) on forehead after completion of hom (worship in front of sacred fire), perform sradha (death rites) and went as far as Gaya to perform pindadan (a part of death ritual). Compared to Panjabi Sikhs, they are physically less well-built, who contemptuously call them patniyas for their respect and adherence to some religious beliefs and practices of Patna Takhat which differ significantly from those of Akal Takhat. 25 Another native Sikh group is traced in a few villages of Nagaon district of Assam (Figure 13.2). They are descendants of different streams of Sikh immigrants beginning in the second half of the eighteenth century. Their

Sikh Journeys beyond Panjab  287

Figure 13.1  Singh Agraharis (photo by Jagmohan Singh Gill, used with permission.)

Figure 13.2  Sikhs of Assam (photo by Nanda Singh Borkala, used with permission.)

288  Himadri Banerjee oral tradition, however, traced origin to Maharaja Ranjit Singh’s sending of a contingent of five hundred Sikh soldiers from Panjab to defend the sovereignty of Assam against Burmese invasions of the early 1820s. But it was neither militarily conceivable nor recorded in any contemporary official sources. Descendants of barkdadzes (mercenaries) of heterogeneous linguistic and territorial background, they were ravaging lower Assam in the early 1790s. Later on, some of them were recruited in the Ahom Army and ordered to protect the Raha Chawky (outpost) set up against Kachchari (a tribal community residing outside the frontiers of the Ahom kingdom) inroads. They settled in rural Nagaon, cultivated lands, married native women, incorporated regional socio-cultural markers in their everyday life, thereby becoming sons of the soil in course of the next two centuries. Their womenfolk are dressed in mekhela-chadar (native women’s dress in Assam), put sindur (vermillion) on forehead while male folk keep beard, sport turban and other external symbols. They do not read Sikh sacred text written in Panjabi but write in their mother tongue Assamese. Like Assamese ­H indus of the Brahmaputra Valley, they bracket their sacred space as namghar (chanting the name of God) celebrate bihu (native festival) not participate in bhangra. 26 Finally, their literary contributions in Assamese have earned them a distinct place among different native Sikh groups scattered from Kashmir to Hyderabad. Native Sikhs are not uncomfortable with their dual identity. They are Sikhs as well as Biharis and Assamese. It will be unfair to portray them as an interesting example of hybridism, 27 as that would imply that there is a single, purified form of Sikhism somewhere in Panjab that serves as a model for followers. These Sikhs are in the process of cultural mixing with members of host society in locations away from native place and their descendants incorporate many local socio-cultural markers in lifestyle, food habit, dress and mother tongue. Scholars studying the evolution of other world religions such as Christianity and Islam suggest that all religions have variants in distant parts of the globe. 28 Instead of bracketing native folks as hybridized Sikhs, they may be regarded as an interesting example of how the tenets of Sikhism were adapted beyond Panjab in India over a long period, and in more than one version, giving rise to endogamous ethnic groups, who celebrate diversity among themselves. They feel free to affirm their regional distinctness, thereby underlining the fact that Sikhism is not reluctant to widen its frontiers by accommodating a new voice that might be missing in its place of birth.

Remembering Home Sikhs are virtually inconceivable without their sacred space. Everywhere, as number of immigrants increased, they set up a gurdwara which is generally constructed on the model of a gurdwara of Panjab. It serves as a religious

Sikh Journeys beyond Panjab  289 podium of the community, a dais for social communication, a platform for political mobilization, a stage for celebration of gurpurabs and an arena for performance of other rites of passage in the life of an individual Sikh. With regular functioning as per Rehat Maryada, it was a site for mobilization of community’s power. Reproduction of these Panjab experiences in faraway locations provided immigrants an important channel of recreating their home memories. The foundation of a sacred space was generally followed by setting up a Khalsa School which was initially accommodated in a room of a gurdwara and one of its staff taught students to read Panjabi, to be aware of gurmat (living as per Guru’s teachings) so that they could become a gurmukh Sikh in future life. It was an exciting attempt to keep new generation born out of Panjab linked with native culture and religious traditions of the community. Immigrants prefer to live close to one another so that they could maintain close contact among them. They set up shops selling Panjabi dresses and dishes as well as read Panjabi newspapers and invited well-known r­ agis (musicians) to sing kirtan (devotional song) on festive occasions. These residential areas were known as Panjabi colony or Panjabi line to give immigrants a visibility in the eyes of host society and generally kept them informed of Panjab politics, generally dominated by Akalis. They used to send men and money during the days of Akali lehr (movement) of the 1920s which was replicated during their morchas (protest marches) for the foundation of a Panjabi suba (a Panjabi-speaking state), the struggle for Chandigarh and Operation Blue Star. Immigrants were respectful of their distinct Sikh identity and there was no room for any sanatani rituals like (arati) holding lamps in front of sacred text, ringing of ghanta (bells) and murtipuja (worship of idols) in a sacred space. But a sizable number of Agrahari Sikhs of Bihar who were already in the city of Kolkata and set up a few sacred spaces around their old residential sites in and around the Bara Bazaar locality and adhered to some of these practices. With no gurdwara of their own in the city, Panjabi Sikhs would be visiting some of these Bihari Sikh sites to present their ardas (prayer) when Akali struggle for gurdwara reforms was ongoing in Panjab (1920s). It prompted a section of Panjabi Sikhs of bringing an end to all those ­sanatani rituals practised in Bihari sacred spaces of the city. Alarmed Agraharis readied them for a showdown. A tussle between them in the streets of Kolkata prompted local British administration to rally behind loyal Bihari Sikhs in the name of maintaining local peace. 29 But in Cuttack (in Odisha) a handful of Panjabi Sikhs were looking forward to set up a sacred space, popularly known as Datan Sahib Gurdwara, associated with memories of a supposed visit of Guru Nanak there, on his way to Puri. There was a vacant plot of land managed by an Udasi mahant which was taken over to set up the proposed sacred space on the forthcoming gurpurab of Guru Nanak (November 1935). The process was initiated with the support of a group of Odia middle class with a Sikh Professor of a local government college as its

290  Himadri Banerjee moving spirit. The plan of founding a sacred space with the silent approval of local administration was something different from what the colonial bureaucracy had been doing in Panjab and Kolkata during the period. It came forward to support the plan with its own agenda. 30 Again in the north-east, the Sikh sacred space offered Ramgarhias, in the absence of Jats, not only a platform for their caste mobilization31 but an opportunity of denying Dalits access to its sanctum sanctorum. Some of these crucial social memories were carried from Panjab to be recreated in twentieth-century British Assam. Two of its most important cities, namely, Guwahati and Shillong, had a handful of Dalit Sikh population, employed by local municipalities to keep the city clean. In both cities, Dalits got the message of caste mobilization from Panjab. It first reached the capital of British Assam, Shillong in the 1920s which was later on communicated to Guwahati in the post-Independence years. Thus, immigrants’ sacred space continued to accommodate mobilization of different Sikh caste groups. In many cases, one caste group struggled against another Sikh group and used necessary strategies to attain the imagined social hierarchy with Jats at its social apex in new home away from Panjab. These struggles did not appear something unusual but recreated home memories which were an integral part of their community identity carried to the new home. Despite occasional fissures in their ranks, sacred space continued to forge many invisible ties between immigrants’ native place and new settlement locations.

Delhi Sikh Pogrom (1984): Experiences from Two Distant Sikh Urban Centres Delhi Sikh massacre had many long-term complicated implications in the mentality of Panjabi Sikhs. These devastating experiences had shattered the hope of many immigrant Panjabi Sikhs. Some of them lost their most important bread earner while many more suffered huge financial losses through destruction of their residential buildings and shops. Immigrants felt culturally alienated and suffered social humiliation. Some of them were placed under police surveillance. It not only resulted in many permanent breaches between immigrant Sikhs and the members of the host society but prevented many well-meaning non-Sikh neighbours from asking their Sikh neighbours of what varied forms of tragedies had fallen upon them. Case studies from two distant populous locations like Rourkela (Odisha) and Kolkata (West Bengal) would offer varied glimpses of their tragedy. Despite having an apex Sikh body (Odisha Sikh Pratinidhi Board, hereafter OSPB), Sikhs in Odisha had suffered some of their most severe shocks in its most important industrial city, namely, Rourkela. The OSPB did not come out in defence of its most populous Sikh concentration nor was it equipped to extend any moral support to the suffering of Sikh population in other Odishan cities. There was very little financial support from the government in rehabilitating its affected Sikh population. It was destined

Sikh Journeys beyond Panjab  291 to bring certain changes in the organizational structure of the OSPB. The new generation of Sikhs, born in Odisha, realized that the OSPB needed some major overhauling. The opportunity came with the passing away of its founder President Santokh Singh, a Burmese Sikh in the late 1980s who had virtually turned the organization into a non-functional body. With his exit, some initiatives were made in the early 1990s. A permanent fund was raised to meet any similar emergency crisis occurring in near future. The OSPB decided to bring out a Directory carrying all names, addresses and telephone numbers of its important office bearers to be contacted on any urgent occasion. The body, already subdivided into six regional units, henceforth met regularly discussing matters of common interest. In West Bengal, they were lucky to escape many of these tragic experiences which their counterparts had witnessed in Odisha. Much of its credit went to many timely interventions of the Left Front Government in ­Kolkata. It took some prompt steps to maintain peace and keep the Sikhs of the city safe. As a result, Kolkata Sikhs were in comparative peace during the tumultuous days following the Sikh Carnage in Delhi. The community could hold protest meetings against Operation Blue Star and stage ­dharnas (sit-in demonstrations) in Esplanade East, the political nerve centre of the city. Some of these Sikh public gatherings were addressed by different non-Congress political leaders which emphasized host society’s sympathy and solidarity with the community’s sufferings. There is another aspect to some of these tragic experiences. Some of these unfortunate developments shocked a section of Panjabi Sikhs and incubated a silent hate campaign against host society. Sikh residents of the city were accused of forging ties with those who wanted to secede from the union of India and turn Panjab into a hotbed of terrorist activities. Local media’s indictment that the city served as a hideout for many Sikh militants and Khalistanis from Panjab, therefore, deepened their animosity towards host society as well as intensified immigrants’ social isolation. Some members of the host society often remained silent when police officers would violate their domestic space, without any judicial warrant. They also remained mute spectators when police officials from Panjab – without seeking prior approval of local administration – conducted secret operations against their Sikh neighbours. The host society’s silence only served to amplify Panjabi Sikhs’ bitterness since it indirectly hinted at the former’s endorsement of police intervention in their domestic space. A sense of widespread physical and cultural alienation dominated their mind, psychologically bringing them closer to the sufferings of their counterparts scattered across the globe and stimulated a new sense of pan-Sikh identity.32 The city which had accommodated them over a long time lost much of its earlier appeal and charm. Many deliberated on leaving Kolkata and going back to their native village. It reinvigorated their overarching love and attachment for home in distant Panjab. 33 But there were others who held a different point of view.

292  Himadri Banerjee Those who were born and brought up in Kolkata were not all ready to leave the city. Kolkata was intimately associated with their everyday life, daily earning and other forms of attachment and identity. 34 Instead of leaving the city for another new location, they preferred to remain in their old location and look forward to a life of intermittent debate and dialogue with the host society. 35 A Panjabi poet living in Bhawanipur area for nearly forty years found the city still ‘a place of unlimited, unfathomable and unforgettable love and warmth.’36 He preferred to reside in Kolkata, although many of his neighbours had left the city for greener pastures in other countries.

India’s North-East: Narratives of Sikh Struggle and Dislodgement In the post-Independence years, there were certain significant changes in India’s north-eastern Sikh scenario. The Partition of India, in 1947, stimulated a large-scale migration of hard-working Bengali Muslim peasants from some of the adjoining districts of East Pakistan (nowadays Bangladesh) to the sparsely populated Brahmaputra Valley. Local Hindu Assamese felt threatened whether they would not overwhelmed in near future by these immigrants. Their deep-seated anxiety stimulated them to assert a distinct Assamese identity, seeking a separate province of their own on the basis of mother tongue, Assamese. It, however, excited other hill tribes of the region to emulate Assamese example so that they could carve out a separate space of their own out of the undivided Assam. Some of these ethnic assertions hastened the process of territorial division which began in 1972 and eventually gave birth of India’s north-east composed of seven sister states.37 Some of the dominant ethnic communities of these states like the Meitis, Kukis, Nagas and Khasis were not always reluctant to embrace the path of militancy to achieve their different political goals. It affected not only peace and friendly relationship among neighbouring tribes but eroded the process of consolidation of power of smaller states of the north-east. Such ethnic clashes frequently targeted settlements of immigrant outsiders like Sikhs who were denied of all rights of citizenship. 38 Despite a century-long residence in the north-east, Sikhs intermittently faced harsh treatment from members of the host society, particularly during the closing decades of the last century. In the Imphal Valley of the state of Manipur, they had reached in connection with the British military intervention against the Manipur Darbar in the early 1890s. Later on a small community of Sikhs grew up mainly around the busy Maxwell Bazaar (present-day Thangal Bazaar) who was mostly traders. With the settlement of a few Sikhs from Burma following World War II (1939) and the military coup in Myanmar (1962), they grew numerous and prosperous by trading with distant locations till the 1970s. But the beginning of the 1980s witnessed the commencement of long-drawn bitter ethnic clashes mostly among Nagas, Kukis and Meitis

Sikh Journeys beyond Panjab  293 deeply affected their trading fortune. They were not only fleeced by some of these militant groups, but the local-level police apparatus failed to ensure sufficient security to them so that they could carry on their trade without any hindrance. Widespread insecurity of life and property prompted the bulk of these Sikh settlers to move out of the Imphal Valley in search of greener pasturage. Those, who are still there at the threshold of a new century, do not have any place to go away but led a ghetto-like life residing in the locality of Thangal Bazaar. Dalit Sikhs of Shillong have a slightly different narrative of their own. Though not subjected to any such large-scale financial coughing, they continue to share other unfortunate experiences of denizens. They do not have any legal document in support of their residential site over which they have been living for over a century. Their early presence in the Khasi Hills is inseparably associated with British military presence. They were encouraged to come over to Shillong after a journey of seven days from Panjab to keep the British Cantonment clean. Later on, more Dalits were appointed by the Shillong Municipal Board (hereafter SMB) not only to sweep the streets of the city but were asked to do its manual scavenging. The SMB allowed them to reside over a long stretch of land of Bara ­Bazaar so that the Dalits could serve it better by virtue of their residence in a nearby place. They were allowed to reside so long as it had served the interest of the SMB. But in the context of rising price of these residential plots in the post-Independence years, the SMB is looking forward to dislodge and shift these Dalits to another residential site, situated far away from their present settlement site. Such relocation of residential locations gave rise to fierce ethnic clashes between a handful of Dalit Sikhs and the local state power led by Khasis who represent the dominant ethnic community of the region. It is an unequal battle not only in terms of men and money power but waged by a minuscule Dalit group whose predecessors were brought there to work for more than a century ago. Dalit Sikhs have so far refused to yield to the pressure of the SMB because they have no alternative place to reside. News of their long resistance has gone beyond the limits of the north-east and is in circulation in different Sikh corridors of power of Delhi and Panjab. The struggle continues in Shillong over the last few decades with no prospect of cessation of hostility which has added some fresh perspectives to Sikh presence in the north-east.

Concluding Remarks The study delineates the relevance of history of Indian Sikhs in the evolution of Sikhism and Sikh Studies. It underlines that all Sikhs living there are neither from Panjab nor do they invariably communicate in Panjabi. On the other hand, these Sikh passages from Panjab stimulated the birth of a few native Sikh groups who adhere to local social behaviour, religious beliefs and cultural practices. The essay agrees that native Sikhs represent handful

294  Himadri Banerjee in number compared to immigrant Sikhs who constitute the dominant section of the community living beyond Panjab. Interestingly enough, the relationship between these two segments of the community is competitive and hierarchical. Panjabi Sikhs’ sacred space plays a crucial role in any Panjab-centric mobilization through the institution of gurdwara since the days of Akali lehr of the 1920s. Such Panjab-centric enlistment was replicated during the days of Panjabi Suba morcha or even afterwards in the late twentieth century. Through such mobilizations they perceive Panjab as their home which they continue to recreate through various channels while residing outside Panjab. Their commitment to rally around a sacred space, love for Panjabi dress, language and culture are some of other interesting markers of it. Like any diasporan community, Panjabi Sikhs prefer to live in two locations with an overarching link between native place in Panjab and present residential locations in eastern and north-eastern India. But those Sikhs who had already left the Imphal Valley for residence in in other locations of the north-east or their Dalit counterparts of the Khasi Hills who virtually lost all physical ties with their native place and continue to struggle because they have no other place to reside. Such varied forms of territorial dislocations constitute an integral part of the notion of diaspora. The study underlines the point and points out how it becomes a narrative of internal diaspora39 whose origin went back to medieval days when the community’s transnational diaspora was not in its remotest imagination. In this sense, a critical survey of the older settlements within India is relevant not only for a better perspective of the community’s recently emerging transnational locations but to delineate how Sikhism has become one of world’s major religions with many local distinctiveness and diversity among its followers.

Notes 1 J.S. Grewal, The New Cambridge History of India, II.3, The Sikhs of Punjab Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998. 2 Khatris were the earliest followers of Guru Nanak. Primarily engaged in trade and commerce, they carried the message of Sikhism beyond Panjab. McLeod held, that despite being merely 2.2% of Sikh population, their contribution in the evolution of Sikhism ‘has been far more excess of their strength.’ The Evolution of Sikh Community, Five Essays (Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1996), 95; Historical Dictionary of Sikhism (hereafter Dictionary) Lanham: Toronto and Oxford: The Scarecrow Press, 2005, 115. 3 M. L. Ahluwalia, ‘Records Relating to the Land Grants in Bihar to Nanak Shahi Maths and Priests’, Proceedings of Panjab History Conference, Sixteenth Session, 1982, 103–08; Sarat Chandra Jena, ‘Origin of Mangu Muth and Its Management in British Orissa,’ in Pralhad Kumar Sahu, ed., Our Documental

Sikh Journeys beyond Panjab  295 Heritage, Some Aspects of Cultural Aspects Orissa, 4, Bhubaneswar: Orissa State Archives, 1997, 126–38. 4 W.H. Jackson, ed., ‘Journal of Francis Buchanan (Patna and Gaya Districts)’, edited with notes and introduction, Journal of Bihar and Orissa Society, 1928, vol. viii, part iii, 277–80. 5 Mamoni Raisom Goswami, Tej Aru Dhulite Dhusarita Prishtha, Guwahati: Students’ Stores, 1994; Suchitra Bhattacharya, Parabas: Ananda, 1999; Debashree Chakrabarti, S­ ardar Gaddar Hey? Kolkata: Banglar Mukh Prakashan, 2020. 6 Surendra Trivedi, ed., Kala November, New Delhi: Jan Sahitya, 1987; Himadri Banerjee, ‘1984 Panjab Tragedy in Hindi Literary Archives: Images beyond Panjab in India’, Sikh Formations: Religion, Culture, Theory (hereafter Sikh Formations) 2016, vol. 11 no. 3, 397–417. 7 See discussion in the section of native Sikhs of this essay. 8 Ved Parkash, The Sikhs in Bihar, Patna: Janaki Prakashan, 1981. 9 Jagmohan Singh Gill, ‘Roots of Faith: Sikhs of Sasaram’, The Sikh Review (hereafter SR), vol. 59, no. 2, May 2011, 29–41; idem. ‘The Singh Sabhais of Bihar - A Little Known Chunk of History’, SR, vol. 63, no. 7, July 2015, Part I, 40–5; idem. SR, vol. 63, no. 8, Part II, August 2015, 49–56; idem. ‘Kedli Chatti and Dumri (Jharkhand) - Two More Pearls in the String of Sikhism,’ Abstracts of Sikh Studies, vol. xviii, no. 2, April-June 2016/548 NS, 51–61. 10 Ganda Singh, ‘Guru Nanak at Puri with Sri Chaitanya and His Followers’ in Idem, ed., Sources on the Life and Teachings of Guru Nanak: Guru Nanak’s Birth Quincentenary Volume, The Panjab: Past and Present, vol. iii, 1969, 334–39. 11 Krushchandra Behera, edited and complied, Kavi Bansiballab Goswami Krita, Mughal Tamsa, Cuttack: Bhagbata Press, 1966. 12 Siddheswar Mohapatra, Puri Boli: Bhubaneswar: Orissa Sahitya Akademi Press, 1996. 13 Anncharlott Eschmann, Hermann Kulke, Gaya Charan Tripathi, eds. The Cult of Jagannath and the Regional Tradition of Orissa, New Delhi: Manohar, 1986, xi–xviii. 14 Himadri Banerjee, ‘Bihari Sikhs’, In Quest of Historians’ Craft: Essays in Honour of B.B. Chaudhuri, part. ii, The Polity, Society and Culture, New Delhi: Manohar, 2018, 867–89. 15 Bimal Phukan, Between Two Worlds: Assamese Sikhs, Guwahati & New Delhi: Spectrum Publications, 2016. 16 Birinder Pal Singh, Sikhs in the Deccan and North-East India, New Delhi: Routledge, 2018. 17 In Assam, these years are popularly remembered as manar din or the days of anarchy when Burmese army carried on widespread destruction. 18 British Assam’s capital was Shillong, situated in the Khasi Hills till it was shifted to Dispur in 1972. 19 Myron Weiner. Sons of the Soil: Migration and Ethnic Conflict in India. Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1978. 20 One of them is situated in Jorhat (central Assam) and the other is in Shillong, presently in Meghalaya. 21 I was able to consult consult the entire collection of the Ramgarhia Gazette preserved in a Shimla gurdwara run by a Ramgarhia management committee.

296  Himadri Banerjee 22 A promissory note made by a person directing another to pay a certain sum of money to a person named in the order. For details, see Hardip Singh Syan, ‘The Merchant Gurus: Sikhism and the Development of Medieval Khatri Merchant Family’, Indian Economic and Social History Review, vol. lxi, no. 3 (2014): 303–30. 23 Vars are long poems written by Bhai Gurdas. The first 40 vars are written by Bhai Gurdas who was contemporary to the early Gurus. But the 41st vaar is written, in the opinion of McLeod, by another Gurdas who had written it the eighteenth century. It is likely that information about the eighteenth century sangats of Bihar comes from Gurdas II. McLeod, Dictionary, 212. 24 Himadri Banerjee, ‘The Other Sikhs: Sikhs of Shillong (1896–1997)’, in Pashaura Singh, ed., Sikhism in Global Context, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2011, 173–203. 25 There are other interesting differences in the functioning of sacred space. In the Patna Takhat, for example, simultaneous prakash of the Adi Granth and the Dasam Granth is allowed before the sangat. It is rejected in all gurdwaras run by Panjabi Sikhs. Similarly, arati (showing lamp before a sacred text) and hom are strictly prohibited in the Rehat Maryada while such festivities are nothing unusual among sanatani Sikhs. 26 For details, Himadri Banerjee, ‘The Other Sikhs: Asomiya-Sikhs of the Brahmaputra Valley,’ Indian Historical Review, vol. 37, no. 2, 235–58. 27 Karen B. Leonard, Making of Ethnic Choices: California’s Panjabi American Mexicans, Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1993. 28 Leif Manger, ed., Muslim Diversity: Local Islam in Global Contexts, Richmond: Curzon Press, 1999; Felix Wilfred, ed., The Oxford Handbooks of Christianity in Asia, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2014. 29 cf. Himadri Banerjee, ‘Agrahari Sikhs of Kolkata: A Minority Group within a Larger Sikh Community’ in Himadri Banerjee, Nilanjana Gupta and Sipra Mukherjee, eds., Calcutta Mosaic: Essays and Interviews on the Minority Communities of Calcutta, London & New Delhi: Anthem Press, 168–93. 30 Local British administration had agreed to accommodate the plan because it would not only keep the nationalist Odias, sympathetic to Akalis, at bay but reinforced the hands of those who were close to it. 31 For details, see Himadri Banerjee, ‘Panjabi Sikhs in Twentieth Century Assam’, Sikh Formations, 2013, vol. 9, no. 2, 145–72. 32 Cf. Dipankar Gupta, The Context of Ethnicity: Sikh Identity in a Comparative Perspective, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1996. 33 Rajinder Singh Dhaliwal and Ranjit Singh, both residents of Dunlop Bridge (north Kolkata) and Hardev Singh Grewal of Bhawanipur (south Kolkata) expressed a similar point of view, January 17, 2005 and February 20, 2012. 34 Many other Sikh friends like Avtar Singh and Narinder Pal Singh expressed similar resolve of not leaving Kolkata. 35 A written note by Jagmohan Singh Gill, 21 February 2018. 36 Hardev Singh Grewal, Whah Kolkattia!, Calcutta: Grewal Prakashan, 1992. 37 The Partition of India in 1947 did not immediately lead to any further division of Assam. It took place only in 1972 with the birth of Nagaland and the ­transfer of capital from Shillong to Guwahati in the same year. 38 Many of these tribes had words like bahiragata (outsider), dakhar (foreigner) and mayang (alien) in their respective mother tongue to differentiate them from emigrants. 39 Cf. Daniel Gold, ‘Internal Diaspora, Caste Organizations and Community Identities: Maharashtrians and Sindhis’, Journal of Hindu Studies, 2007, vol. 11, no. 9, 171–80.

Sikh Journeys beyond Panjab  297

References Adil, Bakhshis Singh, Ramgarhia Sampuran Itihas, Jalandhar, ABS Publishers, 1991. Bhattacharya, Suchitra, Parabas, Kolkata: Ananda Publishers, 1999. Chakrabarti, Debashree, Sardar Gaddar Hey? Kolkata: Banglar Mukh Prakashan, 2020. Eshmann, Anncharlott, Herman Kulke and Gaya Charan Tripathi, eds., The Cult of Jagannath and the Regional Tradition of Orissa, New Delhi: Manohar, 1986, xi–xviii. Gill, Jagmohan Singh, ‘Roots of Faith: Sikhs of Sasaram’, The Sikh Review, vol. 59, no. 2, May 2011, 29–41. ———, ‘The Singh Sabhais of Bihar - A Little Known Chunk of History’, The Sikh Review, vol. 63, no. 7, July 2015, Part I, 40–45. ———, The Singh Sabhais of Bihar – A Little Known Chunk of History’, The Sikh Review, vol. 63, no. 8, Part II, August 2015, Part II, 49–56. ———, ‘Kedli Chatti and Dumri (Jharkhand) - Two More Pearls in the String of Sikhism,’ Abstracts of Sikh Studies, vol. xviii, no. 2, April-June 2016/548 NS, 51–61. Gold, Daniel, ‘Internal Diaspora, Caste Organizations and Community Identities: Maharashtrians and Sindhis’, Journal of Hindu Studies, vol. 11, no. 9, 2007, 171–80. Goswami, Mamoni Raisom, Tej O Dhulite Dhusarita, Prishtha, Guwahati, 1994. Grewal, Hardev Singh, Whah Kolkattia! Calcutta: Grewal Prakashan, 1992. Gupta, Dipankar, The Context of Ethnicity: Sikh Identity in a Comparative Perspective, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1996. Jackson, William Henry. ed., ‘Journal of Francis Buchanan (Patna and Gaya Districts) edited, with notes and introduction’, Journal of Bihar and Orissa Society, vol. viii, pat, iii, Patna: Superintendent, Government Printing: 1928. Jena, Sarat Chandra, ‘Origin of Mangu Muth and Its Management in British Orissa’, in Pralhad Kumar Sahu, ed., Our Documental Heritage: Some Aspects of Cultural History of Orissa 4, Bhubaneswar: Orissa State Archives, 1997, 128–38. Leonard, Karen B., Making of Ethnic Choices: California’s Panjabi American Mexicans, Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1993. Manger, Leif, ed., Muslim Diversity: Local Islam in Global Contexts, Richmond: Curzon Press, 1999. McLeod, W.H., The Evolution of the Sikh Community: Five Essays, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1966. ——— Historical Dictionary of Sikhism, Lanham, Toronto and Oxford: The Scarecrow Press, 2005. Metcalfe, Thomas, Land, Landlords and the British Raj, Berkeley: University of California Press, 1979. Parkash, Ved, The Sikhs in Bihar, New Delhi and Patna, 1981. Phukan, Bimal, The Assamese Sikhs: Between Two Worlds, Guwahati: Omson Publications, 2016. Singh, Birinder Pal, Sikhs in the Deccan and North-East India, London: Routledge, 2018.

298  Himadri Banerjee Singh, Ganda, ‘Guru Nanak At Puri with Sri Chaintanya and His Followers’, in idem., ed., Sources on the Life and Teachings of Guru Nanak: Guru Nanak’s Birth Quincentenary Volume, The Panjab: Past and Present, vol. III, 1969, pp. 334–39. Singh, Kirpal, Janam Sakhi Prampara: Itihask Drishtikon, Patiala: Panjabi University, 1990. Trivedi, Surendra, ed., Kala November, New Delhi: Jan Sahitya, 1987.

14 Panjabis, Panjabi Mexicans, and Sikhs in the United States Karen Leonard

Introduction In the 1980s, I studied a community in southern California that had been fathered by Panjabi men in the early twentieth century. Most of the mothers were Mexican or Mexican American, and the community was then called Mexican Hindu (now Panjabi Mexican).1 As I spoke and published about this bi-ethnic community, the research elicited ambivalent reactions from the new post-1965 immigrants from South Asia who generally came as families where both parents were South Asian. The new immigrants had questions: how and why did the Panjabi Mexican community develop in southern California and elsewhere in the American southwest? Should this community be acknowledged or not? Should it be denied or celebrated? These were important questions, especially for new Panjabi Sikh immigrants because most of the early Panjabi immigrants were Sikhs, about 85%. In my experience, the new Panjabi Sikhs most often have tried to downplay the early bi-cultural community. They usually explain it by making inaccurate claims about non-citizens gaining access to land by marrying Mexican American women. The history of the Panjabi Mexican community and its relationship to the new South Asian immigrants has proved to be an important and controversial topic, and the state of this community in the early twenty-first century is also of interest. What does the Panjabi Mexican story have to say about religious and cultural identities, especially the identities of Sikh immigrants to the United States? The Panjabi Mexican community is clearly important to the Sikhs in America, partly because, while questioning some of its attributes, the new immigrants tend to claim the earlier Panjabi diaspora as a Sikh diaspora, emphasizing the Sikh majority in that early population. They also generally claim Sikh leadership of the Ghadar Party, the American-based movement against British rule in the early twentieth century. 2 Yet in the Ghadar Party, Sikhs worked closely with Panjabi Muslims and Hindus in those early years.3 The relatively recent efforts to recast this early Panjabi diaspora as a Sikh diaspora emphasize religion rather than language, occupation, or place

DOI: 10.4324/9781003281849-18

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300  Karen Leonard of origin. Comparing the early twentieth century and the later post-1965 ­Panjabi and Sikh diasporas to the United States helps us understand the ways in which migrants define and represent themselves and their experiences in different times and contexts. I argue that the earlier Panjabi diaspora reflects a lingering cosmopolitan Mughlai or Indo-Muslim culture in South Asia, while the more recent Panjabi Sikh diaspora reflects modern independent India and shows slippages, or possible slippages, into communities narrowly based on religion.4 The Panjabi Mexicans, rather than reclaiming ancestral religious identities, have moved to claim membership in the nation as mainstream Americans taking pride in their ancestral cultural or ethnic heritage. The two Panjabi diasporas were very different, taking place in distinctly different historical periods. In the early twentieth century, a few hundred speakers of the Panjabi language in India’s northwestern region migrated to the United States, to be followed after the 1965 Immigration and Naturalization Act by many thousands of Panjabis in the late twentieth century. ­Followers of the Sikh religion were prominent in both diasporas, although the first one consisted primarily of farmers, rural men who settled in the farming valleys of California and adjacent western states, while the second one featured well-educated professional people moving in family units to cities all over the United States. 5 This second diaspora calls itself a Sikh diaspora, not a Panjabi one, and it comes almost entirely from India’s ­Panjab state (the Panjab was partitioned in 1947, and Panjabi speakers from ­Pakistan identify as Pakistanis).

Theory To capture the meanings of these diasporas and compare them to each other, certain theoretical insights have been crucial. I now employ translation theory as developed by Gayatri Spivak, Tony Stewart, and others, using the word “translation” to discuss the way people dealt with cultural worlds rooted in different places and times, rather than the words syncretism or synthesis, to analyze the Panjabi Mexican community.6 Authors like Gayatri Spivak emphasize translation as a process, one that looks to societies evolving over time7 or, more disruptively, located in different places. To write well about people migrating, James Clifford wrote, one needs to know the markings of their places of origin, the “peculiar allegiances and alienations” associated with their homelands.8 These markings are remembered, rejected, or reinvented to suit the destinations of the migrants; they are, in other words, translated, and the receiving society helps determine the translations.9 As applied to the two sets of Panjabi immigrants, the words used then and now to identify and locate self and other in these two diasporic landscapes testify to significantly different translations. As strong and confident Panjabi pioneers made the best of their new world and founded bi-ethnic families in farm towns and valleys in the American

Panjabis, Panjabi Mexicans, and Sikhs in the United States  301 southwest, their acts of translation related South Asian traditions of pluralism or secularism to America’s developing traditions of pluralism or multiculturalism.10 Furthermore, I claim that these pioneer men and their wives and families reflected cosmopolitan rather than transnational orientations: cosmopolitans being people who familiarize themselves with other cultures and know how to move easily between cultures, transnationals being ­people who, while moving, build encapsulated cultural worlds around themselves, most typically worlds circumscribed by religious or family ties.11 One might liken cosmopolitanism and transnationalism to processes of translation that do not or do narrowly emphasize religion, one’s own religion, as a core element of identity in the diaspora. What is the role of religion, when looking at the early and post-1965 Panjabi immigrants to the United States, looking at them principally from the perspectives of the Panjabis themselves?12 I found, based on the interviews with them and their family members, that the earlier Panjabi Sikhs were part of a cosmopolitan Panjabi diaspora and that religious law and the exercise of religious authority were unimportant domains for these Panjabi Sikh, Muslim, and Hindu immigrants. But today the tendency to emphasize the Sikh religion narrows the migrants’ identity to a transnational Panjabi Sikh one, provoking intra-Sikh conflict that continues to orient migrants strongly to the homeland.13 In post-1965 Panjabi Sikh culture and its reformulation in the diaspora, religion has become central to the more organized or vocal groups among the post-1965 immigrants abroad.14 After establishing the nature of the Panjabi Mexican community, I will argue that its descendants continue a cosmopolitan rather than a narrowly religious identity in the United States today.

Formation of the Panjabi Mexican Community How did the early Panjabi pioneers live their lives in California and parts of Texas, Arizona, and New Mexico, in the decades before 1946? These early Panjabi-speaking farmers were making their way on new agricultural frontiers, working hard to succeed despite discriminatory laws that affected both their work lives and their personal lives. The prejudicial context also united all Panjabi speakers as they pursued political goals in both colonial India and the United States. The discriminatory laws with respect to immigration and marriage crucially shaped the Panjabi Mexican community. The Barred Zone act of 1917 and the National Origins Quota Act of 1924 meant that they could not bring their wives from India and could not return to the United States themselves if they went back to visit their homes and families in India. Those Panjabis who were doing well in the United States and wanted to stay, if they wanted families, had to find new marriage partners. But just as in the American south there were so-called anti-­ miscegenation laws prohibiting marriages across racial lines, laws not lifted until 1948 in California. I titled my 1992 book Making Ethnic

302  Karen Leonard Choices,15 but that was an ironic title because the pioneers were not free to make choices. With respect to marriages, a couple appearing in the county record office requesting a marriage license had to be of the same race in the eyes of the county clerk issuing the license. A man and woman could be “white/white” or “black/black” or “brown/brown” or, in the 1930s, “Indian/Indian,” and it was the latter two categories that a Panjabi man and a woman of Mexican heritage best fitted.16 (For Indian/Indian, Mexican women claimed indigenous heritage.) The other major problem concerned men’s access to citizenship. The pioneer immigrants from India and the Panjab initially had access to this, some 69 of them achieving it before 1923. In that year they were denied citizenship by the U.S. Supreme Court. The 1923 Thind decision termed Asian Indians “aliens ineligible to citizenship” on the basis of race, judging them to be Caucasian but not white in the popular meaning of the term.17 As aliens ineligible to citizenship, they fell under the Alien Land Laws in California and elsewhere and were unable to lease or own agricultural land, putting the very livelihoods of these hard-working farmers in jeopardy. In the Imperial Valley and elsewhere, friendly farmers, bankers, and judges helped them get around these laws by fronting for them. In the 1930s, the Panjabis were also able to acquire land and put it in the names of their American-born citizen children, a guardianship strategy pioneered by Japanese immigrant farmers. Notice they put land in the names of their children, not their wives: from 1922 to 1931, American citizen wives lost their citizenship when marrying non-citizens, so marriage to a female citizen was not the motivation for these marriages. South Asians gained access to citizenship again according to the Luce-Celler Bill of 1946, so they could journey back to India or Pakistan and sponsor relatives to immigrate to the United States, although relatively few of the pioneer Panjabis did visit their homelands or bring relatives over.

Understanding the Earlier Panjabi Diaspora The Panjabi and Panjabi Sikh diasporas are really two: the Panjabi diaspora that flourished in the early twentieth century in California was interrupted and then renewed with very different characteristics after 1965. The two diasporas featured radically different understandings of the migrating group and its identity abroad. The first Panjabi diaspora reflected Panjab’s late nineteenth-century plural society, where occupation and language were more important than religion, as historical research by Farina Mir, Harjot Oberoi, and David Gilmartin (among others) persuasively demonstrates.18 The early twentieth-century male emigrants from the Panjab were leaving a regional culture based on the Urdu and Panjabi languages, languages that still strongly reflected traces of Indo-Muslim or Mughlai culture. In India’s Panjab, the homeland culture was breaking down primarily because of political pressures stemming from British colonial rule and missionary

Panjabis, Panjabi Mexicans, and Sikhs in the United States  303 activities in the late nineteenth century. The Singh Sabha movement, its groups competing with each other, tried to dominate Sikh discourse at the end of the nineteenth century, but before that, “Sanatan Sikhs” were known for their pluralistic approach and they often allied with Hindus and Aryas. In the first two decades of the twentieth century, the centralizing Chief Khalsa Diwan dominated Sikh politics. Its leaders, drawn from business, the professions, and the intellectual elite, used English as well as Panjabi to reach new audiences. They promoted a Sikh identity based on amritdhari (initiated, observing the 5 Ks) leadership but tried to compromise with narrower Tat Khalsa (Lahore’s Singh Sabha) attempts to purify Sikhism of Western and Hindu influences.19 Hindus, Christians, and Ahmadiyya and other Muslims conducted fierce religious and social reform debates in the Panjab, and the Indian nationalist movement gathered momentum in the early twentieth century. However, the Panjabis who emigrated while these religious and political struggles were beginning were relatively uneducated farmers, and the traces they carried were those of the disintegrating plural society. Common languages, spoken Panjabi and written Urdu (written in Arabic/Persian script), linked them. These men gave up the use of external religious markers, notably the beard and turban worn by some Sikhs, since those markers were negatively received in the American West. The pioneer Panjabi farmers experienced considerable discontinuity and disruption in their lives, caused primarily by America’s racist policies governing immigration, citizenship, and marriage. The predominantly working-class communities the Panjabis built under very difficult conditions were characterized by hybridity and mixture, by the need for translation and cosmopolitanism. The marriages started in the Imperial Valley along the border with ­Mexico, where Mexican women and children displaced by the Mexican Revolution of 1910 were coming to California and working for Panjabi farmers in their fields. 20 Constrained by laws that denied them citizenship, prevented them from bringing wives or brides from India, and limited their marriage choices in the United States, the Panjabi men turned, overwhelmingly, to women of Mexican or Mexican American background and built bi-ethnic families. They remained themselves Sikh, Muslim, or Hindu, but most of these men were not well schooled in their religions and they made no effort to retain connections with sources of religious authority in India. Since most of the wives were Catholic and they raised the children, the children also were almost all Catholic. Significantly and now controversially, the early Panjabi immigrants were called Hindus, a term now used primarily in a religious sense but used then simply to mean someone from Hindustan or India. Since the name was not understood as a divisive or religious one by either the American public or the Panjabis themselves, and since a shared language and peasant status were more important in both Indian and American contexts at that time, the early pioneers also called themselves Hindus. Ironically, the Panjabi Muslims

304  Karen Leonard were buried in California’s farm towns in what were termed “Hindu” plots in the cemeteries; Urdu was the language on the gravestones. True, some 85% of the Panjabi pioneers were Sikhs, a religion self-­consciously differentiating itself from Hinduism since late medieval times in India. Yet in interview after interview in my research in the 1980s and 1990s on the Panjabi men married to Mexican and Mexican American women in California’s Imperial Valley, speakers used Hindu simply to mean someone from India. ­ ustralia and New Zealand That was the meaning for English speakers in A as well in the late nineteenth and early ­t wentieth centuries, and it is still the primary meaning for Spanish speakers. Thus the early pioneers were called Hindus and their families, their wives and children, were called Mexican Hindus. These usages characterized all the Panjabis and their descendants until the 1947 partition of India, when the term Spanish Pakistani was invented for Muslim pioneers from what had become Pakistan and their families. Although political events since 1947 have pushed Panjabis from both India and Pakistan to emphasize religious differences in the diaspora, “Hindu” continues to designate people from South Asia in California’s farming valleys. Non-Indian residents and descendants of the pioneers alike distinguish between “old Hindus” and “new Hindus,” the old Panjabis and the post-1965 newcomers from both India and Pakistan. People have recently become aware of the term’s religious meaning, but they use “Hindu” in both senses, as illustrated by anecdotes from my research in the 1980s. I remember sitting in the bar of a steakhouse in El Centro with the owner, Omar Deen – his father was a Panjabi Muslim and his mother was from Mexico. Omar spoke Spanish and English and was a Catholic; he had named the steakhouse Chavella’s (the nickname for Isabella) after his Mexican American wife. He told me proudly, “My dad was a Hindu; he came from the Poonjab. His name was Mohammed Deen, and I’m a Hindu too.” Others of the second generation told me they were “Catholic and Sikh” or “Catholic and Muslim,” contending, as their fathers had done, that all religions ultimately addressed a single divine force or figure. The third generation was at an even greater diasporic distance from the Panjab. When I spoke at the Holtville Rotary Club about Panjabi history and the immigrants to the Imperial Valley (the son of a Panjabi Sikh father and a Mexican American mother had asked me to talk about “how the Sikhs beat the British,” itself a mistranslation), another speaker at the meeting was the granddaughter of a Panjabi Mexican couple. She was being honored as high school valedictorian, and I’ll call her Jennifer Singh. After my talk she excitedly accosted me. “I know I’m a Hindu, and I’m proud of that,” she said, “but I didn’t know about those three religions. Tell me, was my grandfather a Sikh, Muslim, or Hindu?” Her name clearly identified her as the descendant of a Sikh in India’s religious landscape, but she did not know its meaning.21

Panjabis, Panjabi Mexicans, and Sikhs in the United States  305 I got strong reactions to my research on the Mexican Hindus, including from academics. At the 1986 Sikh Diaspora Conference at Ann Arbor, Michigan, the first reaction to my findings was denial. This “Hindu” identity and the very existence of the Mexican Hindus were surprising and shocking to recent Western-educated Sikh immigrants from Panjab and to Panjabi Sikhs in India. By the last decades of the twentieth century, Panjabi Sikhs everywhere knew that the majority of the Panjabi pioneers in the American West had been Sikhs, and they had recast the diaspora as a Sikh diaspora. They viewed it through lenses heavily tinted by the Khalistan movement and tensions among Sikhs, Muslims, and Hindus in South Asia. On another occasion, when I spoke in Amritsar, India, at Guru Nanak Dev University in 1991 about the Mexican Hindus, a young Sikh with beard and turban rebuked me fiercely: “Madam, they could not have let themselves be called Hindus, and they could not have called their gurdwara in Stockton a temple, temples are for Hindus.” But I had a 1947 photograph with me showing the Stockton building with its sign reading “Sikh ­Temple.” And we were sitting in a classroom near Amritsar’s Golden Temple, but no one thought of that then. All the evidence shows that the Panjabi pioneers did not identify primarily as Sikhs or Muslims but as “Hindus,” meaning Hindustanis. People speak of their fathers, themselves, and others as Hindus quite naturally in Jayasri Majumdar Hart’s documentary film, Roots in the Sand, made in the 1990s. Yet, although most of the pioneer Sikhs discarded the external markers so meaningful in India, this did not mean that they had discarded their religion. Rather, they maintained that external markers were unimportant, that religion was in the heart. The men were hardly able to practice or transmit their religions, being largely illiterate, without religious training, and even without copies of the Guru Granth Sahib or the Quran. However, they honored each other’s religions as well as the Christian faiths followed by their wives and children. These are just facts, and their enunciation is not intended to show disrespect to the pioneers’ religions. In fact, their children and grandchildren take great pride in their heritages of ­Sikhism, Islam, or Hinduism, as they learn about them and sometimes reclaim them today. The pioneer Panjabis’ religious differences were bridged by farming partnerships and marriage and godparent relationships. Typically, sets of ­Mexican or Mexican American sisters married men who could be Sikh, Muslim, Hindu, and perhaps Mexican Catholic as well, thereby relating by marriage religiously diverse men. Men also served as godfathers in the Catholic church to each other’s children without regard for religious differences, ignoring or transgressing legal traditions and customs grounded in Sikhism, Hinduism, Islam, and Catholicism. For example, godfathers in the Catholic church should have been Catholic, and sometimes the men were renamed in those documents, Miguel instead of Maghyar, for example.

306  Karen Leonard These early immigrants did use the American legal system, however. The British Indian legal system had prepared these early immigrants to deal with laws governing property leasing and ownership and economic relations, and the pioneer Panjabis engaged heavily in such litigation. They also used the courts for divorce cases and to obtain guardianship of their children, that strategy to continue farming by evading the Alien Land Law. Rarely did a legal case in America refer back to India, although in a few cases a ­ alifornia’s spouse or relative in the Panjab attempted to claim property in C farming valleys upon the death of a Panjabi in America.

The State, Religion, and Law: The Sikh Diaspora The role of the state was and is central to the two diasporas. In the United States, the earlier discriminatory laws have been struck down, and the new immigrants are being as strongly shaped by their current context as the pioneers were shaped by their time and place. The post-1965 Sikh and other South Asian immigrants are largely well-qualified professional people drawn from all over India and Pakistan. They do not face anti-­miscegenation laws and can marry whomever they choose, although most come as families or can easily return home for a bride or groom. Furthermore, the new immigrants have encountered no race-based barriers to becoming farmers or professionals and they can apply for American citizenship upon arrival. Many of these new immigrants have been very interested in maintaining exclusivism and purity, and, with their high socioeconomic profile, 22 they are able to do that. British India in the late nineteenth century and independent India in the late twentieth century were very different contexts as well, with India and other modern independent South Asian nations increasingly highlighting religious identities and conflicts at both national and regional levels. The religious pluralism still lingering at the time of the early Panjabi immigrations abroad has given way to an emphasis on the Sikh religion at home and in the diaspora. The American legal system plays a role in this post1965 reframing of the Panjabi diaspora as a Sikh diaspora. While the early ­Panjabis used the American legal system for farming and domestic disputes, the post-1965 Sikhs have used it to establish independence from religious authorities in the homeland and to adjudicate disputes over control of gurdwaras in America. These recent legal assertions of identity fit the transnational rather than the cosmopolitan model. The roles of the state and of religion in the civic arena in the United States have also changed over the course of the twentieth century. Euro-­ American Protestantism, male-dominated, prevailed from the founding of the ­country. During the twentieth century, Catholics and Jews became part of the mainstream religious culture, the national civil religion, and Muslims now aspire to this as well.23 Other ideological and organizational

Panjabis, Panjabi Mexicans, and Sikhs in the United States  307 changes in the American religious landscape have taken place: the public dimensions of religious culture in America, despite the separation of church and state, have grown in importance, as scholars in religious studies and ­A merican history testify. 24 America’s religious landscape now encourages more overtly political understandings of religion. Religious beliefs and practices are often central to immigrants’ lives, confirming the failure of the secularization paradigm that informed recent decades of social science research and encouraged scholars of migration to overlook religion in their inquiries. 25 Sikhs and other religious groups increasingly use external markers and the legal system to achieve recognition as well as to resolve internal conflicts. Invoking religious law in the diaspora is not just an exercise in textual movement and translation but one involving institutional structures and electoral politics that change the meaning and practice of religious law in the new context. Sikhs have followed American laws concerning tax-exempt, nonprofit religious institutions, setting up gurdwaras with constitutions governing decision-making processes and dues-paying congregations. 26 Legal incorporation involves concepts of membership and participation different from those prevailing in the homeland. Constitutions, by-laws, and, in the case of most gurdwaras, financial requirements for leadership roles, set frameworks for competition and conflict as often as for harmonious observance of religious rituals by a newly constituted congregation. Religious law and attempts to use it to control communities in the diaspora both locally and from abroad are important to the post-1965 ­Panjabi Sikhs. Among the post-1965 Sikh immigrants, American law is being actively deployed, and the focus now is most often control of gurdwaras. Increasing struggles since the late 1970s in the Panjab over leadership of the Akal Takht (traditional center of Sikh temporal authority in Amritsar) and the Shiromani Gurdwara Parbandhak Committee (the SGPC, the major Sikh religious and political body) have echoes and influences in the diaspora, not least in North America. 27 Whether Sikhs are amritdhari, kesadhari, or sahajdhari (initiated, keeping the hair long and wearing the turban, following the Guru and the Granth Sahib but not keeping the 5 Ks), whether they are Jats, Khatris, or Chuhras, whether they are Doaba, ­Majha, or Malwa, all these religious, caste, and regional distinctions as well as new socioeconomic ones based on status in America influence gurdwara governance. Conflicts often center on the appropriate sources of religious authority, such as hukm-namas or pronouncements from the Akal Takht jathedar (head), the Rehat Maryada (a document detailing Sikh rituals and ways of life emerging from the Singh Sabha movement) as promulgated by the SGPC, or the use of panj pyare, five outside referees to mediate local disputes. 28 American legal decisions usually find that Sikh gurdwaras have historically been decentralized and are not subject to authorities based in Amritsar. As Pierre Legrand’s words anticipate, 29 Sikh and secular scholars alike must

308  Karen Leonard deal with “silences to be addressed,” domains in which the “original” may not speak or speak easily to issues encountered abroad. Legrand states: What happens when a legal rule is formulated or reformulated in one legal culture on the basis of a legal rule prevailing in another is, indeed, closely analogous to the act of literary translation. In both instances, texts are intentional and relational. In both instances, the meaning of the original is assumed not to reside wholly within the original itself. In both instances, there are silences to be addressed. The meanings of the Rehat Maryada, for instance, are not settled in Panjab either, as debates at Sikh Studies conferences show. Legal conflicts engaging Sikh authorities in India and the diaspora go beyond gurdwara governance to issues like same-sex marriage30 and the roles of women. The strongest conflicts have often focused on women’s roles, with some diaspora Sikhs from the United Kingdom and the United States generally supporting increasing the participation of amritdhari Sikh women in ceremonies and services.31 Scholars and activists are trying to distinguish between positively-valued hybridity and dangerous or transgressive hybridity, issues discussed for Sikhs by N. Gerald Barrier.32 Much of the conflict over, for example, the roles of women in both private and public Sikh arenas in the United States can be discussed in this framework and that of translation studies, with external markers and legal systems being deployed to achieve recognition in the new contexts. Disputes draw on differences among Sikhs from Panjab and negotiate a transnational arena of religious interpretation and practice; the small white Sikh convert population, small in numbers, does not play much of a role.33 This closely bounded field of legal sources and participants probably helps make the contests bitter. The points made here about religion and religious law in the diaspora for Sikhs reinforce those made about the early and later Sikhs. Transnationalism is the antithesis of cosmopolitanism and these two strands, the early Panjabi and the later Panjabi Sikh diaspora, exemplify one or the other in ways that may appear surprising. I argue that the earlier, rural, and less educated Panjabis were more cosmopolitan than the later, more educated Panjabi Sikhs. I stress religion and religious law as aids to the contemporary denial of pluralism or secularism in India rather than the translation of the plural society or cosmopolitan identities from the Panjabi past.

Panjabi Mexicans Today What is the current condition of the Panjabi Mexican community or, rather, of the Panjabi Mexicans, since there is no longer a community? In all the centers of that early community, the Imperial Valley, the Central Valley, the Sacramento Valley, and Arizona, the second and subsequent generation

Panjabis, Panjabi Mexicans, and Sikhs in the United States  309 descendants have married out and there is no longer a network linking them to each other. Spouses include Anglo and Hispanic Americans, other Pakistanis or Indians, including Parsis, and immigrants from Switzerland and elsewhere.34 Panjabi Mexicans see themselves as mainstream Americans. The post1965 new immigrants from South Asia and confrontations with them spurred these men and their Mexican Hindu families to recognize their own bi-ethnicity and use it to claim a mainstream American identity, descendants of immigrants who take great pride in the Panjabi heritage and in the mixed heritage as well. Descendants continue to write to me seeking information about their ancestors. Having donated my research materials to the Latin American, Mexican American and Iberian Collections at the Green Library, Stanford University, I usually have to refer them to that collection.35 I continue to advise scholars and artists doing further research, and many of them come from backgrounds beyond the Panjabi or Mexican or Panjabi Mexican community, strengthening the argument for the mainstreaming of the community and its story. First was Jayasri Majumdar Hart, who directed and produced a documentary film in the 1990s about the Panjabi Mexicans; it is distributed through the Center for Asian American Media. Her documentary, Roots in the Sand, captures vivid images and words that are no longer available. 36 Interest continues. In 2010, a collaborative dance performance in San Francisco by the Duniya Dance and Drum Company and the Ensambles Ballet Folklorico de San Francisco twice performed “Half & Halves: a Dance Exploration of the Punjabi-Mexican Communities of California.”37 The Duniya Dance and Drum Company still performs some of the dances.38 In 2018 an immigrant from India, Uma Krishnaswami, wrote a young adult book Step Up to the Plate, Maria Singh, drawing on my research. Celebrating a young baseball player of Panjabi Mexican heritage, her book won the Friends of Children and Literature 2018 prize from the LA Public Library (FOCAL).39 In 2019, a filmmaker, Nicole Ranganath from UC Davis, directed and produced a film, Walking into the Unknown, about Panjabi women coming to California as brides. Most of the brides are part of the new Sikh diaspora, although one Panjabi Mexican woman, Mary Rai, appears in the film.40 In 2019, an Indian American, Sonia Chopra, wrote a lengthy and beautifully illustrated article on Panjabi Mexican cuisine; “California’s Lost (and Found) Punjabi-Mexican Cuisine” is available in Eaters on the internet.41 In 2019, a Sikh immigrant to Denmark, Sukhraj Singh, recorded an interview with me about the Panjabi Mexicans; he is working on the successive waves of Sikh immigrants to Denmark.42 Also in 2019, Hardeep Dhillon interviewed members of the few Panjabi Mexican families left in Mexico, in Calexico and Sinaloa, for her Ph.D. in History at Harvard.43

310  Karen Leonard In 2020, a request came from Pakistan, from documentary filmmakers of a series about Muslims in America, wanting information about the Panjabi Mexicans and especially the Muslims among them. And Mexico’s Consulate in New Delhi, India, sought interviews for a video celebrating 70 years of Mexico/India diplomatic relations. Also, two young American filmmakers have approached, one with a Pakistani Panjabi background doing an MFA film about the pioneers and one with an Indian Bohra Muslim background seeking the rights to my book for a television drama series.44 What is striking about the efforts above to document and evoke the experience of the Panjabi Mexicans is the broad interest in that experience. Both Chicano/Latino and Asian American scholarly communities find the early diaspora of great interest, and the Danish researcher is making comparisons internationally.45 Perhaps translations, as in the earlier Panjabi diaspora, will overtake the efforts of the new Sikh diaspora to retain exclusivism and purity. My personal experience has been that the children and grandchildren of the post-1965 Sikh diaspora and indeed of the entire South Asian diaspora are as interested in the early Panjabi diaspora as are Panjabi Mexican descendants. Becoming American is a generational process, and the descendants of the post-1965 immigrants are themselves marrying beyond caste and religious boundaries.46 The fact that the wives of the early Panjabi pioneers were chiefly Mexican or Mexican American is not the chief reason for the descendants’ identities and marriages moving away from the specific religious and cultural affiliations of the immigrant Panjabi men. Becoming mainstream citizens, becoming cosmopolitan, helps ensure the survival of the Panjabi Mexican experience, if not of the community itself.

Notes 1 Karen Isaksen Leonard, Making Ethnic Choices: California’s Punjabi Mexican Americans (Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press, 1992). 2 These observations come from participation in numerous Sikh Studies conferences from the 1980s to the present. 3 I spoke in July 2012 at the Ghadar Memorial Foundation of America annual event in Sacramento, where we were taken to see the grave of Muhammad Barakat Ullah, an Indian Muslim of international political importance whose final resting place reflects his activity in the Ghadar movement. He died in 1927 in San Francisco and was ultimately buried in the Sacramento cemetery. He is celebrated today by the Sikh organization that celebrates the Ghadar Party there. 4 Some materials presented here draw from an article comparing Hyderabadi Muslim and Panjabi diasporas published in Sikh Formations in 2007; they have been substantially reworked and augmented, with a new final section. 5 See Leonard (1997, 69–71), especially the chart on 70. 6 Anthropologists have discussed “translation” as part of their disciplinary enterprise, seeking to understand and explain contemporary cultures to each other: see the essays in Palsson 1993. Gisli Palsson discusses not only ethnographic

Panjabis, Panjabi Mexicans, and Sikhs in the United States  311 but transnational political attempts at translation in the contemporary world: 23–24. Ulf Hannerz, in the same volume, discusses mediation across cultures, likening cultures to languages. 7 Gayatri Spivak writes of the difficulties of translating the Bengali language prevalent before her time, one replete with Arabic and Persian words and resonances. Arabic and Persian were the languages of the courts and of law in the late Mughal empire and the Nawabate in Bengal, and traces lingered in the Bangla of the Bangladeshi activist-poet Farhad Mazhar’s Ashmoyer Noteboi (Untimely Notebook), a text Spivak was translating into English (Spivak 2005). 8 Clifford (1989, 185). 9 Rey Chow called translation “the traffic between two languages,” a process that would honor the receiving language and its meanings at least equally (1995, 183–184). Sandra Bermann writes that “translation is a temporal art, one that can contribute to the action of history itself, and to the ongoing ‘conversation’ that gives it a meaning and a future (2005, 272).” 10 Anna Bigelow notes that in South Asia “secularism” is closer in meaning to pluralism or multiculturalism in the United States, meaning not separation of religion and state but equality in terms of state patronage and the absence of religious favoritism. Bigelow (2009, 435), note 1; also Bigelow (2010). 11 Ulf Hannerz, Jonathan Friedmann, and Pnina Werbner provide useful definitions of cosmopolitanism and transnationalism. See Werbner (1999, 19–20), and Hannerz (1992), who define cosmopolitans as “willing to engage with the Other” and transnationals as frequent travelers who carry with them meanings embedded in social networks (252). Friedman shows the encapsulation of cosmopolitans as well (1997, 84–85). 12 Gayatri Spivak, speaking about the Bengali saint Sri Ramakrishna Paramahansa, states: “Islam took its place among his imaginings and his iterations of the self … these moves acknowledged the imperative to translate rather than its denial for the sake of identity … (2005, 103).” An openness to other religions indicates cosmopolitanism, while the denial of such translation emphasizes one’s own religion and circumscribes one’s identity as in transnationalism. 13 The cosmopolitanism of India and the United States, with respect to religion, can certainly be questioned, given the decline of secularism and the rise of Hinduism and Christianity respectively in the civic religious spheres in the two nations. 14 Only among the post-1965 Sikh immigrants are there efforts to relate religious law and authorities in the homelands to religious law and authorities in the diaspora communities. 15 My 1992 book provides details obtained in interviews with men, women, and children in this community but also in county record offices, looking at written records relating to marriages, deaths, births, and divorces, to land and partnership and other disputes resolved in the courts. 16 Some 378 men did have wives in America, with patterns that varied by region depending on the women available to them (the chart on page 67 of my book shows 239 marriages in Imperial, LA, and San Diego counties, 50 in Fresno, Tulare, Kings, and 89 in Yuba, Sutter, Sacramento, and San Joaquin, 80% of them to Hispanic women; 8 wives in the northern group were Indian). 17 Jacoby (1958, 1–8); Leonard (1997, 48). 18 Mir’s 2005 paper on late nineteenth century Panjabi society and her 2010 book evoke that declining Indo-Muslim culture; see also Oberoi (1994). David Gilmartin quotes British officials asserting that “tribe,” by which they often meant caste, rather than religion was at the heart of rural Panjabi identity: (1988, 30). 19 Barrier (2003).

312  Karen Leonard 20 Charts in my book (pages 67 and 158) show the spousal patterns for men and women of the first generation and for members of the second generation. Another chart (page 74) shows the large numbers of children born to these bi-­ ethnic families, with regional differences due to the slow movement to northern California of Mexican men and women as migratory laborers. 21 One might say, following Maxine Hong Kingston’s final sentence in Woman Warrior (1976), it had not translated well. 22 Leonard (1997, 77–81, 88–96, 131–143). 23 Some have written about this in terms of race: how the Irish became white, how the Jews became white: Ignatiev (1995), Brodkin (1998). Others have emphasized economic and social strategies: Catholic immigrants built a separate subculture that became strong enough to earn recognition and political power, while Jewish immigrants empowered themselves through mainstream educational institutions to achieve recognition and respect: Casanova (1994). For Muslim aspirations, see Leonard (2003). 24 There were three other important changes. Denominations, so important in the mainline Anglo-Saxon Protestant world, have become less significant as people become more highly educated, intermarry, and move to new neighborhoods with different local churches. Second, despite male domination of religious structures and dialogues, women arguably constitute the majority of participants in American Christian religious activities and institutions and have increasingly exercised moral authority in religious and civic institutions. Third, special purpose religious groups organized along conservative and liberal lines have developed and have led to the passionate mobilization of political coalitions on issues in the public arena like homosexuality and abortion. See Tweed (1997), especially Braude’s article, and Wuthnow (1988). 25 See Ebaugh and Chafetz (2000), Warner and Wittner (1998), and Leonard, Stepick, Vasquez, and Holdaway, eds. (2005). 26 Barrier (2002, 31–32); Leonard (2003, 107–108). 27 Barrier (2002). 28 See Barrier (2002) for significant court cases, and Barrier (2004b) for the burgeoning internet discussion groups of legal and other identity issues in India and abroad. 29 Legrand (2005, 37). 30 In 2005, the Akal Takht jathedar sent word opposing the Canadian Parliament’s legalization of same-sex marriage, but the World Sikh Organization of Canada testified in favor of the Civil Marriage Act, presenting itself as a nonprofit human rights organization taking a pluralistic approach. The WSO, representing over 60 Canadian Sikh societies and organizations, explicitly opposed the jathedar’s sangresh or admonition, pointing out that it was not a hukm-nama. N. Gerald Barrier forwarded materials from the Internet to me about this. 31 London Sikh women tried to perform service in the Golden Temple in 2003: Vijaya Pushkarna, in India-West, March 21, 2003. In 2005, proposals of the SGPC to increase women’s participation were rejected by all five priests of the Golden Temple and were referred to the Akal Takht jathedar: India-West, September 9, 2005, B13; India Journal, September 23, 2005, A33; India Journal, September 30, 2005, A32. 32 Barrier (1999, 2004a). 33 Although Krishna Kaur, a black American convert to the Sikh Dharma ­movement started by Yogi Bhajan (also called the White Sikh or Gora Sikh movement), was probably the first woman to present kirtan in the Golden ­Temple in Amritsar: Leonard (2019). 34 One Panjabi Mexican from El Centro, David Dhillon, married a Panjabi Sikh woman from Canada. He became Mayor of El Centro and ran as a Republican

Panjabis, Panjabi Mexicans, and Sikhs in the United States  313 for the California state legislature, seeking support from Panjabi Sikhs and gurdwaras, but he did not win. He later founded a Sikhs for Trump group but apparently is no longer politically active. He narrated Jayasri Hart’s Roots in the Sand film. 35 Adan Griego is the curator; the bibliographic entry is under my name. 36 Hart (1998). 37 Post card inviting me to the 2010 performance; Company Dance Innovator and Dance Creator Joti Singh is the great granddaughter of a pioneer Panjabi who was president of the Ghadar Party from 1914 to 1920. 38 The last full-length performance was in 2015 in San Francisco, but the Company performed an excerpt in November of 2019 at the Smithsonian Museum of American History. KQED did a video on the piece: https://www.kqed.org/ arts/10549122/cultural-duet-dancers-honor-californias-mexican-punjabi-­ heritage. The Company choreographed a new version of “Half and Halves” on September 26, 2020, at the opening event of the Angel Island Pacific Coast Immigration Center. Recent information from Sonia Chopra and Chelsea Brown, emails of November 2 and 15, respectively, 2019. Sonia wrote the article on Panjabi Mexican cuisine for Eater; she is Eater’s Director of Editorial Strategy. Chelsea is the Managing Director of the Duniya Dance & Drum Company. 39 Krishnaswami (2018). 40 Ranganath (2018). 41 Chopra (2019). 42 Sukhraj Singh (2019). 43 Hardeep Dhillon, phone call of December 4, 2019. Growing up in Mexico, most of the descendants are marrying Mexicans. Hardeep’s thesis is a global microhistory of Indian immigration and border controls at the turn of the 20th century, focused on legal issues. 4 4 Zehra Rehman, email June 16, 2020, from Islamabad; correspondence with Ruy Sanchez de Orellana Santiago, Seccion Cultural Embamex India, August, 2020, about the video “Love Glossary of Mexico-India Relations: Memory for the Future;” Saleem Gondal, February–March correspondence, 2021; Ria Tobaccowala, correspondence 2020–2021. 45 Perhaps SAADA, the specifically South Asian effort to collect historical materials, has been least interested. In early 2019 an event it held at UCLA to fete the descendants of the pioneers featured descendants of notable pioneers like Bhagat Singh Thind but no Panjabi Mexicans, although I and others have donated materials relating to that bi-ethnic community to SAADA. 46 See my recent articles, 1999 and 2018.

References Barrier, N. Gerald. 1999. Controversy among North American Sikhs. International Journal of Punjab Studies 6(2): 217–40. Barrier, N. Gerald. 2002. Gurdwaras in the US: Governance, Authority, and Legal Issues. Understanding Sikhism 4(1): 31–40. ———. 2003. Contemporary Sikhism and the Singh Sabha Experience. Paper for Birmingham Conference, UK, October. ———. 2004a. Authority, Politics, and Contemporary Sikhism: The Akal Takht, the SGPC, Rahit Maryada, and the Law. In Sikhism and History, edited by P ­ ashaura Singh and N. Gerald Barrier. Oxford: Oxford University Press: 194–229. ———. 2004b. Trauma and Memory Within Sikh Diaspora: Internet Dialogue. Unpublished paper.

314  Karen Leonard Bermann, Sandra. 2005. Translating History. In Nation, Language, and the Ethics of Translation, edited by Sandra Bermann and Michael Wood. Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press, 257–73 Bigelow, Anna. 2009. Saved by the Saint: Refusing and Reversing Partition in ­Muslim North India. The Journal of Asian Studies 68(2 May): 435–64. ———. 2010. Sharing the Sacred: Practicing Pluralism in Muslim North India. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Brodkin, Karen. 1998. How Jews Became White Folks and What That Says About Race in America. New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press. Casanova, Jose. 1994. Public Religions in the Modern World. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Chopra. Sonia. April 23, 2019. California’s Lost (and Found) Punjabi-Mexican Cuisine, Eater.com, 1–16. Chow, Rey. 1995. Primitive Passions. New York: Columbia University. Clifford, James. 1989. Notes on Theory and Travel. In Traveling Theory Traveling Theorists, edited by James Clifford and Vivek Dhareshwar. Santa Cruz: Center for Cultural Studies, 1–7. Duniya Dance and Drum Company and Ensambles Ballet Folklorico de San ­Francisco. November 13 and 14, 2010. Half & Halves: A Dance Exploration of the Punjabi-Mexican Communities of California. San Francisco. Ebaugh, Helen Rose, and Janet Saltzman Chafetz. 2000. Religion and the New Immigrants: Continuities and Adaptations in Immigrant Congregations. ­Walnut Creek, CA: AltaMira. Friedman, Jonathan. 1997. Global Crises, the Struggle for Cultural Identity and Intellectual Porkbarrelling: Cosmopolitans Versus Locals, Ethnics and Nationals in an Era of De-hegemonisation. In Debating Cultural Hybridity: Multicultural identities and the politics of anti-racism, edited by Pnina Werbner and Tariq Modood. London: Zed Books, 70–89. Gilmartin, David. 1988. Empire and Islam: Punjab and the Making of Pakistan. Berkeley: University of California Press. Hannerz, Ulf. 1992. Cultural Complexity: Studies in the Social Organisation of Meaning. New York: Columbia University Press. ———. 1993. Mediations in the Global Ecumene, in Gisli Palsson, editor, Beyond Boundaries: Understanding, Translation and Anthropological Discourse. Berg: Oxford. Hart, Jayasri M., director and producer. 1998. Roots in the Sand. https://caamedia.org/films/roots-in-the-sand/. Ignatiev, Noel. 1995. How the Irish Became White. New York: Routledge. Jacoby, Harold S. 1958. More Thind Against than Sinning. Pacific Historian 11: 1–8. Kingston, Maxine Hong. 1975. The Woman Warrior. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, Inc. Krishnaswami, Uma. 2018. Step Up to the Plate, Maria Singh. New York: Curtis Brown Limited. Legrand, Pierre. 2005. Issues in the Translatability of Law. In Nation, Language, and the Ethics of Translation, edited by Sandra Bermann and Michael Wood. Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press, 30–50. Leonard, Karen. Karen Leonard’s Punjabi-Mexican American Papers (M1808). Department of Special Collections and University Archives. Stanford, California: Stanford University Libraries.

Panjabis, Panjabi Mexicans, and Sikhs in the United States  315 Leonard, Karen Isaksen. 1992. Making Ethnic Choices: California’s Punjabi Mexican Americans. Philadelphia: Temple University Press. ———. 2003. Muslims in the United States: The State of Research. New York: Russell Sage Foundation. ———. 2007. Transnationalism, Diaspora, Translation: Comparing Punjabis and Hyderabadis Abroad. Sikh Formations: Religion, Culture, and Theory (May), 51–66. ———. 1997. The South Asian Americans. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press. Leonard, Karen. 1999. Second Generation Sikhs in the US: Consensus and Differences. In Sikh Identity, edited by Pashaura Singh and N. Gerald Barrier. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan, 275–297. ———. 2018. South Asian American Millennial Marriages: Sikhs, Hindus, and Muslims. In Living and Making Sikhi in the Diaspora: The Millennial Generation Comes of Age, edited by Pashaura Singh, Verne A. Dusenbery, and Charles M. Townsend. Special issue of Sikh Formations: Religion, Culture, and Theory, volume 14, issues 2–3, 446–458. ———. 2019. Interview: Krishna Kaur, Minister of the Sikh Dharma and Teacher of Kundalini Yoga. In Sikh Formations. Published online: 08 Nov 2019. Download citation: https://doi.org/10.1080/17448727.2019.1685637 Volume 15, issues 3–4, 491–494. Leonard, Karen Isaksen, Alex Stepick, Manuel Vasquez, and Jennifer Holdaway, co-editors. 2005. Immigrant Faiths: Transforming Religious Life in America. Lanham, MD: AltaMira Press. Mir, Farina. 2005. To Open a History of the Times: Punjabi Literature as Cultural Production and Historical Reflection, paper given at Translating Culture: Sikh and Punjab Studies in Global Perspective conference, UC Berkeley, November 11, 2005. ———. 2010. The Social Space of Language: Vernacular Culture in British Colonial Punjab. Berkeley: University of California Press. Oberoi, Harjot. 1994. Construction of Religious Boundaries. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Palsson, Gisli, editor. 1993. Beyond Boundaries: Understanding, Translation and Anthropological Discourse. Berg: Oxford University Press. Ranganath, Nicole, director and producer. 2018. Walking into the Unknown: (Jutti Kasoori) A History of Punjabi Women in California. University of California, Davis. https://vids.kvie.org/video/walking-into-the-unknown-fdwui5/ Singh, Sukhraj. 2019. Interview with Karen Leonard about the Punjabi Mexicans. Denmark. http://drive.google.com/open?ids=1_TEGgUSm3qtBpWBR4ZtkaV6u2Vx1cj Spivak, Gayatri Chakravorti. 2005. Translating into English. In Nation, Language, and the Ethics of Translation, edited by Sandra Bermann and Michael Wood. Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press, 93–110. Stewart, Tony K. 2001. In Search of Equivalence: Conceiving Muslim-Hindu Encounter Through Translation Theory. History of Religions 40(3 Feb.): 260–287 (reprinted in Richard M. Eaton, ed., India’s Islamic Traditions, 711–1750 ­(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), 363–392). Tweed, Thomas A., ed. 1997. Retelling U.S. Religious History. Berkeley: University of California Press. Venuti, Lawrence. 2005. Local Contingencies: Translation and National Identities. In Nation, Language, and the Ethics of Translation, edited by Sandra Bermann and Michael Wood. Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press, 177-202.

316  Karen Leonard Warner, R. Stephen, and Judith G. Wittner, eds. 1998. Gatherings in Diaspora: Religious Communities and the New Immigration. Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press. Werbner, Pnina. 1997. Introduction. In Debating Cultural Hybridity: Multi-­ Cultural Identities and the Politics of Anti-Racism, edited by Pnina Werbner and Tariq Modood. New Jersey: Zed Books: 1-28 ———. 1999. Global Pathways, Working Class Cosmopolitans and the Creation of Transnational Ethnic Worlds. Social Anthropology 7(1): 17-35 Wuthnow, Robert. 1988. The Restructuring of American Religion: Society and Faith Since World War II. Princeton, NJ: Princeto University Press.

15 Sikh Studies and Sikh Institution Building in the United States Reflections on Academic Research, Public Scholarship, and Advocacy in Post-9/11 America Sangeeta K. Luthra Sikh American Institution-Building and Connections to Public Scholarship My ethnographic research on post-9/11 Sikh institution-building began soon after the events of August 5, 2012, the day a Sikh gurdwara (place of worship) in Oak Creek, Wisconsin was attacked by Wade Michael Page, an army veteran associated with white supremacist groups (Elias 2012). The Oak Creek shooting left seven people dead, including the shooter, and four injured in what police described as a “domestic terrorist-type incident” (Yaccino, Schwirtz, & Santora 2012). A few days after the shooting, I attended a candlelight vigil sponsored by the mayor of Houston, Texas. It was an emotional day as the greater Houston Sikh community and people of many different communities came together to grieve, show solidarity, and speak out against hate. While Sikhs had experienced years of backlash and discrimination since 9/11, Oak Creek felt like a watershed moment because it captured the attention of the nation and a visit by then First Lady Michelle Obama (Dubois 2012). The attack exposed the persistence of xenophobia against Sikhs and many other minorities, and confirmed what many civil rights groups had been observing, an alarming resurgence of white supremacy ideology (Potok 2012). The 2012 attack also left many Sikhs in despair and doubtful of the efficacy of their institution-building and outreach efforts. Despite these concerns, the Oak Creek shooting did not dampen the Sikh community’s engagement with American civil and political life. National organizations like SALDEF (previously known as SMART), Sikh Coalition and Jakara Movement, and many Sikh sangats (congregations) stood in solidarity with the Oak Creek community. Equally significant was the support shown by many non-Sikh Americans in Oak Creek and around the nation who condemned the attack and the beliefs that incited the violence.

DOI: 10.4324/9781003281849-19

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318  Sangeeta K. Luthra The Oak Creek shooting also generated significant scholarly work on the experiences of Sikhs dealing with racism and xenophobia post-9/11. In 2012, the academic journal Sikh Formations: Religion, Culture, Theory published twelve papers on the Oak Creek massacre, in Volume 8 issue 3. Contributions came from Sikh Studies scholars around the world. In a 2017 publication, Jakobsh describes how the Sikh community grieved and related the violence in Wisconsin to violence in India from 1984 to the late 1990s (2017, 105–106). In particular, she explores how an aspect of Sikh identity, that of a “persecuted community,” is revisited and experienced (ibid., 106). Jakobsh describes how the community relies on core principles and traditions to begin to heal (ibid., 109–112). Another perspective on healing and forgiveness is explored by Pardeep Singh Kaleka, a member of the Oak Creek Sikh community, in a book co-authored with a former white supremacist, Arno Michaelis (2018). In the volume, Kaleka and Michaelis explore their personal journeys and describe how they were able to find a path toward reconciliation. Kaleka’s efforts to reconcile with a group and ideology that preached hatred and violence, had a precedent. After the killing of Balbir Singh Sodhi on September 15, 2001, his brother Rana Singh Sodhi chose to forgive his brother’s attacker (“Arizona Sikh preaches Love,” 2019). In 2014, I began interviewing Sikhs who were engaged in institution-­ building and social activism post-9/11. My ongoing research on this small but influential segment of Sikh American society explores the aspirations that support their activism and organizing, and the impact of activism on this generation of Sikhs and their communities. IJ Singh captures the spirit of this cohort of Sikh activists post-9/11: The most attractive silver lining to emerge from the crisis of 9/11 has been the fantastic initiatives of young Sikhs who are growing up in the diaspora…. They are the products of this culture and understand how to pull its levers of power and tweak the system. I am pointing primarily to the role of the Sikh Coalition, The Sikh Media Watch and Resource Task Force (SMART) [aka SALDEF] and a host of similar smaller groups. (2003, 211) When asked why they are devoting their time and energy to building new institutions, Sikh activists often respond with the following reasons: the urgency of the moment; a sense of fear or vulnerability; the satisfaction that comes from working to address long-standing social problems; and seeing the work as seva (service) for the Sikh community; and fighting for justice and fairness for all Americans. Many also spoke directly of feeling more connected to their Sikh faith through their activism (Luthra 2017, 7). They spoke of the work as the moral legacy of Guru Nanak, the founder of the

Sikh Studies and Sikh Institution Building in the United States  319 Sikh religion, who spoke truth to power and created new institutions and traditions that embodied egalitarianism and love (Mandair 2013, 9, 21, 24–27). When I asked Sikh institution builders to reflect on how these aspirations are best realized, they often referenced American traditions of civil disobedience, social justice, and democratic institutions used to dismantle the legacy of racism, sexism, and classism. While much of the focus of post-9/11 Sikh organizing is outward facing, I have argued elsewhere that these new institutions also have an impact within Sikh communities by generating new social spaces and practices in which Sikh values can be expressed and intra-­ community challenges can be addressed (Luthra 2018, 9–13). In particular, these new spaces and practices have encouraged more Sikh women and young Sikhs1 to take on leadership roles at the local, regional, and national levels and through the development of programming directed at social and political issues often not addressed in gurdwaras (Sikh houses of worship). Some of the central concerns addressed by post-9/11 organizations include: educating the American public about Sikh culture and history, fighting employment discrimination, lobbying against discriminatory government policies, advocating against bullying in schools, and empowering the Sikh community through advocacy and public relations training initiatives. The Sikh Coalition, founded by volunteers in New York City on September 12, 2001, describes itself as, “a community-based organization that works toward the realization of civil and human rights for all people” (Sikh Coalition, “Our Work,” 2020). Initially, Sikh Coalition and SALDEF focused on advocacy within the halls of the US legislature, in the White House (Constante 2016; SALDEF 2019), and within government agencies like the TSA (Transportation Security Administration), the Special Counsel on Post-9/11 National Origin Discrimination, the Special Counsel on Religious Discrimination at the Department of Justice, and the Department of Homeland Security (Sidhu and Gohil 2009, 187). Over the years, Sikh Coalition has developed resources like “Know Your Rights Archive” to support individuals as they deal with profiling and discrimination in different settings. The public outreach strategy has been accompanied by an equally compelling strategy of advocacy to address institutional and individual discrimination against Sikhs and other minorities. Increasingly, collaboration with other faith groups and civil rights organizations has become a cornerstone in the anti-discrimination and anti-hate initiatives (Sikh Coalition, “Our Work,” 2020). Sikh activists have collaborated with organizations like Muslim Advocates, National Network for Arab American Communities, and South Asian Americans Lead Together (SAALT) to challenge policies that disproportionately and negatively affect turban and hijab-wearing citizens and black and brown communities in general (Blumberg 2017; Sikh Coalition, “Fly Rights Presskit,” 2011). In 1996 the organization SMART (Sikh Mediawatch and Resource Taskforce) was established to promote a better understanding of Sikhs through

320  Sangeeta K. Luthra mainstream media. After 9/11 SMART became SALDEF (Sikh American Legal Defense and Education Fund) and expanded its mandate to include advocacy through programs at the White House and in Congress, and through reports like “Turban Myths,” published in collaboration with the Peace and Innovation Lab at Stanford University (SALDEF 2013). The National Sikh Campaign (Est. 2014) uses polling, focus group studies and reports in order to develop effective media initiatives. The Kaur Foundation (Est. 2002) develops and disseminates educational materials about Sikhs for primary and secondary schools in a number of districts around the United States. The Sikh Foundation (Est. 1967) and SikhLens (Est. 1994) support the production, collection, and display of Sikh-themed arts and films as a means for public education about Sikh culture and history. Sikh Coalition and SALDEF also provide resources and training to support Sikh sangats in local and state outreach to government officials, police departments, and other civil rights groups. As a community-facing organization founded in 2000 in California, the Jakara Movement programs include youth centers in areas with large Sikh populations, advocacy for Panjabi language classes in some school districts, youth and young adult camps, regular academic support services, and community organizing. Jakara Movement is organized around misls (chapters) in California, New York City, Minnesota, and Texas. 2 In addition, Jakara Movement has committed itself to public scholarship by sponsoring the annual Sikholars conference for graduate, college, and high school students doing research on Sikhs. Jakara Movement has also employed fact-­ finding initiatives to provide verifiable information for Sikh Americans in the form of reports and editorial statements regarding social issues that affect Sikh communities. In 2014, the Jakara Movement organized a fact-­ finding and advocacy mission to an Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) detention center in El Paso, Texas, and reported about the conditions of undocumented Sikhs detained therein (Jakara Movement 2014). Jakara Movement has also been a partner working alongside other Sikh organizations for the inclusion of Sikh history and culture in the California state curriculum, and in promoting the enumeration of Sikhs in the 2020 US census (Ibid., 2017). In April 2015, Jakara Movement released an “open letter” to the community at the start of Sexual Assault Awareness Month (Jakara Movement 2015). The letter asks the community to disrupt the culture of silence regarding issues of assault, abuse, and sexual grooming within the community and stands in solidarity with victims of abuse and sexual violence. The United Sikh Movement (Est. 2014) is another organization focused on Sikh student activism at the university level. The role of Sikh students in community organizing has its roots in the Sikh pioneer period at the turn of the twentieth century (Gould 2006, 144–150). Since the beginning of the twenty-­ first century, Sikh Student Associations (SSAs) have become active at many university and college campuses across the United States. They organize study

Sikh Studies and Sikh Institution Building in the United States  321 groups focused on Sikh history, culture, and philosophy, and social events like bhangra nights. In 2016, the United Sikh Movement organized a conference to connect SSAs in the United States. In 2019, it was registered in the United States as a 501C organization (Charity Navigator 2020). Humanitarianism by Sikhs has seen a resurgence in the twenty-first century and for many an important marker of Sikh identity (See Dusenbery, Murphy 2004; Singh, H. 2021). Organizations like United Sikhs and KhalsaAid have expanded the tradition of langar (community meals) beyond gurdwaras to other spaces and communities in need. United Sikhs-USA (Est. 1999) has been in the news for providing donations to food banks, homeless shelters, and other communities in need due to natural disasters and recently the coronavirus pandemic (United Sikhs 2020). United Sikhs also played an important role in lobbying the 2020 US census to enumerate Sikhs as a distinct group (United Sikhs 2017). The census advocacy is another example of public scholarship and could generate valuable data for academics and public policy researchers who are studying Sikhs in the United States. A complement to public scholarship by Sikh organizations is the institutional learning by Sikh Americans through the use of websites and social media which has generated more community engagement in social issues and politics at the local, state, and national levels. Since 9/11 there have been a growing number of Sikhs running for and getting elected to political office at all levels. In 2018, there were fourteen candidates running for state and local offices in California alone, of which six were elected (SALDEF 2018). Many of the Sikh organizations discussed above also support Sikh and non-Sikh politicians who are seen as allies to the community. Helping Sikhs and their allies get elected to public office has become an important tool in advancing advocacy and representation goals. It has also helped the community understand the political system better and has generated enthusiasm for participating in civic and political life. Another important strategy for Sikh activists has been to build alliances with other communities, in particular other minorities who often have similar experiences and challenges. As discussed earlier, many Sikh activists are inspired by the American civil rights movement, the women’s movement, and, more recently Black Lives Matter, LGBTQ rights, and immigrant rights movements. While Sikh community life, and in particular gurdwara management, has been dominated by older men, the last 20 years of institution-­building beyond gurdwaras is having an impact on social relations within Sikh communities. Post 9/11 Sikh institutions have generated new leadership opportunities for Sikh women and Sikh youth within their communities (Luthra 2017, 2018). 3 Most of the new institutions are run by younger Sikhs (Luthra 2018, 1) and more than 50% have women in top leadership positions (Luthra 2017, 10). Two women I spoke with described feeling more “seen and respected” within the broader Sikh community (personal

322  Sangeeta K. Luthra communication, A Kaur, October 9, 2014; J Kaur February 19, 2015). They felt that in their work with sangats around the country, they were and often still are the only women given the podium to address and advise community leaders, who tend to be older men, about advocacy and outreach strategies. Lallie, in his 2019 presentation, “Management and Financial Activities of Sikh Gurdwaras in the UK” finds that Sikh women make up only 9.73% of committee membership. While there is not a similar survey on women’s participation in US gurdwaras, Sikh nonprofits and advocacy organizations in the United States have much higher rates of participation by women (Luthra 2017, Table 1 Appendix). In addition to being seen as role models with valuable knowledge and expertise, these young women and men are creating social networks that extend beyond their families and local communities. These public social networks have the potential to raise the status of all women, not only those who work as community organizers, activists, and advocates. The correlation between participation in social networks, access to public spaces, and higher social status being accorded to women has been discussed and documented at length by feminist anthropologists and sociologists since the 1970s (Friedl 1979; Soule & Olzak 2004; Wolf 1972). Ernestine Friedl in a classic comparative study, “Society and Sex Roles” concludes that, “in any society status goes to those who control the distribution of valued goods and services outside the family” (1979, 104). Friedl’s distinction between the family and “public sphere” highlights the power of public networks for those who can build and manage them. Friedl’s thesis is supported by Margery Wolf’s ethnography on rural Taiwanese women. Wolf describes the importance of the “women’s community” situated in the public spaces beyond the family home (Wolf 1972, 32). Wolf finds that young brides who nurtured relationships in the “women’s community” were able to mitigate bad behavior towards them by shaming husbands and in-laws who became too demanding or abusive (Wolf 1972, 32–39). Finally, Soule and Olzak writing about political movements suggest, “that, as women began to take on more active roles in the ‘public sphere’ (e.g. politics and business), public and legislative opinion about women shifted, leading to policy changes that favored women,” (2004, 478). These and other studies over more than five decades show that building trusted relationships beyond the home provides women an additional layer of support and alliances that translate into social power and often more equitable outcomes. While post-9/11 Sikh institutions have generated new practices and spaces for participation in community life by women and Sikh youth, they have also relied on Sikh sangats and gurdwaras for the financial and human resources they need to do their work. The growth of Sikh institutions in the last two decades has included the creation of a free online donation platform called Dasvandh Network, which has enabled efficient and effective fundraising for approximately 60 Sikh projects and organizations

Sikh Studies and Sikh Institution Building in the United States  323 across North America (Dasvandh Network 2020). Dasvandh Network has catalogued Sikh nonprofits into eight areas: social justice, humanitarian aid, education, arts & culture, advocacy, innovation, youth development, and other. Since its establishment in 2010, Dasvandh Network has raised a total of $2,419,400 USD for a growing Sikh nonprofit sector. In 2017, Dasvandh Network raised $567,000, and for 2018 set a goal of raising $650,000 (Dasvandh Network, Annual Reports 2017). In addition to funds raised by Dasvandh Network, Sikh Coalition alone raised $1,993,955 in 2018 (Sikh Coalition, Year in Review 2019). We can estimate then that currently the Sikh nonprofit sector in the United States is raising approximately three million US dollars annually. This does not include, however, a number of Sikh nonprofit organizations that are funded by founders or small groups of donors. Nor does this include the money raised for endowments for Sikh Studies programs at a number of US universities. The key point here is that there has been steady support by the Sikh American community for a growing nonprofit sector dealing with a range of issues. Taken together, Sikh institutions and the communities that support them represent an expanding Sikh American civil society addressing diverse issues and interests. Finally, university-based Sikhs Studies programs, many of which were established after 9/11, also play a central role in public scholarship and community engagement in addition to their core function of supporting peer-reviewed academic research. Encouraging collaborations between universities, public or private research organizations, and local communities are increasingly viewed as an important function of Sikh Studies programs. In 2019, at the Inaugural Conference for the Centre of Sikh and Panjabi Studies at the University of Wolverhampton, Arvind Pal Singh Mandair in his presentation, “My intellectual journey from Natural Sciences to Humanities” discussed the importance of developing programming for the community as well as for academic scholars (Mandair 2019). Another example of public scholarship is the creation of digital archive projects. The 1984 Living History project has collected hundreds of testimonials from Sikhs around the world that were directly and indirectly impacted by the violence against Sikhs in India in 1984 (1984 Living History 2014). The 1947 Partition Archive has generated “9500 witness oral histories” of the Partition of India and Pakistan in 1947 (1947 Partition Archive 2008). These projects have generated important data that will be available to scholars and individuals interested in Sikh and South Asian history. In the case of the 1947 Partition Archive, it is preserving the stories of an aging generation of South Asians. Both projects are nonprofits funded by individual and institutional donations. In the following section, I explore further the role of public scholarship in the critical work of self-representation, advocacy, and community-building are important tools in an expanding Sikh American civil society.

324  Sangeeta K. Luthra

Public Scholarship by Sikh American Institution-Builders: Finding a Balance between Authority and Accessibility Across the United States, interest in public scholarship is becoming a central tenet of many universities and colleges. Notwithstanding the image of the university as an ivory tower, there has been a long history of collaboration and symbiosis between universities and other sectors of American society. According to Goldin and Katz, the period of greatest growth in higher education occurred from 1880 to 1899 (1999, 40). In large part, the Morrill Acts of 1862 and 1890 enabled this growth by creating endowments for universities and colleges, “that specialized in agriculture and the mechanical arts … in existing and future states” (Ibid., 42). As a result, the last half of the nineteenth century saw a dramatic shift from university education grounded in philosophy and history to the rise of science (Ibid., 38–39). Even the methods of teaching shifted to what became known as the “lecture method” (Ibid., 40). The transformation of higher education was also the result of “technological shocks … [due to] shifts in industrial organization and political economy” (Ibid., 38). Goldin and Katz summarize the changes as, “Science replaced art in production; the professional replaced the tinkerer as producer” (Ibid., 39). For much of the twentieth century, the US government was the main benefactor of university-based research and scholarship (Association of American Universities 2017). In the last few decades starting in 1995, a new era of university and industry collaboration picked up, as measured by a growth in joint publications from 5% in 1995 to 25% in 1999 (Hicks and Hamilton 1999, 3). The reasons for a renewed interest in public scholarship are multifaceted, but one of the primary reasons is a desire to make research more applied, participatory, and inclusive. Carleton University’s Center for Community and Civic Engagement provides an example of this shift toward experiential and applied learning and research. The Carleton University website provides the following definition of public scholarship: Scholarly or creative activity that joins serious intellectual endeavor with a commitment to public practice and public consequence … It often involves mutually beneficial partnerships between higher education and organizations in the public and private sectors. Its goals include enriching research, creative activity, and public knowledge; enhancing curriculum, teaching, and learning; preparing educated and engaged citizens; strengthening democratic values and civic responsibility; addressing and helping to solve critical social problems; and contributing to the public good. (Price 2019, 26) An important element of public scholarship is the accessibility of research to audiences beyond academic circles. Accessibility means not only the

Sikh Studies and Sikh Institution Building in the United States  325 open access to research and information via various mediums, but also the adoption of more exoteric styles of writing which allow crossover to larger audiences. However, public scholarship which is also often driven by the urgencies of solving real-world problems, can sometimes lead to rushed collection of data and/or hasty analysis (Ibid., 26). Within Sikh organizations, the push to engage in public scholarship is driven by the paucity of demographic and sociological data on the Sikh community. Since 2010, groups like United Sikhs and Sikh Coalition have advocated for Sikhs to be enumerated separately in the US census, in the hope that more accurate demographic data could be collected (Venugopal 2010, Mozumder 2020, Sikh Coalition 2020). In 2020, Sikhs were given the write-in option to describe themselves as “Sikh” in the ethnicity question. While for many US Sikhs the ability to be counted as distinct group in the census is seen as an important tool for documenting the Sikh experience, it does lead to questions about whether Sikhs should classify as a distinct ethnicity particularly in light of other groups who share Panjabi culture and language like Muslims, Hindus, Jains, Christians, and Atheists. This case illustrates the dilemmas generated by public scholarship and how it can be shaped by the exigencies of the groups that are advocating, in this case, United Sikhs and Sikh Coalition. An example that illustrates this is the report, “Sikhs in the US: A profile of who we are” that was produced by the National Sikh Campaign in collaboration with an analytics firm, Bluelabs (Sikh Campaign 2018). The report had methodological errors that led to a significant undercounting of Sikhs in the United States which was acknowledged by the authors (Luthra, N. & Ghuman 2018). In spite of these issues, for Sikh communities and organizations, public scholarship has become an important tool in advocacy for Sikhs in matters related to culture, religion, citizenship, and civil rights. However, academic peer-reviewed scholarship also remains an institutional priority, as evidenced by a commitment to supporting academic chairs of Sikh Studies in universities around the United States. The disciplinary methods of academia, the expectation of balanced analysis and peer review, are the basis for authority and legitimacy attributed to academic scholarship. However, it is also true that academia has had its monopoly of the facts, truth, and authority diminished by the rise of the digital revolution in which both academic and public research are often equally accessible. In the case of Sikh activists and humanitarians, digital fluency is enabling the production and dissemination of evolving and often situated interpretations of Sikh identity, beliefs, and history (Jakobsh 2006, 28, 31–33, 34–36). As mentioned above, public scholarship by Sikh individuals and organizations is presented in a number of forms including reports, position papers, surveys, documentaries, and books (Luthra, N. & Ghuman 2018, SALDEF 2013, Sidhu & Gohil 2009, Sikh Coalition 2014). In addition, community events like Jakara Movement’s annual Sikholars Conference highlight ongoing research by Sikh graduate students and professionals.4 The use of the arts and exhibitions by groups like Sikh Foundation, Becoming American

326  Sangeeta K. Luthra Museum and Sikhlens can also be classified as public scholarship. These projects share a commitment to documenting issues important to the Sikh community and to Sikh organizations, and are integral to improving public education, policy, and programs affecting Sikhs. Many Sikh organizations are also partnering with universities and colleges to study community needs. The Jakara movement has held their annual Sikholars conference at Stanford University since 2000. SALDEF’s report “Turban Myths” was also in collaboration with Stanford University (SALDEF 2013). The Sikh Coalition’s board member, Harpreet Singh, is also on faculty at Harvard University (Sikh Coalition 2012). The Sikh Foundation has fostered collaboration between Sikh academics and Sikh arts. Its founder, Dr. Narinder Kapany, helped to endow three Sikh Studies Chairs in the University of California system (Singh, Gujari 2020). Collaborations between public and academic Sikh researchers are often mutually beneficial. The backing of a university provides authority to the Sikh organizations, while the University may also receive a boost in its public image as being accessible and in touch with “real-world” issues. Technological advances in digital infrastructure and social media have played a critical role in enabling these collaborations and in amplifying the accessibility of both public and academic scholarship. While academic research can be a relatively slow process when compared to other sources of information like the press, social media, and podcasts, it ideally allows for developing a broader perspective on many complex issues that is not always possible in other settings. The investment in public scholarship by Sikh activists and organizations is first and foremost driven by a desire for self-representation about the community, its traditions, and its challenges. Equally important is the use of public scholarship as a means for growing participation by Sikhs in American civic and political life.

Challenges and Critiques of Sikh Advocacy Organizations While the development of a relatively stable infrastructure of financial support and a pool of motivated Sikhs committed to working in nonprofit settings is evidence of the dynamism and diversity of Sikh American civil society, there have also been important critiques of Sikh institutions. Some came up during interviews with Sikhs activists involved in twenty-first-­ century Sikh organizations. A Kaur who worked as an advocacy manager at Sikh Coalition, described the concern that some Sikh organizations are seen as elitist because they are not addressing the needs or experiences of all Sikhs and particularly those who are new immigrants: I really feel new members of our community who are coming here, whether they are coming legally or illegally, are trying to establish themselves as farm workers or truck drivers. I think they have needs that we haven’t been able to address. There really is no Sikh organization

Sikh Studies and Sikh Institution Building in the United States  327 dealing with this issue. Punjabis are the second largest group immigrating to the US right now. But we are not an immigration organization…. This is why some people say we are elitist. (personal communication, October 9, 2014) Another critique has been that many of these organizations are most focused on representing the needs and experiences of turbaned Sikhs. A Kaur described the controversy around the death of a young Sikh army veteran, Parminder Singh Shergill, who was not a turbaned Sikh, was suffering from PTSD and mental health issues when he was shot and killed by local police near his home in Lodi, CA on January 25, 2014 (Gonzalez 2014; A Kaur, October 9, 2014). In this case, the family and local community felt there was not enough attention or follow-up by Sikh civil rights organizations: Sikh organizations did not take a stand on this and people said that’s because he doesn’t wear a turban, that’s the criticism that Sikh organizations get, that we are so focused on ‘the right to be Sikh’ issue. Sikh civil rights organizations did not follow up because the incident was not seen as a civil rights violation. (A Kaur, personal communication, Oct 9, 2014) In 2018, the city of Lodi settled a civil suit with Shergill’s family, which included a payment of 2.6 million dollars (Hubert 2018). According to Gonzalez, the community was divided along generational lines about pursuing the civil case against the local police (Gonzales 2014). Community elders did not support filing a civil case against the local police while the younger people in the community supported legal action (Ibid.) In addition, Sikhs dealing with social problems like domestic or family violence and human trafficking have also not had much support from the national civil rights organizations like Sikh Coalition or SALDEF. One high-profile case involved Baljinder Kaur who killed her mother-in-law during a domestic dispute in Yuba City, CA (Magagnini 2014). According to J Kaur who was part of the legal team defending Baljinder Kaur, “domestic violence is so intricate and you need so many other resources and social services attached to that. I think it would be too big a project for Sikh civil rights groups to take on” (personal communication, February 19, 2015). However, the Sikh Family Center (SFC), established in 2009 is dedicated to understanding and addressing “intra-community issues” (SFC Position Paper 2015, 1): The Sikh Family Center’s Mission is to promote healthy families in the Sikh American community by closing current gaps in access to resources and increasing community awareness and activism…. SFC works with volunteers, institutions, and partners within and outside the community to facilitate community-building activities (mentoring

328  Sangeeta K. Luthra programs, parenting classes, reading groups) as well as to provide crucial social services (crisis intervention, medical camps), with special attention to cultural tradition, immigration experience, and language access. (Ibid., para. 3–4) In addition to addressing issues that have been left to “proliferate in the shadows,” the SFC has conducted surveys and qualitative interviewing to study the challenges facing Sikh families, and to develop programs that better serve the community at the grassroots level (Ibid., para. 2). Another notable critique of Sikh American organizations and activism is articulated in the paper, “Guru Nanak is not in the White House: An essay on the idea of Sikh-American redemption.” Rajbir Singh Judge and Jasdeep Singh Brar argue that organizations like the Sikh Coalition and SALDEF have tried to equate Sikh values with American values (Judge and Brar 2017). In doing so, these organizations are seen as perpetuating “the deep violence of forgetting” with regard to America’s history of colonial domination, genocidal policies against indigenous Native American communities and 400 years of slavery, exploitation and systemic racism. Essentially Judge and Brar argue that Sikh organizations like Sikh Coalition and ­SALDEF are distorting the vision of Guru Nanak by aligning Sikhism to American imperialism and its military-industrial complex (Ibid., 148). Judge and Brar’s critique of America as racist and imperialist is accurate and widely accepted. It is also fair to suggest that Sikhs must not be complicit with racism, imperialism, and other forms of discrimination. However, their critique that Sikh civil rights organizations who work with American government and public policy agencies are participating in the worst excesses of American racism and capitalism, is not convincing. Such a claim ignores the work that these organizations do with many other civil and human rights organizations and social justice groups. According to A Kaur, when engaged in advocacy work, Sikh Coalition routinely collaborates with many other civil rights groups like NAACP, LGBTQ groups, ACLU and ADL to name a few (personal communication, October 9, 2014). M Kaur of SALDEF also describes the work being done to build relationships across communities of color and to support other civil rights groups around the nation. She describes Sikh advocacy organizations as engaged in “coalition building and building community power” (M Kaur, personal communication, March 3, 2016). She goes on to describe her coalition-­ building efforts and the need to address prejudice within the community. Changing stereotypes in our [Sikh] communities against other minorities like the Black, Latino/a, Asian American, and Muslim American communities. You don’t co-opt the Black Lives Matter movement but you help people understand why it’s important. … You work on these issues together with people who have been fighting much longer than us. (Ibid.)

Sikh Studies and Sikh Institution Building in the United States  329 Finally, V Singh, who has been a volunteer and community advocate for Sikh Coalition for many years, also describes a commitment to allying with Black Lives Matter, Muslim American organizations, LGBTQ groups, and immigrant rights groups (personal communication, February 26, 2018 and May 31, 2019). The views of V Singh, M Kaur, A Kaur and J Kaur highlight their awareness of the biases or shortcomings of the Sikh organizations they have worked in. They are also clearly aware of the social and economic inequities in American society as outlined by Judge and Brar. According to Judge and Brar, Sikh American civil rights and human rights activism in general is suspect because it generates a “cruel optimism” that perpetuates the belief that equity is possible in the American political and economic system (Berlant 2011 in Judge and Brar 2017, 148). Judge and Brar summarize their critique of Sikh American advocacy below: Sikh advocacy organizations become inimical to Sikh life, because their whiteness does not remain tied to the cadre of Sikh elite assembled in these privileged spaces. Instead, in their lobbying, advocating, and public relations efforts that look to secure Sikh and American together, they also fasten Sikhi conceptually to whiteness and its violent moorings. Indeed, the Sikh Coalition and SALDEF celebrate this abundant dream of an un-split Sikh-American future thereby legitimating haumai (egotism) within the conceptual parameters of Sikhism by usurping the presence of hukam [cosmic order] and its irreconcilable nature in this world in favor of a knowable and enjoyable privatized identity and American political being. This American dream absent wounds, a dream of a reconciled world, disrupts the impossible visions embedded in Sikh concepts such as panth, sangat, and seva that challenge both the movement of capital and the rational and autonomous individual praised within liberal governance, so easily wielded by Sikh advocacy organizations. (Ibid.) In their discussion, Judge and Brar offer a compelling argument about the contradictions of reconciling the western ideal of autonomous subjectivity or “a knowable and enjoyable privatized identity” with the Sikh ideal of an egoless soul seeking union with the divine through Sikh collective institutions like sangat, seva and langar (Ibid., 148, 156). While the violence out of which America was forged and which continues to be a reality for many, the critique above ultimately relies on the logic of a polluting politics of proximity. Their position of absolutism or “irreconcialability” begs the question: how should Sikhs respond to the continued violence and backlash that was reignited by 9/11? Philosophical absolutism is also reflected in the discussion about haumai and hukam. The suggestion that “reconciliation,” that is advocacy, activism, and/or reform, leads to an inexorable state of haumai seems to disregard other foundational Sikh principles of miri-piri (temporal and spiritual power) expressed in the ideal Sikh personality of

330  Sangeeta K. Luthra sant-sipahi (saint-soldier). These concepts are not negatives of each other but rather are what Jakobsh suggests, are meant to be in a state of balance (Ibid., 110). Perhaps the best authority for understanding the Sikh edict to remain socially and morally engaged while being in hukam (acceptance of a larger reality than the self) is explored in the shabad (utterance) by Guru Nanak (founder of Sikhism) about the lotus flower floating in pool of slime: Maˉruˉ me˙hlaˉ 1. Maaroo, First Mehl: Bimal majhaˉr basas nirmal jal pad man jaˉval re. ˉ immaculate waters, both ˉ In the pure, the lotus and the slimy scum are found. Pad man jaˉval jal ras sangat sang d okh nahIˉ re. ||1|| ˉ lotus flower is with the ˉ scum ˉ and ˉ the water, but it remains unThe touched by any pollution. ||1||5 This shabad illuminates the socio-spiritual philosophy of Guru Nanak and his nine successors. It also deconstructs the concept of social pollution and exhorts Sikhs to follow a path that requires social engagement and rejects asceticism. Just as the slime of the pool does not pollute the lotus, so may a Sikh remain righteous and virtuous in the midst of a flawed world. Sikh principles were not forged in a reconciled world but through a perpetual reconciliation by individuals and communities. If Guru Nanak, living in a society riddled with caste and religious conflict and exploitation, was able to imagine and build new practices and institutions, then it follows that Sikhs, living in a deeply flawed America built on stolen land, genocide, and slavery, must work to make it a more humane and just society. When Sikh activists in contemporary America fight for civil rig hts and access to education, jobs, and housing for their own communities, they are also reinforcing these rights and values for all Americans. Many also feel indebted to the legacies of social justice movements that came before them like civil rights, women’s rights, and workers’ rights movements. These efforts continue in contemporary reincarnations through Black Lives Matter, MeToo, environmental and climate justice, LGBTQ, to name a few. In each of these movements, gains have been made through civil disobedience, institution-­ building, and lobbying. Peniel E. Joseph’s historiography of the civil rights movement, Waiting ’Til the Midnight Hour: A Narrative History of Black Power in America, recounts the story of perpetual struggle and reconciliation (Joseph 2006). Sherry B. Ortner’s account of the 1960s women’s movement excavates the cumulative impact of everyday acts of resistance by countless women (Ortner 2003, 238–261). What all of these movements have in common is an unwavering commitment to freedom and fairness. They are proof that such goals are realized through ongoing vigilance and engagement in a perpetual politics of contingency (­Herrnstein-Smith 1999; Rorty 1989).

Sikh Studies and Sikh Institution Building in the United States  331 Ultimately, Judge and Brar conclude that the false consciousness of western “autonomous subjectivity” must be abandoned by Sikhs if they are to remain within the principles of gurbani (Sikh philosophy and ethos): It is precisely this suffering and enslaved subject within gurbani, who can neither be whole or autonomous, that can undo the unity and haumai created by the coupling of Sikh and the Black Slave, that both Sikh-American and potential Sikh identities enunciate. … Instead, another possibility remains. A possibility that demands Americans, in all their hyphenated glory, consider whether the enslaved will “pretend to join the living or will they make us [Americans] join the dead” (142)? Perhaps the answer to this question requires Sikhs abandon the coordinates of the autonomous subject central to identity and rights altogether and, alternatively, foreground the possibilities within Sikhi that dwell within the destruction of the human subject—ending the infinite circulation of life essential to kalyug, the American landscape, and capitalist modernity. (Wilderson 2010, 142 in Judge and Brar 2017, 158, emphasis mine) Judge and Brar assert that autonomous subjectivity is inimical to the core principles of Sikh spirituality in which, “the destruction of the human subject” or ego frees the Sikh from maya (worldly illusion) and propels her toward a relationship with divine oneness. While the goal of the Sikh is to be free from maya and ego, it can and should be achieved through service and resisting tyranny. While the evils of the American system are undeniable, they are also not exclusive to America or to capitalist modernity. If we are to truly, “abandon the coordinates of the autonomous subject,” we can only do so by engaging the world through the messy and often maddening process of politics.

Conclusions Civil society engagement can be an important check against concentrations of power, whether in government, by corporations, religious institutions, and communities. This is true for many Sikh institutions, including gurdwaras, in which there continue to be concentrations of power by older men. Sikh Americans today are experiencing broader engagement in civil and political society by nurturing an ecosystem of institution-building. This engagement has expanded the community’s social, political, and cultural base, which has the potential to encourage even more democratic and equitable practices within Sikh communities. The diversity of issues addressed by Sikh organizations is often reflected in the diversity of experiences, interests, and needs within the Sikh American community (Dasvandh 2020).6 Interest in public scholarship is becoming an important tool for building more inclusive and accessible understandings of life for Sikhs in America.

332  Sangeeta K. Luthra These complex experiences and perspectives within the Sikh community are being explored, expressed, and shared through a myriad of forums and media beyond academia. Such alternatives have challenged traditional forms of research and authority to also become more accessible and open to collaborations with other sectors of society. The effects of public-­ academic collaborations will need to be assessed further: How utilitarian do we want our scholarship to be? Who’s purpose does it serve? How do we develop disciplinary protocols that can encourage research and scholarship to be rigorous, balanced, and accessible to readers beyond scholarly peer circles? In social and cultural anthropology, research methods like participant-­ observation and cross-cultural and historical analyses can help us understand fluctuating social patterns and their effects on individuals and groups. A critical area of study examines cross-cultural patterns of conflict resolution. One pattern of conflict resolution involves the use of public rituals and politics that help to diffuse tensions and mitigate violence (Turner, 969; Lewellen 2003). A second pattern for conflict resolution is through the voluntary or involuntary removal of one or more of the groups in conflict, that is migration, exile, or segregation (Lewellen 2003). Finally, a third pattern is when conflict or crisis is resolved through actual or threatened physical violence through which one group inflicts mortal damage upon and/or dominates another. The first and second patterns were the most common when humans lived primarily as hunter-gatherers and were a tiny population in a world that was limitless in resources and space. Today in a world with 7.8 billion humans (Worldometers 2020), migration or exile continues to be a common response to conflict, though for many migrants the journeys often end in new conflicts and difficult conditions. The macro trend over the last few thousand years has been to follow the third pattern, that of physical violence as the more common method of dealing with conflicts (Hedges 2003). Currently around the world, there are about twenty-six active armed conflicts of varying scales, including the Syrian and Ethiopian civil wars, and the Ukraine war, to name just a few of these conflicts. (Council on Foreign Affairs 2020). Given the state of the world today with an on-going Covid-19 pandemic, which does feel like a modern-day kaliyug (dark age), it is heartening that many Sikhs are choosing to follow the path of politics, advocacy, and humanitarianism.

Notes 1 See Table A.1 of Sikh American institutions in Appendix 1. 2 The term misl was adopted by Sikhs in the 18th century to refer to units or brigades of Sikh warriors. The term has been used for an organization of egalitarian bands and at other times units in a formal military hierarchy. 3 There have been exceptions to the monopoly of leadership by older men in the Sikh community. The majority of the Sikh gurus, founders of the Sikh tradition, were themselves children or young men. Guru Nanak showed signs of

Sikh Studies and Sikh Institution Building in the United States  333 leadership at an early age. Guru Har Rai, Guru Harkrishan, and Guru Gobind Singh were also ordained as Guru at a young age. In the modern era, Jakobsh and Nesbitt have described the prominent role of British-educated young men, “who understood how to use the power of print media,” to lead the community through the Singh Sabha movement of the first two decades of the twentieth century (Jakobsh & Nesbitt 2010, 10). Jakobsh and Nesbitt note that at the turn of the twenty-first century, Sikh youth are again at the forefront of the community in “virtual identity construction” enabled by their fluency with digital tools in the twenty-first century (Jakobsh & Nesbitt 2010, 10–11). Finally, Juergensmeyer describes the central role of Sikh youth during the Khalistan movement of the late twentieth century (2017, 109–116). 4 The first conference was in 2000 and since then has been an annual event at Stanford University. http://www.sikholars.org/about/. 5 Sri Guru Granth Sahib, .990, line 8. Available at Srigranth.org. 6 See also the Appendix “Table of Sikh Institutions” compiled in 2016 by Sangeeta Luthra and Nanki Kaur Bhullar.

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Sikh Studies and Sikh Institution Building in the United States  335 https://www.wlv.ac.uk/schools-and-institutes/faculty-of-arts-business-andsocial-sciences/school-of-humanities/centre-for-sikh-and-panjabi-studies/ inaugural-conference-a-journey-of-550-years/ Leonard, Karen, 1992. Making Ethnic Choices: California’s Punjabi Mexican Americans. Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press. Lewellen, Ted. C., 2003. Political Anthropology: An Introduction. Westport, CT: Praeger Publishers. Luthra, Nikhita & Shawn Singh Ghuman, 2018. Sikhs in the United States: A Profile of Who We Are. Washington, DC: National Sikh Campaign & Bluelab Analytics. http://www.sikhcampaign.org/demographics Luthra, Sangeeta K., 2017. Out of the ashes: Sikh American institution building and the promise of equality for Sikh women. Sikh Formations: Religion, Culture, Theory DOI:10.1080/17448727.2017.1309758 Luthra, Sangeeta, 2018. Sikh American millennials at work: Institution building, activism, and a renaissance of cultural expression. Sikh Formations: Religion, Culture, Theory. DOI:10.1080/17448727.2018.1485374 Magagnini, Stephen, 2014. “Yuba City Woman Acquitted of Homicide in Hatchet Slaying of Mother in Law.” Stanford Law School. https://law.stanford.edu/press/ yuba-city-woman-acquitted-of-homicide-in-hatchet-slaying-of-mother-in-law/ Mandair, Arvind-Pal Singh, 2013. Sikhism: A Guide for the Perplexed. New York: Bloomsbury Academic. Mandair, Arvind-Pal Singh, 2019. September 3–5. My Intellectual Journey from Natural Sciences to Humanities. [Conference presentation]. Inaugural Conference on Sikh and Punjab Studies: A Journey of 550 Years: Sikh Studies in Academia. https://www.wlv.ac.uk/schools-and-institutes/faculty-of-arts-business-andsocial-sciences/school-of-humanities/centre-for-sikh-and-panjabi-studies/ inaugural-conference-a-journey-of-550-years/ Michaelis, Arno & Pardeep Singh Kaleka, 2018. The Gift of Our Wounds: A Sikh and a Former White Supremacist Find Forgiveness After Hate. New York: St. Martin’s Press. Mozumder, Suman Guha, 2020. The Sikhs Bid for Separate Ethnic Identity in the US Census Raises Questions and Concerns. India Abroad, February 11, 2020. https://www.indiaabroad.com/indian-americans/the-sikhs-bid-forseparate-ethnic-identity-in-u-s-census-raises-questions-and-concerns/article_ 2f21045a-47af-11ea-afd7-bb98cbbe6318.html Murphy, Anne, 2004. “Mobilizing seva (Service): Modes of Sikh diasporic action.” In South Asians in the Diaspora: Histories and Religious Traditions, 337–372, edited by Knut Axel Jacobsen and Pratap Kumar, 367-402 in online version. Leiden: Brill, 2004. National Sikh Campaign, 2014. http://www.sikhcampaign.org/about Ortner, Sherry B. 2003. New Jersey Dreaming: Capital, Culture and the Class of 1958. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, pp. 238–261. Potok, Mark, 2012. Anti-Sikh Crimes Are Hard to Quantify But Very Real. The Intelligence Report: Winter 2012. https://www.splcenter.org/fighting-hate/ intelligence-report/2012/anti-sikh-hate-crimes-hard-quantify-very-real Price, William J., 2019. The role of public scholarship, letter to the editor. Education Week 38(21): 26. https://www.edweek.org/ew/articles/2019/02/13/the-roleof-public-scholarship.html Rorty, Richard, 1989. Contingency, Irony, and Solidarity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

336  Sangeeta K. Luthra SALDEF, 2013. Turban Myths: The Opportunities and Challenges for Reframing Sikh American Identity In Post 9/11 America. Stanford CA: Stanford University Peace and Innovation Lab. http://saldef.org/policy-research/turban-myths/#. XVr8RpNKjEY SALDEF, 2018. 2018 Historic Election for Sikh Americans. https://saldef. org/2018-historic-election-for-sikh-americans/ SALDEF, 2019. SikhLead Interns Host 6th Annual Langar on the Hill. http:// saldef.org /news/sikhlead-interns-host- 6th-annual-langar-on-the-hill /#. XVnBH5NKjEY Sidhu, Dawinder S. & Neha Singh Gohil, 2009. Civil Rights in Wartime: The Post9/11 Sikh Experience. New York: Ashgate Publishing. Sikhlens, 1994. https://sikhlens.com/ Sikh Coalition, 2011. Flyrights Presskit. http://www.sikhcoalition.org/images/documents/flyrightspresskit.pdf Sikh Coalition, 2012. Harpreet Singh, Board Member. https://www.sikhcoalition. org/people/harpreet-singh/ Sikh Coalition, 2014. Go Home Terrorist: A Report on Bullying Against Sikh American Children. https://www.sikhcoalition.org/resources/go-home-terrorista-report-on-the-bullying-of-sikh-american-school-children/ Sikh Coalition, 2019. Interfaith Solidarity. https://www.sikhcoalition.org/ourwork/preventing-hate-and-discrimination/interfaith-solidarity/ Sikh Coalition, 2019. Year in Review. https://www.sikhcoalition.org/wp-content/ uploads/2019/12/2019-SC-year-in-review.pdf Sikh Coalition, 2020. Our Work. http://www.sikhcoalition.org/our-work/ Sikh Coalition, 2020. Census 2020: Our Count, Our Presence. https://www.sikhcoalition.org/our-work/empowering-the-community/census-2020-count-presence/ Sikh Family Center, 2015. Position Paper. https://sikhfamilycenter.org/sfc-publications/ Sikh Foundation, 1962. http://www.sikhfoundation.org/ Singh, Gujari, 2020. “SALDEF Mourns the loss of Dr. Narinder Singh Kapany and S. Ujagar Singh.” https://saldef.org/saldef-mourns-the-loss-of-dr-narindersingh-kapany-and-s-ujagar-singh/ Singh, Harpreet, 2021. Sikh Humanitarian Seva is Neither Partial Nor Transactional. https://www.baaznews.org/p/sikh-humanitarian-neither-partial-transactional Singh, Inder Jit., 2003. Being and becoming a Sikh. Ontario: The Centennial Foundation. Sri Guru Granth Sahib, p. 990, line 8. http://www.srigranth.org/servlet/gurbani. gurbani?S=y Soule, Sarah A. & Susan Olzak, 2004. When do movements matter? The politics of contingency and the equal rights amendment. American Sociological Review 69(4): 473–497. Tribune India, (2019, September 14). Arizona Sikh Preaches Love 18 Years After Post 9/11 Killing. https://www.tribuneindia.com/news/archive/diaspora/arizonasikh-preaches-love-18-years-after-post-9-11-killing-832569 Turner, Victor, 1977. The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti Structure. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. United Sikhs, 2020. Sikh Volunteers Are Delivering Thousands of Meals During the Pandemic. https://unitedsikhs.org/sikh-volunteers-are-delivering-thousandsof-meals-during-the-pandemic/

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16 Diversity within the Sikh Panth Some Critical Reflections Ronki Ram

Introduction Dignity of women and negation of caste-based prejudice are two prominent canons of Sikh philosophy. Other equally significant doctrines of this religion are: earning by the sweat of one’s brow, sharing the fruits of one’s labour, and – above all – meditating on the essence of Akaˉlpurakh (God). The articulation of such moral norms and emphasis on their implementation in the day-to-day life of the followers of the faith from the time of the first guru Baba Nanak (1469–1539), founder of the Sikh faith, has attracted a large number of people into its fold, particularly various historically deprived and socially excluded sections of Hindu society. Consequently, over the passage of time, magnificent diversity evolved within the Sikh Panth1 (community). Bhai Gurdas2 in his vaˉraˉn (ballads), mentioned the names of multifarious castes and sub-castes in the Sikh Panth such as Jat3 Khatri,4 Brahmin, 5 Arora (trader), Chandaˉl (in-charge of cremation grounds), Chhimba (Calico-printer/tailor), Dhobi (washerman), Kumhar6 (potter), Lohar (ironsmith), Mochi (cobbler), Nai (barber), Raj-mistry (mason), Sood (trader) Sunar7 (goldsmith), and Teli (oil-presser) (Grewal 1996: 30–31; Grewal 2009: 195–196). In his detailed account of about 200 prominent Sikhs followers of Guru Arjan Dev, Bhai Gurdas included among them ten Brahmins, eight Jats (including two whose caste is given as Jatu, which is a Rajput sub-caste), three fishermen, three calico-printers, two Chandaˉls, two bricklayers, two Bhatts,8 one potter, one goldsmith and one Muslim. The remaining Sikhs were reported either as belonging to the Khatri and similar other castes of businessmen and traders, or were mentioned without the specified caste titles (Bhai Gurdas as referred to in: Singh 1986: 334). Koer Singh9 listed three Bhatias, five Khatris, four Aroras, three Lubanas10 and two water-carriers in his account of 25 Muktaˉs.11 The information about the caste titles of the remaining eight Sikhs was not mentioned (as referred to in: Singh 1986: 336). Among the forty Sikhs – Chali muktaˉs – who engaged the overwhelming Mughal forces led by Wazir Khan12 at Chamkaur Sahib,13 during the turbulent period of Khalsa, Koer Singh listed five Bhatias, four Aroras, some Khatris and Kalaˉls (distillers of home-made

338

DOI: 10.4324/9781003281849-20

Diversity within the Sikh Panth  339 liquor), two Ranghretas, two Brahmins, Sangat Singh of the Trans-Indus areas, two sons (Sahibzada Ajit Singh and Sahibzada Jujhar Singh) of Guru Gobind Singh and the Guru himself (Singh 1986: 336). This clearly runs counter to the hypothesis of the dominance of the Jats in the army of the Guru as put forth by most of the European scholarship. A.H. Bingley, a celebrated authority on Jats, Gujjars,14 Rajputs and Sikhs, included Jats, Brahmins, Rajputs (warriors), Khatris, Aroras, Lubanas (transporters/agriculturists), Mahtons (agriculturists),15 Sainis (vegetable cultivators/agriculturists), Kambohs (traders/agriculturists),16 Kalaˉls, Tarkhans (carpenters), Nais, Chhimbas, Jhiwars17 (water-carriers), Ramdassias (Julahas/weavers), and Mazhabis (former Chuhras18 who embraced Sikh religion), as adherents of Sikhism in the great military brotherhood of the Khalsa (Bingley 1970, reproduction of the 2nd edn: 40). Sikh Gurus did not recognize caste-based prejudice and discrimination. The Khalsa doctrinal ideals forbid the use of all sub-caste/surname titles. As a marker of their egalitarian social identity, Sikhs were supposed to use only “Singh” (in case of men) and “Kaur” (in case of women) as suffix to their names. The presence of castes within the Sikh community, thus seems to be a misnomer. However, given the context of the overwhelming presence of caste within the Hindu society, it seems to be a daunting task to liberate oneself completely from the shade of caste identity after taking initiation into the Khalsa and becoming an integral part of the Panth. Although Sikh doctrine does not assign any place to the institution of caste, argues Paramjit Judge, it must not be inferred “that Sikhism was able to transform the caste structure into an egalitarian moral community of the Sikhs. Sikhism remained far from a casteless society” (Judge 2002: 184; see also: Marenco 1976; McLeod 1996; Puri 2003). The social baggage of caste continues to haunt the converts within their new avatar in the Panth. “The Sikh religion, which began in part as a protest against caste,” argued Kingsley Davis, “is today almost as caste-ridden as Islam” (Davis 1951: 164). In Panjab out of the 58 castes,19 29 or half of them have “Sikh branches, despite the fact that the Sikhs constituted only 14 per cent of the total Panjab population” (Davis 1951: 165). In contemporary Panjab, Jats, Ramdassias, Ravidassias (leather workers), Ramgarhia (carpenters/ironsmiths), Ahluwalia, Mazhabi, Arora, and Khatri Sikhs among others are some of the most visible instances of the presence of caste-based diversity within the Panth.

Problematizing Caste within the Panth The presence of caste within the Sikh society has its distinct malady of social discrimination – based more on vitkara/prejudice) than bhitt/pollution (Singh 1989: 293; Jodhka 2000: 381–403). The so-called lower castes, mostly landless, often complain that the kind of social discrimination they undergo at the hands of the dominant/upper castes in the Sikh society emanate from almost absolute control on the ownership of agricultural land

340  Ronki Ram by the Jat Sikhs (for details see: Ram 2009: 9) as well as a few other agriculturalist castes: Kamboh, Lubana, Mahton, Rajput and Saini. Caste discrimination in Panjab is more based on material conditions in contrast to cultural factors as observed in the Hindi-dominated parts of the country (Ram 2009a: 17–23; Ram 2012: 656). The lower castes suffer more social discrimination at their workplaces than in the mainstream religious centres. Moreover, the taint of social discrimination at the religious places has less to do with the observance of pollution-based Brahminical practices of rituals and ceremonies than the prejudices emanating from the political economy of the agrarian state of Panjab (Santos-Fraile 2017: 559; Mishra 2017: 552; Jodhka 2000: 381–403). The very fact that the members of Mazhabi 20 and Ramdassia communities were not allowed equal access to the sanctum sanctorum within the holy premises of the Darbar Sahib (Golden Temple) at Amritsar in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, 21 proves the persistence of social exclusion even within the sacred realm of their embraced faith. 22 Moreover, that the Mazhabis continued to live along with their fellow Hindu Dalit23 counterparts in the segregated dalit neighbourhoods on the peripheries of mainstream villages further proves the presence of caste-based social discrimination within the Sikh community. Consequently, the continuation of the caste-based social exclusionary practices led many of the so-called lower caste members of the Sikh communities to establish their own separate religious places (gurdwaras/deras) based on their distinct caste identities. One hardly finds a village in Panjab having a single religious place commonly frequented by all castes. The apparent presence of separate caste-based gurdwaras of Bhatra Sikhs, Mazhabi, Ramgarhia, Ravidassia, and Valmiki communities is a clear testimony to the existence of caste-based religious diversity within the vibrant Sikh community within India and abroad. The phenomenon of caste-based gurdwaras is not only confined to Panjab. Bhatra, Ramgarhia, Ravidassia, and Valmiki communities of the Sikh Panth have established a large number of their separate gurdwaras abroad. The earliest possible instance of caste-based gurdwaras abroad could be found in Nairobi (Kenya, East Africa). Another instance of early Sikh diversity in the diaspora is the presence of various gurdwaras in Malaysia and Singapore based on diverse regional (Majha, Malwa, and Doaba)24 as well as caste affiliations of Sikhs in Panjab, who interpreted and articulated their distinct religious traditions and events with reference to their respective regional and community orientations (Mishra 2017: 552; Singh & Kaur 2017: 519). This paper primarily seeks to explore the presence of caste diversity within the Sikh Panth vis-à-vis the egalitarian principles and spiritual teachings of communitarian living as inscribed in the sacred scriptures of Sikhism. The paper is divided into three sections. The first, focused on the social background of the early entrants into the Sikh faith. Majority of them belonged to marginalized sections of Hindu society. What sort of Panthic structure it had given rise to within both East Panjab (Indian

Diversity within the Sikh Panth  341 Panjab, henceforth Panjab) and diasporic domains has also been touched upon briefly. The second section heavily draws on the caste diversity within the Panth, which evolved with the passage of time against the backdrop of the overall caste-dominated social milieu of Hindu society and the castebased proclivities of its converts. Sikh diversity has its own distinct caste hierarchy different from that of the Hindu society, which has been discussed in the third section. The study is primarily based on archival sources and discussions with various scholars of Sikh studies as well as religious persons from within the Panth.

Caste Diversity Despite the egalitarian ethos of the sacred Sikh scriptures and the efforts of various Sikh reform organizations (Chirf Khalsa Diwan, Singh Sabhas, Shiromani Gurdwara Prabandhak Committee), the Sikh community has been unable to dissociate itself from the malady of caste. The Census of 1881 and 1931 recorded Jats, Khatris, Aroras, Ramgarhias, Ahluwalias, Bhatras (see end note 10), Sainis, Lubanas, Lohars, Kambohs, Mahatam, Chhimbas, Nais, Ramdassias, Jheers, Mazhabis, and Ranghretas25 as separate castes within the Panth (Verma 2002: 33). Out of these: two agrarian castes (Jat and Kamboh); two mercantile castes (Khatri and Arora); four artisan castes (Tarkhan, Lohar, Nai, and Chhimba 26); two outcaste groups (Chamar and Chuhra) and one Kalal 27 were considered to form the core of the “caste constituency” of the Sikh community (McLeod 1996: 93–94; 2007: 184–187). Indera P. Singh, in his seminal field-based study, categorized Sikhs into two broad caste groups: the sardars/upper castes, and the Mazhabis. The sardars/upper castes comprised Jats, Kambohs, Tarkhans, Sunars, Chhimba, and Nais. They were further bifurcated into two sub-groups: agriculturists and traders The agriculturist sub-group consisted of Jat, Kamboh, Mahton, Rajput, and Saini Sikhs. Arora, Khatri, Bhapa, and Bhatra Sikhs formed the trader sub-group among the Sikhs (for details see: Singh 1977a: 69–70). Within the Hindu caste hierarchy, however, the agriculturist sub-group of Sardars/Upper Castes was clubbed with the Shuˉdra (artisan/lower castes) category. Barring Jat Sikhs and Rajputs, the rest of the caste categories falling within the agriculturist sub-group of sardars were declared as Backward/Other Backward Classes (BC/OBCs) under the state affirmative action-based classification provisions of the Constitution of the Republic of India. Excepting Rajputs, the remaining caste categories under the agriculturist sardar sub-group, were Shuˉdra according to Hindu ­Varna-based social classification. Another seminal point that needs to be kept in mind while discussing caste diversity within the Panth is the politics of reservation vis-à-vis the widening graph of poverty and unemployment among the Jats of Northwest India who also launched agitations for their inclusion into the category of

342  Ronki Ram backward classes (Shankar 2017) – something contrary to the doctrinal non-recognition of caste by the Sikh faith. Ironically, Sainis and some other agriculturist caste groups have simultaneously been pressing the government to take them out of the backward class category on account of their improved economic conditions. This is seen as an attempt to elevate their social status within the Panth caste hierarchy, and highlights the recent rise of caste consciousness within some sections of the Panth. It has more to do with the political economy than the sociological underpinnings of the Panthic social structure. 28 Mazhabis, the second sub-group of Indera P. Singh’s classification of Sikh diversity, consists of the so-called erstwhile lower castes within the Hindu social order. In the following subsections, an attempt has been made to explicate Sikh caste diversity along these two broad caste groups within the Panth. Upper/Dominant Castes Diversity Jats, originally of Indo-Scythians stock and later low Shuˉdra Hindus, constitute a large segment of the population of the Panjab (Habib 1996: 94–95; 2017: 264). Their entry into the Sikh religion absolved them of their Hindu low status (Habib 1996: 99; see also McLeod 1996: 13). Within the Panth, they comprise 60% of the total Sikh population, which is roughly about 1/3 (30–33%) of the entire population of the Panjab state (McLeod 2007a: 113; Kaur 1986: 225; Singh 1997: 178–179; Puri 2003: 2693). Their overwhelming control on land, religion, and politics in the state, as defined by Srinivas, elevated them to the status of dominant caste within the Panth (Srinivas 1955: 1–36; 1959: 1–16). Ramgarhia Sikhs, former lower castes Hindu artisan, are generally considered second only to Jat Sikhs (McLeod 2000: 217–234). They inherited the “Ramgarhia” title from their ancestor Jassa Singh Thokka, who after establishing Ramgarhia misl, adopted the name of his misl – Ramgarhia (Ram 2017a: 284). Henceforth, all Sikh artisans came to be known as Ramgarhia Sikhs (Kalsi & Nesbitt 2017: 274–282; McLeod 2007a: 114). Ahluwalia Sikhs, akin to Ramgarhias, drew the title “Ahluwalia” from their forefather Jassa Kalal, who founded the Ahluwalia misl, named after his native village “Ahlo.” Though within the traditional Hindu social hierarchy, they were considered lower to Thokkas (carpenters, and artisans in general), these two groups placed in the middle rank of the Sikh caste hierarchy (McLeod 2000: 217). Lower-Caste Sikh Diversity Mazhabi, Ranghreta, Ramdassia, Ravidassia, Sansi, and Rai-Sikh, collectively called dalit Sikhs, are allegedly considered the lowest castes within Sikh society (Webster 2007: 132–154; Ram 2004a 5–7). The Mazhabis and Ranghretas were able to attain significantly in terms of upward social mobility during the period of ninth and tenth Gurus. Guru Gobind Singh

Diversity within the Sikh Panth  343 had bestowed the title of Ranghreta Guru Ka Beta on Bhai Jaita – a young low-caste Ranghreta who brought to Anandpur Sahib the severed head of the ninth Guru after his martyrdom in Delhi. The tenth Guru also renamed him Jivan Singh and declared him as his panjwan sahibzada (fifth son). Mazhabis and Ranghreta Sikh proved their mettle in various battles from the time of Guru Gobind Singh to the Khalsa Raj of Maharaja Ranjit Singh (1799–1849). Despite attaining significant level of upward social mobility within egalitarian tradition of the Khalsa social order, the pre-Khalsa taint of their lowest Hindu caste legacy refused to retreat completely. A recent case of caste diversity and discrimination came into limelight when the mortal remains of Padam Shri awardee Bhai Nirmal Singh Khalsa – one of the most prominent Mazhabi Sikh Hazuri ragis (those who perform kirtan at the Darbar Sahib) who was fallen victim to Covid-19 – weren’t allowed to be cremated at his ancestral village (Sethi 2020). Like Mazhabis, Ravidassias Sikhs, followers of Guru Ravidass – forty shabads (hymns) of Ravidass are included in Sri Guru Granth Sahib (SGSS)  – often complain that irrespective of the popular Sikh belief that the “bani is Guru and Guru is bani”, Guru Ravidass is not considered a Guru in mainstream Gurdwaras, and is instead referred to as a “bhagat” – devotee (for details see: Friedlander 2017: 323; Takhar 2011: 165–184; 2014: 105–120; Simon 2010: 51–62). Tensions flared up massively following an assassination at a Ravidass Temple in Vienna, Austria, on May 24, 2009, and led Sants of Dera Sachkhand Ballan 29 to declare the Ravidassia Dharm to be a separate religion of dalits on 30 January 2010 (Ram 2012: 696–700). Babu Kanshi Ram, the founder of the Bahujan Samaj Party, was a clean-shaven Ramdassia Sikh who belonged to Panjab’s Ropar district. Just like him, many Ramdassia Sikhs remain clean-shaven. Ramdassias, who are also mostly Sahajdhari Sikhs, are another allegedly lower Sikh caste, and are believed to have converted to Sikhism during the time of the fourth Guru of the Sikh faith, Guru Ram Dass (Ibbetson 1883 rpt 1970: 300). They were mainly from the weaving community, popularly known as Julahas (Ram, September 21, 2021). Though lackadaisical in the observance of the Sikh code of conduct, with their distinct identity, they further add to the visibility of caste diversity within the Sikh religion. The fact that Ramdassias were given reservation within the Shiromani Gurdwara Prabandhak Committee in 1925, proved the existence of caste diversity within the Panth (Bambhia Bhai 2011: 42–43). Ramdassias have built their separate gurdwaras, especially in the Doaba region of Panjab (Ram 2017b: 55). Politically too, they have carved out a niche for themselves in the corridors of state power. Dalit Sikhs often lament that they remain peripheral to structures of power even in Panjab, which is the only Sikh-­ majority state in the Indian Union, but the recent elevation of Charanjit Singh Channi – a Ramdassia Sikh – to the post of Chief Minister, the first ever Dalit CM of Panjab, has dramatically propelled the issues and political identity of Dalit Sikhs to the centre stage of contemporary Panjab politics.

344  Ronki Ram The late Bahujan Samaj Party leader Kanshi Ram was also a Ramdassia Sikh, who later shifted his focus towards Uttar Pradesh. Rai and Sansi Sikhs are yet two more allegedly low castes that underline the malady of caste within the Panth. Rai Sikhs, known as Rassiwat (rope-makers) or/and Sirkiband (mat-makers), were formerly Mahatam Hindus and were considered almost equivalent to untouchable castes. Though they themselves claim a numerical strength of two million, the Census of India 2011 listed them at only 850,000 (Kumar 2015: 104). Sansi Sikhs, like Rai Sikhs, before their conversion to Sikhism, were also primarily Hindus. Traditionally vagrants, they served Jats as their hereditary genealogists, and in return used to receive some grain at each harvest. Though they take immense pride in claiming Maharaja Ranjit Singh (1799–1839) to be of the Sansi tribe (Bhatti 2010: 114), in terms of social status they are considered even lower than the Mazhabis (Singh 1975: 276).

Hierarchy within Diversity Along with diversity, a distinct caste hierarchy has also evolved within the Sikh community (Marenco 1976; McLeold 1996; Cf. Singh 1986; Singh 1981; Grewal 1998). In Sikh caste hierarchy, Jats, who were assigned a mid-level status in the Hindu social order, occupy the top position (Singh 1977: 70; see also Judge 2002: 178–185). Caste hierarchy within the Panth is primarily woven around ownership of agricultural land. The close relationship between farming and the forces of nature (paun [air], pani [water], dharati [earth], and the divas, rut [days and seasons – ecosystem]) what Gurinder Mann, a scholar of Sikh textual sources, succinctly called rabbb naal sanjh (relationship with the divine), and folk wisdom of the sort prevalent around the newly established town of Kartarpur (“Creator’s Town”) by Baba Nanak himself along with his emphasis on the cultivation of land as its mainstay, were strong drivers for the assignment of farming atop of the hierarchy of means of livelihood (Mann 2017: 11). The local dictum of uttam kheti, madham vayopar, nikhidh chãkri (farming is the best, business is medium and service is the least desirable), further undergirded the exalted status of farming as well as its practitioners – the Jat Sikhs. 30 Thus, the pre-eminence assigned to the occupation of farming was a prime reason for the social elevation of Jat Sikhs, agriculturists par excellence, to the top of the caste hierarchy within the Sikh Panth. To quote Mann further, “[t] rading, salaried employment, and begging come in at progressively lower levels” (Mann 2017: 11). Thus, the Arora, Bhapa, Bhatra, and Khatri Sikhs (the trading communities), who were otherwise placed within the upper caste category of the Hindu caste hierarchy got slipped to a lower social scale within the Sikh caste hierarchy (Singh 1977a: 69–70; 2017a: 578; Singh & Tatla 2006: 28). The traders and the artisan Sikhs have to compete with the dominant agriculturist caste of Jat Sikhs, which was otherwise included in the artisan category of the Hindu caste hierarchy (Singh 1975: 279; 1977a: 69–71).

Diversity within the Sikh Panth  345 While building an engaging narrative of the multi-faceted life of Baba Nanak and his founding of the new township at Kartarpur, Mann pithily argued that Jats: far from being relegated to a permanently low position within the Hindu social hierarchy, as often happened, or from becoming a relatively anonymous segment within the majority Muslim community, … could look forward to having a chance to assume leadership roles if they entered the Panth at Kartarpur. (Mann 2017: 12, emphasis in original) In other words, given the choice between a well-entrenched segmented character of the Hindu society and the dominant position of the Muslim population on one hand, and esteem of agriculture in Sikhism, on the other, Jats (agriculturist par excellence), articulated Mann, were overwhelmingly attracted to the faith of Baba Nanak – the only viable platform for their upward social mobility. He further argued that “[t]hey would have a real opportunity to shape its (Panthic) destiny along the lines of their own modes of thinking and behavior” (Mann 2017: 12. Emphasis added). This argument, however, does not go well with the earlier part of his meticulously woven narrative, wherein Mann portrayed Baba Nanak not only as a well-travelled and widely experienced personality, but also one whose liaison with the Almighty had metamorphosed him into “a vessel of divine authority” (Mann 2017: 6). It raises many questions that how such a spiritually awakened figure as Baba Nanak who appointed a Khatri (Bhai Lehna) as his successor (Guru Angad) rather than a Jat like Baba Buddha, failed to see through the hidden design of one section of his followers who joined his fast-expanding faith, as Mann articulated, more motivated by their vested interests than any attraction for spiritual leanings or egalitarian values. However, given the current status of Jat Sikhs within the Panth, Mann’s analysis seems to be vindicated to some extent. As far as their monopoly over the control of the gurdwaras and state politics is concerned, Jat Sikhs are indeed in a dominant position vis-à-vis the other Sikh castes in the Panth (for details see: Singh 2007a). Next to Jat Sikhs, are Khatri Sikhs who belong to the same mercantile caste as all the ten historic Gurus of the Panth (Marenco 1976: 296; Singh 1982: 146–147; Alam 1982: 103–107). The Ramgarhia and Ahluwalia Sikhs are placed next or even equal to the Khatri Sikhs due to their military adventures during the Misl period (McLeod 2000: 216–234). Following the similar descending order, Marenco states that: [t]he other agricultural Sikh castes, like the Kamboh, Mali and Saini Sikhs, other trading Sikh castes, e.g. Arora Sikhs, and other artisan Sikh castes, e.g. Lohar or Sunars, came somewhere after the aforementioned castes in the hierarchy. Then there were the Sikh menial

346  Ronki Ram castes (Jhinwars, Kahars, Banjaras, Lubanas, Bahrupias, Batwals and Barwalas), and, last of all, there were the Sikh untouchables, the Ramdassias and Mazhabis, who continue to be ranked the lowest despite the many advances they had made since conversion to Sikhism. (Marenco 1976: 296, emphasis in parenthesis added; see also: Puri 2003: 2698) Sikh caste hierarchy, in fact, is a highly contested phenomenon within the Panth. Some scholars are of the opinion that since the practices of Brahminic ritual purity do not hold any ground in Panjab, the defining principles of Sikh caste hierarchy are different from that of the Brahminical Hinduism (Ibbetson 1883, rpt. 1970: 1–87; Singh 1986a: 231–314). These principles are based on hard manual labour on ones’ own land, caste homogeneity, martial strength, numerical preponderance in the mainstream Sikh religion, and hold over the politics in the state. Furthermore, it is the complex combination of all these different sources of power (social, ethnological, economic, political, religious, and numerical) that determines status in Panjabi society. The only caste in which all these multiple identities coalesce is that of Jats in Panjab. Jat Sikhs are Jats by caste, Khalsa or Singh by religion, and martial by virtue of their being sturdy – and an important part of the armed forces in the past and even present – and are also landowners. All of these different identities reinforce each other and thus helped Jat Sikhs in becoming the dominant caste in Panjab. Such a rare combination of powerful multiple identities and their concentration in a single caste as well as religion is conspicuous by its absence among the dalits, who interestingly enough, are almost equal to the Jat Sikhs in terms of their numerical proportion in the total population of the state. But unlike Jat Sikhs, dalits are sharply divided into 39 castes, fragmented into varied religions (Hinduism, Sikhism, Christianity, Buddhism, AdDharm, Ravidassia Dharm, and Valmiki Dharm), mostly landless, economically marginalized, socially oppressed, and politically neglected. Their being politically neglect is partly attributable to the lack of unity among their varied sub-castes and the resultant failure to have their own exclusive political party. It was perhaps due to this lack of unity amongst themselves that, despite their whopping numerical strength (almost 1/3 of the total population in the state) their own political parties such as the Scheduled Castes Federation, Republican Party of India, and Bahujan Samaj Party, were never able to achieve an electoral strength commensurate to the total dalit numerical electoral strength in Panjab. It is in this context of extreme disparity between the otherwise numerically comparable communities of Jat Sikhs and dalits that the distinct pattern of Sikh caste hierarchy assumes critical importance. This unique but often overlooked phenomenon of numerical parity but extreme socio-economic disparity, is what has brought these two communities in open confrontation with each other on one hand, and impelled dalits to seek refuge in various deras (also divided along their

Diversity within the Sikh Panth  347 political affiliation with different political parties in the state), 31 on the other. On the other side of the debate, there are some scholars (Singh 1986a) for whom caste hierarchy within the Panth is a misnomer. And many other scholars of Panjab and Sikhism simply ignore and avoid the caste question, by implication suggesting that it doesn’t exist at all. Jagjit Singh was of the opinion that the phenomenon of caste hierarchy stands on three pillars (i.e. caste ideology, Brahmins, and the caste-society) of Brahminic orthodoxy. Since none of these are found within Sikhism, then it is absurd to talk about caste and caste hierarchy within the Panth (Singh 1986a: 243–263). Moreover, almost all the castes of the “Sikh caste constituency” have been able to enhance their social status (Singh 1981; Judge 2002: 184), with the Mazhabi and the Ramdassia Sikhs being the only exceptions. Notwithstanding their bottom placing in the Sikh caste hierarchy, Mazhabis and Ramdassias consider themselves superior to their counterparts in the Hindu caste system. Although Ramdassias have originated from Chamars, they considered themselves superior to the latter (Ibbetson 1883 rpt. 1970: 297, 302; Bingley 1970: 62; Marenco 1976: 130 & 285–286). Similarly, Mazhabis consider themselves socially superior to Valmikis (their erstwhile community fellows) with whom they don’t intermarry (Walia 1993: 226). Another dimension of distinct social hierarchy among Sikhs is the distinction between the Sahajdhari and the Kesdhari (initiated) orders of the Panth (Oberoi 1992: 377). 32 Though Sahajdhari-Kesdhari dichotomy relates more to the degree of adherence to the core Khalsa identity in the historical evolution of Sikh community and does not fall at all within the caste hierarchy, it impacts the complexity of the latter in its own way. The Kesdhari Sikhs, also known as Khalsa (pure), are generally considered superior to the Sahajdharis. But this does not come true in the case of the Mazhabi Sikhs who, despite being Khalsa, are still allegedly considered inferior to that of Sahajdharis. The latter practiced endogamy and commensality in comparison to that of the Khalsa (Marenco 1976: 43, 50, 63, 64–65, 153 & 157; Judge 2002: 180 & 184). A concrete example of this is provided by Rashpal Walia, who has observed that “Nihangs (saint-soldier/immortal) with upper caste background don’t partake of food cooked for those with Mazhabi Sikh origin … Most important, the ‘Amritpan’ ceremony for the Mazhabi Sikhs among the Nihang is also separately performed” (Walia 1993: 219 & 250, emphasis in parenthesis added). Though social mobility among the caste constituency in the Panth is often referred to as one of the greatest achievements of the new religion, which even facilitated some of the lower castes in acquiring the status of dominant castes in the state, that was not an objective of the Panth of Nanak and his nine successors – including SGGS as the last, and the final Sabad Guru, albeit not in human form – who all worked for the creation of a meticulous egalitarian social order, free from the structures of caste and caste hierarchy. However, soon after the end of the Gurus period, a distinct caste hierarchy

348  Ronki Ram re-emerged within the Panth, with Jat Sikhs ­occupying the top position and dalit Sikhs at the base. Inter-caste marriage and inter-­dining are among the prime tests as to the annihilation of caste system. 33 On both these counts, a considerable gap persists between the doctrinal principles and the actual practice within the Sikh community, particularly in the context of the dalit Sikhs. Inter-dining and other interactions between the Jat, Khatri, Ramgarhia, Ahluwalia, and other artisan Sikh castes are very fluid. However, barring Khatris, there was not much difference between the social positions of the Jats and that of the other artisan castes even before their conversion to Sikhism. They were all clubbed together in the category of Shudras and commensality was not a taboo for them. However, the status of the dalit Sikhs and their relations with the dominant castes within the Panth remains an intractable problem (McLeod 2000; Grewal 1998: 208). In matters of commensality clear distinctions are made between “caste” and “outcaste” members of the Panth (Grewal 1998: 210; Walia 1993: 203 & 233). The dominant castes (Jats, Khatris and Ramgarhias) continued to identify the Ramdassia, Ranghreta, and Mazhabi Sikhs by their earlier titles – Chamars and Chuhras – at least in their private conversations (Ibbetson 1883 rpt. 1970: 268–269). “They are still not tolerated within the main halls, and are forced to sit separately in a corner at the entrance of the gurdwaras, including baptized Mazhabi and Ramdassia Sikhs” (Bhullar 2007). In her field-based doctoral study of the “Problem of Untouchability among Sikhs in Panjab,” Rashpal Walia found that “Mazhabi Sikhs feel that their status in Sikh society is still the lowest … though they are not removers of night soil” (Walia 1993: 264, 266–267). What we have argued thus far, is that caste hierarchy does exist within the Panth. Valmikis, Mazhabis, Ravidassias, Ramdassias, Rai Sikhs, and Sansi Sikhs continued to face discrimination on caste grounds. This is probably one of the major reasons behind their migration to deras, which has often been a cause of confrontations between them and dominant caste Sikhs. Mushrooming of alternate caste/community-based religious places parallel to that of the mainstream exposed the otherwise immanent caste diversity within the Panth.

Notes 1 From Panjabi word path – a “way”; system of religious believes/practices – the term Panth is derived. It refers to Sikh community having its distinct system of belief/practice of religiosity as well as unique socio-cultural and political world view of Miri-Piri in which the temporal and spiritual authority (state and religion) are inextricably blended/combined in Guru, the spiritual Master (Smith 1948: 461). For more details see: McLeod (1978: 287–295). 2 The original scribe of the Adi Granth also revered as Sri Guru Granth Sahib; hereafter SGGS. 3 The erstwhile nomads who finally settled as agriculturists in the northwest plains of India since the thirteenth century.

Diversity within the Sikh Panth  349 4 Mainly urban mercantile/business caste. 5 Priestly caste. 6 Also spelled Ghumiar. 7 Also spelled Suniar. 8 Also spelled Bhatra/Bhattra/Bhatia. Traditionally panegyrist, they were also called Bhatt, Bhat, Bhatta, Bhatraju, Bhatrai, priest, scribe, poet, and bard. For details, see: (Ghuman 1980: 308–316; Nesbitt 1981: 70–72; Nesbitt 2017: 222). 9 Koer Singh was the contemporary of Bhai Mani Singh who had the honour of meeting seventh, eight, and ninth Gurus. Bhai Mani Singh had long association with Guru Gobind Singh until the departure of the latter towards the southern part of the country. Koer Singh’s narrative about the life of Guru Gobind Singh published under the title “Gurbilas Patshahi 10 [Panjabi]” is the first work of its kind that provides authentic description about the life of the 10th Guru. This one of the earliest works is based on Koer Singh’s interactions with Bhai Mani Singh. (For details, see: Singh 1968: vii–xxvi). 10 Also spelled Labanas. They are traders/transporters/agriculturists par excellence. 11 Mukta, plural of Sanskrit “mukti” – liberation/emancipation from ego, worldly misdeeds and fears, cycle of birth and death, envy, enmity, ager, pleasure, sensual temptations, indulgence, and greed. There are two prominent uses of the term Mukta in valorous Sikh tradition: Muktas of Chamkaur Sahib and of Muktsar Sahib. 12 Subedar (Governor) of Sirhind. 13 A town in Ropar district of East Panjab, where Guru Gobind Singh stopped for a while on the night of 5 and 6 December 1705 after leaving his headquarter at Anandpur Sahib. 14 Also spelled Gujjars/Gurjaras. They are an ethnic pastoral community traditionally involved in diary and livestock farming. 15 Also spelled Mahatams. Traditionally farmers/hunters/fishermen/distillers. 16 Also spelled Kambojs or Kambos. 17 Also spelled Jheers or Jhinwars or Jhivers. 18 Chuhras are sweepers. They are also called Balmiks/Balmikis/Valmiks/ Valmikis. 19 As listed in the Imperial Caste Table of the Census of India, 1931, Vol. 17, ­Panjab, Part 2. 20 Also called Balmikis. 21 Giani Pratap Singh (1933: 146–147 & 156–157) and Harjot Oberoi (1994: 106–107) in their writings noted that Mazhabis, Rahtia and Ramdassia Sikhs were not allowed beyond a certain point to enter the Golden Temple and their degh (offering of Karah Prasad) was not accepted by the Sanatani priests. Oberoi based his account on the Khalsa Dharam Sastra of 1914, an authoritative manual, which referred to the exclusion of lower caste Sikhs. 22 It was against this discriminatory practice that on October 12, 1920 a group of Mazhbi Sikhs took a procession for the purpose of entering into the premises of Golden Temple. With the support of some of the Professors of the Amritsar Khalsa College and students, the organisers of the procession were able to put an end to this social evil of restrictions on the entry of Mazhbi Sikhs beyond a particular point in the Golden Temple complex. Dalit and Minorities Organization (DAMO), an organization of Mazhabi Sikhs recently celebrated the centenary of on this historic event in Amritsar on October 12, 2020. For details, see: (Singh IP: 2020; Singh and Hans 2020). 23 The term dalit (literally, broken/oppressed/grounded) is the “politically correct” nomenclature of the lower castes.

350  Ronki Ram 24 The area between the rivers Sutlej and Beas is called Doaba, south to river Sutlej is Malwa, and the area that falls between Beas and Ravi rivers is called Majha. 25 Traditionally sweepers/leather dyers. 26 During the field study the author did not find Nais and Chhimbas being considered Ramgarhias. 27 Also termed by Marenco as an artisan caste (Marenco 1976: 176). 28 I am indebted to Professor Pashaura Singh, the University of California, Riverside, CA for making be aware of this important factor of economy induced caste consciousness. 29 Situated on the Jalandhar-Pathankot road about 12 km away from Jalandhar city of East Panjab. 30 I am thankful to my grandmother (late Parsini Devi) for making me aware of this Panjabi dictum. 31 Recent controversy over Ravidassia vs Adi Dharm to be included as separate columns in the 2021 Census for the SC communities in Panjab highlights the politicization process of dalit dera affairs (for details, see Arora 2020). 32 Jugdep Chima differentiates (based on my personal communication with him) between “Sahajdhari” (those who believe in the SGGS, but cut their hair), “Kesdhari” (those who believe in the SGGS, but keep their hair), and “Khalsa Sikhs” (those who believe in the SGGS, and wear all of the 5K’s after baptism.) 33 Like caste in India, racism refuses to decimate in the so-called liberal democratic countries of the Western and North American worlds. Black churches faced attack from the white ultra-radicals even though both sides are Christians. Is it something to do with the very religion of Christianity? Such conflicts have their roots deeply entrenched in the cultural prejudices of the people across the cartographical boundaries of their civilizations. Similar differences followed by violent clashes between varied groups are often reported from within the Islamic world. Such conflicts are neither the product of religious prejudices nor the failure of the teachings of the precursors of faiths of Christianity and Islam. The same applies to the youngest religion of Sikhism. Caste is the problem of the community of the Sikhs, but not of the Sikh religion per se. (Based on author’s conversation with Pashaura Singh, the University of California, Riverside, CA, August 27, 2020).

References Alam, Muzaffar, “Sikh Uprisings under Banda Bahadur 1708-1715,” The Panjab Past and Present, Vol. XVI, No. I, April 1982, pp. 95–107. Arora, Kusum, “Dera Ballan Sect Head Writes to Modi, Seeks Separate Ravidassia Dalit Identity,” The Wire, August 11, 2020. Available at: https://thewire.in/caste/ dera-ballan-sect-head-writes-to-modi-seeks-separate-ravidassia-dalit-identity (accessed: December 3, 2022). Bambiha Bhai, Charan Singh, “Julahaian nu Ramdassia Sikh Kyon Keha Jaanda hai” (Why Weavers are called Ramdassia Sikhs), Begum Shahr, February 2011, pp. 42–47. Bhatti, Harvinder. Singh, “Sansi,” in: B. P. Singh (ed.), “Criminal” Tribes of Punjab: A Socio- Anthropological Inquiry, London: Routledge, 2010, pp. 112–128. Bhullar, Gurbachan Singh, “Dera Vivad: Sawal hi Sawal Han, Jawab Koi Nahin!” (Dera Controversy: Only Questions, No Answer!), Nawan Zamana (Panjabi Daily, Jalandhar), July 8, 2007, p. 2.

Diversity within the Sikh Panth  351 Bingley, Alfred Horsford, Sikhs, Punjab: Department of Languages, 1899, rpt. 1970. Davis, Kingsley, The Population of India and Pakistan, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1951. Friedlander, Peter, “Ravidas in the Guru Granth,” in: Knut A. Jacobsen et al. (eds.), Brill’s Encyclopedia of Sikhism, Vol. I: History, Literature, Society, Beyond Punjab, Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2017, pp. 318–324. Ghuman, Paul Avtar Singh, “Bhattra Sikhs in Cardiff: Family and Kinship Organization,” Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies, Vol. 8, No. 3, 1980, pp. 308–316. Grewal, Jagtar. Singh, The Sikhs, Ideology, Institutions, and Identity, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2009. Grewal, Jagtar Singh, “The Ideal of Equality and the Sikh Social Order,” in: G. S. Cheema & I. S. Sandhu (eds.), Relevance of Khalsa Value System in the 21st Century, Chandigarh: Anandpur Sahib Foundation, 2000, pp. 66–81. Grewal, Jagtar Singh, Contesting Interpretations of the Sikh Traditions, New Delhi: Manohar, 1998. Grewal, Jagtar Singh, Sikh Ideology, Polity and Social Order, New Delhi: Manohar, 1996. Habib, Irfan, “Jatts,” in: Knut A. Jacobsen et al. (eds.), Brill’s Encyclopedia of Sikhism, Vol. I: History, Literature, Society, Beyond Punjab, Leiden. Boston: Brill, 2017, pp. 263–265. Habib, Irfan, “Jatts of Punjab and Sind,” in: Harbans Singh and N. Gerald Barrier (eds.), Punjab Past and Present: Essays in Honour of Dr Ganda Singh, Patiala: Punjabi University, 1996, pp. 92–103. Ibbetson, Denzil, Punjab Castes, Patiala: Language Department Punjab, 1883, rpt 1970. Jodhka, Surinder Singh, “‘Prejudice’ without ‘Pollution’? Scheduled Castes in Contemporary Punjab,” Journal of Indian School of Political Economy, Vol. XII, Nos. 3&4, July-December 2000, pp. 381–403. Judge, Paramjit Singh, “Religion, Caste, and Communalism in Punjab,” Sociological Bulletin, Vol. 51, No. 2, September 2002, pp. 175–194. Kalsi, Sewa Singh & Eleanor, “Ramgarhias,” in: Knut A. Jacobsen, et al. (eds.), Brill’s Encyclopedia of Sikhism, Vol. I: History, Literature, Society, Beyond Punjab, Leiden. Boston: Brill, 2017, pp. 274–282. Kaur, Ravinder, “Jat Sikhs: A Question of Identity,” Contributions to Indian Sociology, Vol. 20, No. 2, 1986, pp. 221–239. Kumar, Rajiv, “Securitizing the Punjab Border and Vulnerabilities of the Borderland Communities: A Study of Rai Sikhs of Punjab,” Research Journal Social Sciences, Vol. 23, No. 1, 2015, pp. 86–106. Major, Andrew J. “State and Criminal Tribes in Colonial Punjab: Surveillance, Control and Reclamation of the ‘Dangerous Classes’,” Modern Asian Studies, Vol. 33, No. 3, July 1999, pp. 657–688. Mann, Gurinder Singh, “Baba Nanak and the Foundation of the Sikh Panth,” in: Knut A. Jacobsen, et al. (eds.), Brill’s Encyclopedia of Sikhism, Vol. I: History, Literature, Society, Beyond Punjab, Leiden. Boston: Brill, 2017a, pp. 3–17. Marenco, Ethne K., The Transformation of Sikh Society, New Delhi: Heritage Publishers, 1976.

352  Ronki Ram McLeod, William Hew. “The Sikh Concept of Caste,” in: W. H. McLeod (ed.), Essays in Sikh History, Tradition, and Society, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2007, pp. 171–189. McLeod, William Hew, “Sikhs and Caste,” in: Tony Ballantyne (ed.), Textures of the Sikh Past: New Historical Perspectives, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2007a, pp. 104–131. McLeod, William Hew, Prem Sumarag: The Testimony of a Sanatan Sikh, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2006. McLeod, William Hew, Exploring Sikhism: Aspects of Sikh Identity, Culture, and Thought, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2000, pp. 216–234. McLeod, William Hew, The Evolution of Sikh Community, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1996. McLeod, William Hew, The Chaupa Singh Rahit-Nama, Dunedin: University of Otago Press, 1987. McLeod, William Hew, “On the Word Panth: A Problem of Terminology and Definition,” Contributions to Indian Sociology, Vol. 12, No. 2, 1978, pp. 287–295. Mishra, Amit Kumar, “Beyond Punjab: Singapore,” in: Knut A. Jacobsen, et al. (eds.), Brill’s Encyclopedia of Sikhism, Vol. I: History, Literature, Society, Beyond Punjab, Leiden. Boston: Brill, 2017, pp. 551–555. Nesbitt, Eleanor, “A Note on Bhatra Sikhs,” New Community, Vol. 9, No. 10, 1981, pp. 70–72. Nesbitt, Eleanor, “Contemporary Sikh Society,” in: Knut A. Jacobsen, et al. (eds.), Brill’s Encyclopedia of Sikhism, Vol. I: History, Literature, Society, Beyond Punjab, Leiden. Boston: Brill, 2017, pp. 219–225. Oberoi, Harjot, “Popular Saints, Goddesses, and Village Sacred Sites: Rereading Sikh Experience in the Nineteenth Century,” History of Religion, Vol. 31, No. 4, May 1992, pp. 363–384. Oberoi, Harjot The Construction of Religious Boundaries: Culture, Identity and Diversity in the Sikh Tradition, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1994. Puri, Harish K., “Scheduled Castes in Sikh Community: A Historical Perspective,” Economic and Political Weekly, Vol. 38, No. 26, 2003, pp. 2693–2701. Ram, Ronki, “The Dalit Sikhs”, Dalit International Newsletter, Vol. 9, No. 3, October 2004, pp. 5–7. Ram, Ronki, “Ravidass Deras and Social Protest: Making Sense of Dalit Consciousness in Punjab (India),” The Journal of Asian Studies, Vol. 67, No. 4, 2008, pp. 1341–1364. Ram, Ronki, “Ravidass, Dera Sachkhand Ballan and the Question of Dalit Identity in Punjab,” Journal of Punjab Studies, Vol. 16, No. 1, Spring 2009, pp. 1–34. Ram, Ronki, “Regional Specificities and Caste Hierarchies in Punjab,” Indian Journal of Politics, Vol. 43, No. 2, June 2009a, pp. 15–29. Ram, Ronki, “Burden of Tradition and Vision of Equality: Political Sociology of Jutt-Dalit Conflicts in Punjab,” in: Birinder Pal Singh (ed.), Punjab Peasantry in Turmoil, New Delhi: Manohar, 2010, pp. 265–295. Ram, Ronki, “Beyond Conversion and Sanskritisation: Articulating an Alternative Dalit Agenda in East Punjab,” Modern Asian Studies, Vol. 46, No. 3, May 2012, pp. 639–702. Ram, Ronki, “Dalits,” in: Knut A. Jacobsen, et al. (eds.), Brill’s Encyclopedia of Sikhism, Vol. I: History, Literature, Society, Beyond Punjab, Leiden. Boston: Brill, 2017a, pp. 283–289.

Diversity within the Sikh Panth  353 Ram, Ronki, “Castes within Caste: Dilemmas of a Cohesive Dalit Movement in Contemporary East Punjab,” Panjab University Research Journal (Arts), Vol. XLIV, No. 2, July–December 2017b, pp. 45–62. Ram, Ronki, “Punjab’s many Dalit Sikhs – Ramdasia, Ravidasia, Mazhabis, Ranghretas, Rai, Sansi,” The Print, September 21, 2021. Santos-Fraile, Sandra, “Beyond Punjab: Spain,” in: Knut A. Jacobsen, et al. (eds.), Brill’s Encyclopedia of Sikhism, Vol. I: History, Literature, Society, Beyond Punjab, Leiden. Boston: Brill, 2017, pp. 561–567. Shackle, C. & Arvind-Pal S. Mandair, Teachings of the Sikh Gurus: Selections from the Sikh Scriptures, London & New York: Routledge, 2005. Shankar, Kalyani, “Jats Are Back, on the Streets,” The Statesman, March 4, 2017 (https://www.thestatesman.com/opinion/jats-are-back-on-the-streets-1488664776. html accessed: August 28, 2020). Sethi, Chitleen K., “Shunned by Hometown, Sikh Spiritual Singer Who Died of Covid-19 Cremated in Secluded Area,” The Print, April 2, 2020 (https://theprint. in/india/shunned-by-hometown-sikh-spiritual-singer-who-died-of-covid-19-­ cremated-in-secluded-area/394101/accessed: August 28, 2020) Simon, Chartlene, “Dera Sant Sarwan Dass of Ballan: Invention of New Form of Community Assertion Experienced and Perceived as an Individual Guest,” Sikh Formations, Vol. 6, No. 1, June 2010, pp. 51–62. Singh, Baldev, Panjwan Sahibjada, Ludhiana: Chetna Prakashan: 2005. Singh, Bhagat, “Social Structures of Punjab during the First Half of the Nineteenth Century,” The Panjab Past and Present, Vol. XVI, No I, April 1982, pp. 142–153. Singh, Bhajan & Hajinder Kaur, “Beyond Punjab: Malaysia,” in: Knut A. Jacobsen, et al. (eds.), Brill’s Encyclopedia of Sikhism, Vol. I: History, Literature, Society, Beyond Punjab, Leiden. Boston: Brill, 2017a, pp. 516–522. Singh, Giani Pratap, Jaat Paat ate Chhoot Chhaat Sabandhi Gurmat Sudhar (­Panjabi), Amritsar: SGPC, 1933. Singh, Gurharpal & Darshan Singh Tatla, Sikhs in Britain: The Making of a Community, London & New York: Zed Books, 2006. Singh, Harjinder, “Caste Ranking in Two Sikh Villages,” in: Harjinder Singh, (ed.), Caste Among Non-Hindus in India, New Delhi: National Publishing House, 1977, pp. 84–90. Singh, Indera Pal, “100 Years Ago, Reformist Sikhs Ended Caste Discrimination at Darbar Sahib,” Times of India, October 12, 2020. Singh, Indera Pal, “Caste in a Sikh Village,” in: Harjinder Singh (ed.), Caste among Non-Hindus in India, New Delhi: National Publishing House, 1977a, pp. 66–83. Singh, Indera Pal, “A Sikh Village,” in: Milton Singer, (ed.), Traditional India: Structure and Change, Jaipur: Rawat Publication, 1975, pp. 273–297. Singh, Jagjit, “The Caste System and the Sikhs,” in: Jasbir Singh Mann and Harbans Singh Saraon (eds.), Advanced Studies in Sikhism, California: Sikh Community of North America, 1989, pp. 278–300. Singh, Jagjit, “The Militarization of Sikh Movement,” in: Gurdev Singh (ed.), Perspectives on the Sikh Tradition, Patiala: Siddharth Publication, 1986, pp. 325–385. Singh, Jagjit, “The Caste System and Skhs,” in: Gurdev Singh (ed.), Perspectives on the Sikh Tradition, Patiala: Siddharath Publications, 1986a, pp. 231–314. Singh, Jagjit, Sikh Revolution: A perspective, New Delhi: Kendri Singh Sabha, 1981.

354  Ronki Ram Singh, Narinderpal, “Shiromani Committee and Caste,” Desh Sewak, (Chandigarh Panjabi Daily), Sunday Magazine, July 1, 2007a. Singh, Nikky-Guninder Kaur, The Feminine Principle in the Sikh Vision of the Transcendent, Cambridge UK: Cambridge University Press, 1993. Singh, Pritam and Rajkumar Hans, “Remembering the Centenary of there-Entry of Dalits into the Golden Temple of Amritsar,” The Wire, October 12, 2020. Singh, Pashaura, “The Millennial Generation of Sikhs in North America,” Sikh Formations, Vol. 14, Nos. 3–4, 2018, pp. 260–279. Singh, Koer, Gurbilas Patshahi 10 (Panjabi), edited by Shamsher Singh Ashok, ­Patiala: Panjabi University, Publication Bureau, 1968. Smith, Marian W., “Synthesis and Other Processes in Sikhism,” American Anthropologist, Vol. 50, No. 1, January-March, 1948, pp. 457–462. Srinivas, Mysore Narasimhachar, “The Social System of a Mysore Village,” in: Mckmin Marriot (ed.), Village India: Studies in the Little Community, Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1955, pp. 1–36. Srinivas, Mysore Narasimhachar, “The Dominant Caste in Rampura,” American Anthropologist, Vol. 61, No. 1, 1959, pp. 1–16. Takhar, Opinderjit Kaur, “We Are Not Sikhs or Hindus: Issues of Identity among the Valmikis and Ravidasis in Britain,” in: Pashaura Singh (ed.), Sikhism in Global Context, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2011, pp. 165–184. Takhar, Opinderjit Kaur, “Sikh Sects,” in: Pashaura Singh and Louis E. Fenech (eds.), The Oxford Handbook of Sikh Studies, New York: Oxford University Press, 2014, pp. 350–356. Verma, Archana B., The Making of Little Punjab in Canada: Patterns of Immigration, New Delhi: Sage, 2002. Walia, Rashpal, The Problem of Untouchability among Sikhs in Punjab with Special Reference to Mazahbi Sikhs, Unpublished Ph.D. thesis, Chandigarh: Panjab University, 1993. Webster, John C. B., “The Dalit Sikhs: A History?” in: Tony Ballantyne (ed.), Textures of the Sikh Past: New Historical Perspectives, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2007, pp. 132–154.

Appendix 1

Tables for Sikh Organizations Pre and Post 9/11

Sikh Coalition

Sikhcess Kaur Foundation

Sikh Research Institute

Kaurs United (CA branch)

ENSAAF

Sikh Sports Association of USA

The Surat Initiative

Sikh Encyclopedia Sikhs for Justice

Sikh Relief (formerly Sikh Organization for Prisoners Welfare (SOPW)) Saanjh Retreat Sikh Family Center

Sikh Channel SAFAR: The Sikh Feminist Research Institute Bhagat Puran Health Initiative (BPSHI)

2001

2001 2002

2003

2004

2004

2006

2006

2006 2007

2008

2009 2010

2010

2008 2009

Organization

Year Est.

USA

USA Canada/USA

USA USA

UK

India USA

USA

USA

USA

USA

USA

USA USA

USA

Base Location

Youth and Community Services Youth and Community Services; Seva & Charity Media Cultural Preservation & Sikh Education; Women Seva & Charity; Community Services

Seva & Charity

Cultural Preservation & Sikh Education Public Relations & Education Civil Rights/Advocacy

Youth and Community Services

Civil Rights/Advocacy; Education; Media Seva & Charity Women; Public Relations & Education Cultural Preservation & Sikh Education Women; Cultural Preservation & Sikh Education Civil Rights/Advocacy

Purpose

Table A.1  Sikh American Organizations Established Post-9/11/2001 (Registered) Gender

100%

No Info 3/6 = 53%

No Info 3/6 = 50%

No Info

12/12 = 100% No Info 0/2 = 0%

0/10 = 0%

7/7 = 100%

No Info

6/8 = 75%

No Info M: 1/6 = 17% F: 5/6 = 83% No Info F: 6/6 = 100%

M: 2/7 = 29% F: 5/7 = 71% M: 10/10 = 100% F: 0/10 = 0% M: 6/12 = 50% F: 6/12 = 50% No Info M: 2/2 = 100% F: 0/2 = 0% No Info

M: 20/24 = 83% F: 4/24 = 17% No Info

13/14 = 93% M: 5/14 = 36% F: 9/14 = 64% No Info No Info No Info No Info

Millennials* – Total/ Percentage

356  Appendix 1

National Sikh Campaign

Sikh Youth Alliance of North America (SYANA) Sikhs for Technology

5rivers Foundation Sikh24.com

2013

2014

Unknown

Unknown Unknown

Unknown

Portrait of Sikhs

2011 2013

Punjabi Cultural Association of the Central Valley Inc. Sikh Empowerment Voluntary Association (SEVA) Dasvandh Network

Sikh American Chamber of Commerce Sikh Women Now Sikh Women Alliance Inc.

2011

2010

2010

2010

North America, Europe USA India, Europe, Australia, Pacific, Asia, Americas

North America

USA

UK

USA Britain/UK

USA

USA

USA

USA

Cultural Preservation Media; News

Youth and Community Services

Cultural; Blog/Website; Public Relations & Education Media; Public Relations & Education Youth and Community Services

Seva, Charity, Cultural Preservation & Sikh Education Cultural Preservation & Sikh Education Women; Seva & Charity Women; Seva & Charity

Cultural Preservation & Sikh Education Seva & Charity

No Info No Info

No Info

No Info

No Info

1/1 = 100%

No Info ⅙ = 17%

No Info

6/7 = 86%

No Info

No Info

No Info No Info

No Info

No Info

No Info M: 0/6 = 0% F: 6/6 = 100% M: 1/1 = 100% F: 0/1 = 0% No Info

M:3/7 = 43% F: 4/7 = 57% No Info

No Info

No Info

Appendix 1  357

1984 Living History Project USA (founded at Saanjh youth retreat) American Turban USA USA

Nishkam Sikh Welfare Organization USA Inc. Sikh Love Stories Project

Kaurista American Sikh Political Action Committee Kaur Life

2 Brown Girls

Singh Street Style

Sikh Chic

2010

2010

2011 2012

2012

2013

Unknown

2012

2011

2010

The Langar Hall

2007

Canada

UK

UK

USA

USA

USA

USA

Rootsgear

2004

Location

Organization

Year Est.

Website; Women; Cultural Preservation & Sikh Education Website; Online Store; Cultural Preservation; Public Relations & Education Website; Cultural Preservation & Sikh Education; Youth

Cultural Preservation & Sikh Education; Women Blog; Cultural; Women Civil Rights/Advocacy; Public Relations & Education Women; Cultural; Online Magazine

Blog; Cultural Preservation & Sikh Education Seva & Charity

Website; Public Relations & Education Media, Cultural Preservation & Sikh Education

Cultural; Website

Purpose

No Info

No Info

M: 2/2 = 100% F: 0/2 = 0%

M: 0/6 = 0% F: 6/6 = 100% No Info No Info

No Info

No Info

No Info

2/2 = 100% M: 0/2 = 0% F: 2/2 = 100% 2/2 = 100% M: 0/2 = 0% F: 2/2 = 100% 1/1 = 100% M: 1/1 = 100% F: 0/1 = 0%

No Info No Info

3/6 = 50%

No Info

1/1 = 100% M: 1/1 = 100%

No Info

No Info

100%

Millennials Gender – Total/ Percentage

Table A.2  Sikh American Organizations Established Post-9/11/2001 (Not Registered/For-Profit)

358  Appendix 1

1985

1996

1995

1996

1993

USA

USA

USA

USA

Britain

USA

India

Sikh American Legal Defense USA and Education Fund (SALDEF) (formerly Sikh Mediawatch and Resource Task Force (SMART))

Sikh Human Rights Group (SHRG) North American Sikh Medical and Dental Association (NASMDA) Punjabi American Heritage Society (PAHS) American Sikh Council (formerly World Sikh Council-America Region) Sikhlens

1984

1992

Sikhnet.com

1984

USA

Association of Sikh Professionals (ASP) World Sikh Council

1984

USA

USA

Sikh Foundation International

1967

Location

Late 1970s Sikh Dharma International

Organization

Year Est.

http://www. worldsikhcouncil.org/ about/committee.html No Info No Info

0/10 = 0% https://www.sikhdharma. org/staff/ 0/4 = 0%

4/16 = 25%

Millennials – Total/ Percentage

Cultural Preservation & Sikh Education Cultural Preservation & Sikh Education; Public Relations & Education Media; Cultural Preservation & Education Civil Rights/Advocacy; Media

3/3 = 100%

No Info

0/15 = 0%

0/40 = 0%

News; Cultural Preservation & Sikh Education Public Relations & Education; No Info Civil Rights/Advocacy Cultural Preservation & Sikh 0/13 = 0% Education

Cultural Preservation & Sikh Education Cultural Preservation & Sikh Education; Public Relations & Education

Education; Community Empowerment; Cultural Preservation Cultural Preservation & Sikh Education

Purpose

Table A.3  Sikh American Organizations Established Pre-9/11/2001 (Registered)

(Continued)

M: 1/2 = 50% F: 1/2 = 50%

M: 22/40 = 55% F: 18/40 = 45% M: 12/15 = 80% F: 3/15 = 20%

M: 10/13 = 77% F: 3/13 = 23%

No Info

No Info

M: 4/4 = 100% F: 0/4 = 0% No Info

M: 2/9 = 22% F: 7/9 = 78%

M: 13/16 = 81% F: 3/16 = 19%

Gender

Appendix 1  359

United Sikhs

Sikh Videos The Jakara Movement

Nishkam Sikh Welfare Organization USA Inc. Nishkam Sikh Welfare Council AllAboutSikhs.com

1999

1999 2000

2010

Unknown

2010

Sikh Awareness Society (SAS) Britain/UK

1998

Public Relations & Education; Civil Rights/Advocacy

Purpose 0/14

Millennials – Total/ Percentage

Unknown

India

USA

Cultural Preservation & Sikh Education

Seva & Charity

Seva & Charity

No Info

No Info

No Info

Cultural Preservation & Sikh No Info Education; Public Relations & Education; Youth and Community Services Asia-Pacific, Civil Rights/Advocacy; Seva & No Info Africa, Charity Europe, North America India Media No Info USA Education; Youth and 4/4 = 100% Community Services; Seva & Charity

Sikh Council on Religion and USA Education (SCORE)

1998

Location

Organization

Year Est.

No Info

No Info

No Info 2/4 = 50% 2/4 = 50% No Info

No Info

M: 13/14 = 93% F: 1/14 = 7% No Info

Gender

360  Appendix 1

Sikh Youth Federation USA

F.A.T.E.H. – The Fellowship of Activists to Embrace Humanity World Sikh Organization Canada (WSO-Canada) (America Region still active: American Sikh Council)

1968 (banned)***

1997 (inactive) Canada

USA

USA

Location

Cultural Preservation & Sikh Education; Public Relations & Education

Seva & Charity

Youth; Cultural Preservation & Sikh Education

Purpose

N/A

N/A

Gender

http://www. N/A worldsikh. org/our_team

N/A

N/A

Millennials – Total/ Percentage

Millennials = those born between 1980 and 2000, and are ages 16–36 years old.   * “Public Relations & Education” indicates audience is non-Sikh. ** “Cultural Preservation & Sikh Education” indicates audience is Sikh community. ***  Banned under new US terrorism legislation. Added to the US Treasury Department terrorism list on June 27, 2002. In April 2004, ISYF added to US terror list, allowing the US to deny entry (and to deport) any of its members.

1984 (inactive)

Organization

Year Est.

Table A.4  Sikh American Organizations Established Pre-9/11/2001 (Inactive/Banned)

Appendix 1  361

Index

Note: Bold page numbers refer to tables; Italic page numbers refer to figures and page numbers followed by “n” denote endnotes. abuse: alcoholic or drug 180; bridal 13, 183; domestic 181, 183, 185; gender 183; human rights 202–203; physical 177; sexual 181; transnational 178; in transnational marriages 170, 183–185; victims of 320; women 184 accessibility: authority and 324–326; public scholarship 324–326; by Sikh American institution-builders 324–326 ACLU 328 Adi-Dharm 346, 350n31 Adi Granth 11, 57, 61, 63–64, 68, 70, 94, 135, 155, 161–162, 167n5, 207n12 agency 10–11 Agraharis 282, 286, 287 Ahluwalia, Kiranjit 181 Air India tragedy of 1985 202 Akali Dal 201; Dharam Yudh Morcha campaign 201 Akali Movement 67, 282 Akali Nihang Sikhs 263 Akal Purakh 69 Akal Takht 3, 66, 68, 70, 74, 143 Akbar-nāmā 60 akhand pāth 98–100 Alexander the Great 242, 255n1 Alien Land Law 306 The All India Pingalwara Charitable Society 197–198 Al-Qaeda 23 Amar Singh’s Turban Must Be Too Tight 262 American civil rights movement 321 American imperialism 328

ammrit sanskār 77 amritdhari (initiated) Sikh 4, 21, 164–165 Amrit Kirtan 135 Amritsar, Panjab 36, 154 Anand Marriage Act 67 Anandpur 63, 74–76, 78, 83, 87 The Ancient Story Teller 217 Anglo-Sikh Wars 67, 232, 263 Anti-social Behaviour, Crime and Policing Act 178 ardās 118, 196, 254 arranged marriages 176–177 Arya Samaj 246–251; shuddhi drive 249; shuddhi movements 248; and Sikhism 249 Aurangzeb, Mughal Emperor 62–63, 84–85, 86, 88 authority 5; and accessibility 324–326; challenges within global Panth 67–69; construction of within Sikh Panth 51–70; and contemporary Sufi practices 52–53; and Guru Nanak 52–53; public scholarship 324–326; by Sikh American institution-builders 324–326; transference within Sikh Panth 54–64 Azmi, Shabana 217 Baba Budda di Berh 160, 160, 162 Baba Budda Sahib 160, 160, 161 Baba Budh Singh Dhahan 198 Baba Gurdita 61 Bachitar Nāṭak 79, 80–82, 83, 87 Backward/Other Backward Classes (BC/OBCs) 341

364 Index Badal, Harsimrat Kaur 122 Bahadur Shah, Mughal Emperor 84–86, 87 Bajwa, Qamar Javed 121 Bakhatmali sect 250 Bala Janamsakhi 38, 39 Baldwin, Shauna Singh 14, 176 “Ballad of Coronation” (Ṭikke dī Vār) 55–56 Ballantyne, T. 261 Ballard, Roger 246, 249, 250–251 Banda Bahadur 37 bāṇī 55, 107, 215 Bannerji, Himadri 254 Barah Maha hymn 225 Bari Masjid 112 Baring-Gould, Edith 100, 108 Barred Zone act of 1917 301 Barrier, N. Gerald 248, 308 Barth, Fredrik 158 Battle of Anandpur 197 Battle of Bhangani 84 Batty, Beatrice 100 Bebe Nanki Charitable Trust 198 Belle, C. V. 271 Bend it Like Beckham 187 Benjamin, Walter 37 Bermann, Sandra 311n9 Besant, Annie 6, 102–104, 107–108 Bhagat Puran Singh 197–198 Bhagwat Gita 254 Bhai Chaupa Singh 195 Bhai Gurdas 60–61, 193, 207n12, 338 Bhai Kanhaiya 15, 142, 197, 205 Bhai Lehna see Guru Angad Bhai Mani Singh 349n9 Bhai Mardana 224 Bhai Nirmal Singh Khalsa 343 Bhangu, Rattan Singh 42 Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) 124–125 Bharat Mata 217 Bhardwaj, Ajay 253 Bhatra community 174, 340–341, 344 Bhattacharya, Neeladri 34 Bhatti, Harwinder Singh 243 Bhindranwale, Giani Jarnail Singh Ji Khalsa 163 Bibi Balwant Kaur Soor 15 Bibi Bhago 56 Bibi Harnam Kaur 37 Bibi Sada Kaur 37 Bigelow, Anna 243, 253, 311n10 Bingley, A.H. 339

Black Lives Matter 321, 329, 330 Boundary Commission 114, 126, 128n2 Brahman, Chandar Bhan 85 Brahminical Hinduism 346 Brar, Balwinder Singh 271 Brar, Jasdeep Singh 328 Brass, Paul 251 Bride and Prejudice 187 Brien, Aubrey 245 Briones, Anita Delgado 101 British Airways 182 British Assam 283, 285, 290 British colonialism 234 British Empire 171, 232 British High Commission 177 British India 306 British-Indian Army 282 British Parliament 179 Buck, Pearl S. 102, 105 Buddhism 246, 255n1, 346 Burton, Richard F. 254 Būstan (Sadi) 86 Cabinet Mission Plan 112 Callcott, Lady Maria 94 Canada: catered langar at 146; Immigration Acts in 1967 174; Seva Food Bank in 16; Sikhism(s) in 2; Sikh Studies in 3, 33; tables and chairs at langar 143–145 Canal Colonies 171 Canning, Charlotte 97 Canning, Lady Charlotte 94 Canning, Lord George 94 Carleton University website 324 caste: -based discrimination 12–13, 24, 179–180, 340; identity 24; problematizing within panth 339– 341; transplanting 178–180 caste diversity 341–344; lower-caste Sikh diversity 342–344; upper/ dominant 342 Castle, J. 267 Casualty of War: A Portrait of Maharaja Duleep Singh (Singh) 20, 232, 233 Catholicism 305 Caur, Ajeet 226 Caur, Arpana 18, 19, 215, 226–231 Cavanaugh, W. T. 263 Chadha, Gurinder 14, 187 Chaggar, Bardish 14 Chahār Chaman (Brahman) 85 Chahar Gulshan (Chaturman) 65–66

Index  365 Chakrabarty, Dipesh 34, 35 Chand, Prithi 58, 59–60, 64 Chand, Sri 52, 55, 254 Channi, Charanjit Singh 343 charisma 54 Chatterjee, Kumkum 84 Chatterjee, Partha 47 Chaturman, Rai 65 Chatwin, Bruce 37 “Cherished Five” (panj pyare) 63–64 Cheuk, K. K. 268 Chhevin Padsha 116 Chief Khalsa Diwan Charitable Society 37, 201 Chima, Jugdep 350n32 Chopra, Sonia 309 Chow, Rey 311n9 Christianity 263, 288, 346, 350n33 Christian missionaries 248 Christian proselytism 248 Church Missionary Society 98 Clifford, James 300 Co-Freemasons 107 Colonial rule: direction of immigrants during 285–286; social composition of immigrants during 285–286 commensality 136 “communal living” 176 Community Kitchen of the Sikhs (Singh) 136 The Construction of Religious Boundaries (Oberoi) 10 Contesting Interpretations of the Sikh Tradition (Grewal) 4 continuity of shared spaces 253–254 Corporeal Body 216–220 cosmopolitanism 311n13 Crazy, Rich Asians 264 “cruel optimism” 329 Cuizine: The Journal of Canadian Food Cultures 136 Cumming, Gordon 100, 108 Cunningham, Alexander 256n6 Dabistān-i-Mazāhib 62 Daheley, Tina 14 Dalit Sikhs 293, 343 Dara Shikoh 62 Darbar Sahib Kartarpur 116, 123 Dard, Hira Singh 33 Das, Gobind 63 Das, Lakhmi 52, 55 Das, Thakar 249

Dasam Granth 67, 79–80, 82, 84, 88, 94, 102, 142 dasvandh 195, 207n19 Dasvandh Network (DVN) 206, 210n55, 323 Davis, Kingsley 339 Dayal, Maya 226 Dayanand Anglo-Vedic institutions 248, 253 Dayanand Saraswati 247, 249 Delhi Sikh Pogrom (1984) 280, 290–292 Deo, Gobind Singh 262 Dera Baba Nanak 111 Dera Baba Nanak-Kartarpur Sahib corridor 122 Dera Sahib 116 Desjardins, Ellen 136 Desjardins, Michel 136 devotional music 53, 164 Dhanda, Meena 180 dharm 246, 248, 251 Dhavan, Purnima 5, 65, 73 Dhillon, Chand 181 Dhillon, Ganga Singh 120 Dhillon, Hardeep 309, 313n43 Dhupia, Meherban Singh 117 diasporic body 231–236 digvijaya 77 discrimination 343, 348; castebased 12–13, 24, 179–180, 340; employment 319; gender 176; racial 264, 269, 272–273; rental 265 Ditt Singh Giani, 249 Divālī 56 Diver, Maud 98 diversity 21–25; caste 341–344; hierarchy within 344–348; within Sikh Panth 338–348 Doaba Sikhs 172 domestic violence 170 Duniya Dance and Drum Company 309 earlier Panjabi diaspora 302–306 East India Company 282 École Normale de Musique 217 Economic and Political Weekly 180 Economic and Social Council (ECOSOC) (United Nations) 202 Eden, Emily 6, 94, 96, 108 Eden, Frances 94, 108 employment discrimination 319 Encyclopaedia of Sikhism (Singh) 2

366 Index English Lessons and Other Stories (Baldwin) 176 Enterprise and Regulatory Reform Act 179 Equality and Human Rights Commission (EHRC) 180 ethnoreligious nationalisms 241 everyday religion 8; see also lived religion “extended family living” 176 Fagan, P. J. 256n7 family life 175–178; abroad 173–180; making 173–180; settling 173–180 Fariduddin Shakar Ganj 244 Farrukh Siyar, Mughal Emperor 86 Fenech, Lou 4, 5 Field, Dorothy 6, 93, 102–104, 107 Five Beloved Sikhs 230 5 Ks 18 ‘Food that Builds Community: The Sikh Langar in Canada’ 136 Forbes, Rosita 98 “forced conversions” 175 “forced marriages” 176–177 Frazier, Jessica 17 Freud, Sigmund 46 Friedl, Ernestine 322 From Ritual to Counter Ritual: Rethinking of Hindu-Sikh Question (Oberoi) 249 Gandhi, Indira 202, 230 Gate Gourmet 182 Gates, Bill 36 Gaugin, Paul 216 Geaves, Ron 25n1 Geertz, Clifford 41 gender: discrimination 176; dynamics 15; identities 175–178; inequalities 188; violence 178 Gender, Caste and the Practices of Religious Identities 167 Ghadar Memorial Foundation of America 310n3 Ghadar Party 23, 299, 310n3 Giani 5 Gill, Kamalpreet 11 Gill, Preet 14 Gill, Ranjit 181 Gilmartin, David 302

Glossary of the Tribes and Castes of the Panjab and North West Frontier Province (Ibbetson) 244 Goindval Pothis 56 Golden Temple 198, 200 see Harmandir Sahib/Golden Temple Goya, Nand Lal 86 Graeco-Buddhist art 242 Graeco-Buddhist culture 242 Graeco-Buddhist syncretism 242 Graham, Maria 94, 104 Granthi 5, 157 Greco-Bactrian Kingdom 255n1 Greek civilization 242 Green Revolution 201 Grewal, J.S. 4, 74, 154 Griffiths, Helen 101 The Guardian 206 Gulistān (Sadi) 86 gurbānī 199 gur-bilās 35, 84 Gurdwara Babe di Ber 99 Gurdwara Darbar Kartarpur Sahib 111 Gurdwara Reform Movement 67 gurdwaras 182–183 Gurdwara Sahib Kartarpur 6 Gurdwaras Chomala 116 gurmata (“Guru’s intention”) 66 Gur Pratap Suraj Prakash (Singh) 35 Guru Amar Das 56–58, 103, 140–141, 159, 193, 199 Guru Angad 54–56, 58, 78, 103, 141, 196, 199 Guru Arjan 36, 58–60, 61, 103, 104, 159, 193–194, 207n12, 338 Guru Datta 248 Guru Gobind Singh 5–6, 17, 41, 63–64, 80, 86–87, 103, 197, 215, 236, 333n3, 342–343, 349n9, 349n13; Bachitar Nāṭak 81; death of 95; description by Sainapati 76–77; dharamu of 82; and Eternal Guru 80; hukam-nāmās of 74; and Khalsa 73–89; wilāyat 88 Guru Granth Sahib 3, 6, 59, 68, 75, 135, 139, 163, 193, 194, 198, 199, 200, 207n12, 207n13, 220, 305; and Christainity 106–107; doctrines of 64–67; life cycle rites 101–102; as physical presence 96–100; Tucker on 104–106; in the writings of Western women 93–109 Guru Hargobind 60, 61, 74, 208n29

Index  367 Guru Har Krishan 62–63, 333n3 Guru Har Rai 61–62, 196, 333n3 Gurū kā Langar 15, 196, 199 Guru Nanak 5, 6, 19, 23, 37, 38, 51, 69–70, 77, 103, 176, 193, 195–196, 199, 207n13, 215, 328, 338, 345; and authority 52–53; choosing successor 54–55; and Jesus 106–107; passing of guruship 78; sociospiritual philosophy of 330; and sovereignty 51–52; spiritual message 52; travels 52; Vār Mājh 52 Guru Nanak Mission International Charitable Trust 198 Guru Nanak Mission Medical and Educational Trust 198 Guru-Panth: doctrines of 64–67 Guru Ram Das 103, 135, 159 Guru Ram Dass 343 Guru Ravidass 343 Guru Tegh Bahadur 41, 63, 73, 103, 104, 197, 284; execution of 79, 80, 86 half-barbarians 46 Ham Hindu Nahin (Nabha) 21 Hard Kaur 14 Harmandir Sahib/Golden Temple 9–12, 67, 97, 100; Amrit Sarovar 159; Operation Blue Star 162–163; overview 154; Ram Das Sarovar 159; ritual practices at 154–167; Shabad Gurbani Kirtan at 163–165; Sri Guru Ram Das Langar Hall 135; water and trees 158–163; as World Heritage site 155 Hart, Jayasri Majumdar 305, 309 hate crimes 22, 260; United States 23 Hazoor Sahib 166 Heaven on Earth 13, 181 Hellenism 242 Hellenistic Greece 255n1 Hellenization 242 Henderson, Arthur 114 Herzog, Werner 37 Hessel, Franz 37 hierarchy within diversity 344–348 Hilhouse, Agnes 98 Hindu Bhaktas 225 Hindu civilization 249 Hindu Dalit 340 Hinduism 17, 124, 125, 138, 241, 243, 246, 248, 249, 255, 305, 346;

Brahminical 346; militant 248; normative 248; orthodox 248; reformed 251 Hindu Muslim relations 256n11 Hindu-Muslim syncretism 245 Hindu nationalism 252 Hindu nationalists 248 Hindu-Sikh relations 249 Hindutva nationalism 148 Hiroshima Museum of Modern Art 231 Historic Body 226–231 historiography 2, 4, 34, 35, 38-41, 43, 46, 86, 156, 330 history 44–47 History of Religions 33 Hong Kong: Khalsa Diwan Gurdwara in 270; racialization and Sikhs in 262–264; Sikhs in 267–271 “honour killings” 178 “How to Feed Crowds in a Protest or Pandemic? The Sikhs Know” (Krishna) 8 hukam 52, 53 humanitarian ethics 15 humanitarianism 321, 332 Hum Hindu Nahin (Nabha) 249 hundi 283 hybridism 288 Hymns of Guru Nanak 19, 220, 223 Ibbetson, Denzil 244 identity 18, 19; caste identity 5, 24; faith identity 24; Hindu identity 148; homogenous identity 22; Khalsa identity 4, 21, 156; Muslim identity 164; Ramgarhia identity 179; religious identity 16, 156; Sikh identity 2, 4, 10, 21–25, 34, 124, 126 idolatry 100–101, 106, 157, 249 immigrants: during Colonial rule 285– 286; direction of 285–286; rights movements 321; social composition of 285–286 Imperial Gazetteer of India Vol 20 22, 244 India: catered langar at 146; Independence Act 114; international border with Pakistan 111; and Sikhs 111–128 Indian Community Welfare Fund 184 Indian diaspora 171 Indian National Congress 111 Indian Workers Associations 182

368 Index Indus Valley: cultures of 241–243 Irving, Miles 245 Islam 241, 243, 255, 288, 305; “forced conversions” to 175 Islamicization 245, 246–251; of South Asia 247 ‘Islamic supremacy’ 271–272 Istri Satsang 12 izzat 13, 14 Jacobsen, Knut A. 13 Jaffrelot, Christopher 248 Jahar Pir 244 jajmani system 179 Jakara Movement 24, 317; annual Sikholars Conference 325–326; programs 320 Jakobsh, Doris R. 2, 13, 18, 318, 330 Jallianwala Bagh massacre of 1919 282 Janam Asthan Nankana Sahib 116 Janamsakhis 23, 34, 196 Japjī 37, 56, 102, 107 jathā śakti 79–89 jathera 11 Jat Sikhs 340, 345, 346, 348 Jeffery, Robin 43 Jenkins, Sir Evan 115, 117–118 Jhabel Kalan 36 Jhutti-Johal, Jagbir 18 Jitmali sect 250 Jones, Kenneth 246–247, 248, 250–251 Joseph, Peniel E. 330 Joshi, Khyati Y. 270 Journal of Punjab Studies 136 Juergenmeyer, Mark 246 Jung, Carl 46 Kaleka, Pardeep Singh 318 Kalra, Virinder 9, 10–12 Kapany, Narinder 326 karāh parshād 199 Karma Nirvana 177 kar sevā (collective labor for a specific religious cause) 199 Kartarpur corridor 6; historical perspective 111–128; Indian and Pakistani governments policies 121–126; opening of 127; political perspective 111–128 Kartarpur Pothi 61 kartarpurvālῑ bῑr 94 Kattak ki Visakh? (Singh) 38, 40 Kaur, Amrit 215 Kaur, Baljinder 261, 326–327

Kaur, Krishna 312n33 Kaur, Rabindra 215 Kaur, Rupi 14 Kaur, Satwant 185 Kaur Foundation 320 Kaurista 13 Kaur Life 13 The Kaur Project 13 Kesdhari Sikhs 347 Khalistan 115, 120, 144–145, 149n9, 201, 305 Khalsa 5, 18; creation of 64, 74–75; and Guru Gobind Singh 73–89; inauguration ceremony 78; interpretations of 73; of Vahigurū 74 Khalsa Aid 204, 321; see also Khalsa Aid International (KAI) Khalsa Aid International (KAI) 16, 204 Khalsa Dharam Sastra 349n21 Khalsa Diwan Gurdwara (Hong Kong) 270 Khalsa Food Pantry 16 Khamisa, Zabeen 14 Khan, Imran 121–122 Khan, Rostam 87 Khan, Sulhi 59 Khan, Wazir 338 khaṇḍe dī pāhul ritual 78 khanqahs 243 Khatri Sikhs 65, 294n2, 345 kīrtan 12, 53, 57, 140, 163–164, 254 “Know Your Rights Archive” 319 Komagata Maru affair 187 Kriṣanāvtār 81 Krishna, Priya 8 Krishnaswami, Uma 309 Kristeva, Julia 219 Kuka sect 250 Kushan Empire 255n1 Kῑrtan Sohilā 96 Laden, Osama Bin 270 Lahore Singh Sabha 249 langar (community meals) 8, 135– 148, 148n3, 236, 254, 321, 329; commodification 9; and Covid-19 relief efforts 142; culinary meaning of 138–143; defined 135; ethical meaning of 138–143; hygiene protocols 149n5; langar seva vs. catering 145–148; literature on 136–138; publicized as free food in Sikh gurdwaras 8; and Sikh diaspora

Index  369 histories 143; and Sikh rituals 135, 138–143; social meaning of 138–143; on special occasions 139–140; tables and chairs at 143–145 Langar Aid 205 language of love 220–221 Languages of Truth (Rushdie) 217 The Last Supper (Singh and Singh) 20, 234, 235 The Last Supper (DaVinci) 236 law: and religion 306–308; and state 306–308 Le Droit Humain 107 Legrand, Pierre 307–308 Lehna’s head (dastārbandī) 55 Lekh Ram 248, 256n11 Leonard, Karen 23 Letters on India (Graham) 94 LGBTQ: groups 328–329, 330; rights 321 Liaquat-Nehru Pact 119 lived experiences: in Sikh diaspora 170–188 lived religion 7–21; approach 7–8; defined 7 Lived Religion. Faith and Practice in Everyday Life (McGuire) 7 lived Sikhi(sm/s) 7–21 lived traditions 9 Lloyd, Sarah 95, 108 Lord Buddha 236 Lord Ganesha 236 Lord Jagannath 281 Lost Heritage: The Sikh Legacy in Pakistan (Singh) 121 lower-caste Sikh diversity 342–344 Luce-Celler Bill of 1946 302 Luthra, Sangeeta Kaur 16, 23, 203, 204 Macauliffe, Max Arthur 102, 245 Magdalene, Mary 221 mahadūdu 53 “Mahallā 10” 63 Mahan-Kosh 23 Mahimā Prakāsh Vārtak (Bhalla) 56, 62, 66 Mahtani, Shalini 267 Mai Sevan 56 Making Ethnic Choices 301–302 Mal, Dhir 61, 64, 94 Malaysia: ‘Malay supremacy’ 271–272; racialization and Sikhs in 262–264; Sikhs in 271–272

Malaysian Consultative Council of Buddhism, Christianity, Hinduism, Sikhism and Taoism (MCCBCHST) 272 ‘Malay supremacy’ 271–272 Malkki, Liisa 208n23 manar din 295n17 Mandair, Arvind 2–3, 157 Mandala (Buck) 106 Mandela, Nelson 46 marriages: arranged 176–177; forced 176–177; Sikh diaspora 183–185; transnational 170, 183–185 Martin, Luther H. 242 Mata Khivi 141 Mata Nanki Foundation 198 Mata Sundari 65 material religion/culture 8 Mazhabi Sikhs 343, 347, 348 McGuire, Meredith B. 7 McLeod, W. H. 2, 36, 43, 47, 52, 68, 74, 155 Medieval India: emergence of Sikh settlements in 283–285 Mehta, Radha Kishen 249 Meiji restoration 47 “Mera Pind (‘my village’) Initiative” 202 MeToo 330 Mexican Hindus 23, 304–305, 309 Michaelis, Arno 318 Michon, Daniel 243 Mihanshahi sect 249 militant Hinduism 248 military-industrial complex 328 Mīṇās 61 Mir, Farina 243, 302 mīrī-pīrī 3, 73 Mirza, Iskander 119 Moin, Azfar 73 Mooney, Nicola 8–9, 209n38 The Moor’s Last Sigh (Rushdie) 217 Morgan, David 8, 10 Morrill Acts of 1862 324 Morrill Acts of 1890 324 Mother India 217 Mountbatten, Louis 112–113, 117 Mughal Tamsa 281 Muhammadan pirs 244 multicultural body 234–236 Murphy, Anne 5, 83, 203 musicality 221–224 The Musicians 217, 218, 220

370 Index Muslim Advocates 319 Muslim League 111, 112, 113–114, 118, 126 Muslim missionaries 248 Muslim Sufis 225 NAACP 328 Nabha, Kahn Singh 21, 23, 249, 280 Naidu, Venkaiah 122 Namdharis 257n18 Nām simran 193 Nanakpanthis 250, 254, 257n16, 257n20, 278, 283 Nanak: The Guru 19, 226 Nankana Sahib 111–112, 166; and Partition of Panjab 112–118 Nankana Sahib Foundation 120 National Commission for Women 184; NRI complaints cell 184 nationalism: ethnoreligious 241; Hindu 252; religious 247 National Museum of Scotland 231, 234 National Network for Arab American Communities 319 National Origins Quota Act of 1924 301 National Sikh Campaign 320 native Sikh groups 286–288 Nesbitt, Eleanor 6, 333n3 9/11 terrorist attacks 22, 23, 203 nirguna 255n2 Nirmala sect 249, 256n14 Nishkam SWAT 205 Nizami, K. A. 243, 247, 256n4 Norman, Corrie 8 normative Hinduism 248 North-East (India): narratives of Sikh struggle and dislodgement 292–293 Nuskha-i-Granthi-Phobia (Mehta) 249 Oak Creek Shootings 23–24, 317–318 Oak Creek Sikh community 317–318 Obama, Barack 205 Obama, Michelle 317 Oberoi, Harjot 3–4, 10, 155, 243, 246, 249, 250, 255, 302, 349n21 The Observer 181 Odisha Sikh Pratinidhi Board (OSPB) 290–291 Omkāra 103 Oneness 5 Open Society 44 Operation Blue Star 162–163, 289, 291 Orientalized romanticism 217

Orsi, Robert 21 orthodox Hinduism 248 Ortner, Sherry B. 330 Osborne, William 6, 96 Oxford Handbook of Food History 8 Oxford Handbook of Sikh Studies 4 The Oxford Handbook on Religion and the Arts (Brown) 21 Paaras, Kundan 14 Page, Wade Michael 317 Pakistan: access to Sikh sacred spaces post-1947 118–121; international border with India 111; and Sikhs 111–128 Pakistan Sikh Gurdwara Parbandhak Committee (PSGPK) 119 Pall, Sahdaish 181 Palsson, Gisli 310n6 panch kusaṅgat 74 Pandit Jvala Singh of Patiala 36 Panjab 22; Green revolution in 43; Partition and Nankana Sahib 112–118 Panjab Boundary Commission 114– 116, 118 “Panjabi Bubble” 188 Panjabi Dalits 172 Panjabi diaspora 302–306; see also Sikh diaspora Panjabi Mexicans 23, 299; formation of 301–302; today 308–310 Panjabi Sikh marriage migration patterns 13 Panjabi Suba movement 125 Panjabi women: and domestic violence 13; and sexual violence 13; see also Sikh women Panjab Past and Present (Singh) 6, 93 Panja Sahib 166 Pant, Govind Ballabh 119 Partition Archive (1947) 323 Partition of India (1947) 6–7, 292 Pauṛī Mahallā 5 58 “pendu” (village) 14 PGPC (Pakistan Gurdwara Prabandhak Committee) 166 Phua, Sheena 262, 267 Phukan, Bimal 282 Phulwari 41 pluralism 225 pracharaks 248

Index  371 Prachin Panth Prakash (Bhangu) 42 practices: Sikhism(s) 7–21 primogeniture 54 Prince Albert 232 Protocol on Visits to Religious Shrines 119 Provoked 181 public scholarship: authority and accessibility 324–326; by Sikh American institution-builders 324– 326; and Sikh American institutionbuilding 317–323 Pulwama attack 123 Punj Pyare 215, 307 Punj Pyarian 18, 20; Amrita Sher-Gil 216–220; Arpana Caur 226–231; Arpita Singh 220–226; corporeal body 216–220; diasporic body 231–236; historic body 226–231; overview 215–216; Singh Twins 231–236; textual body 220–226 Purewal, Navtej 9, 10–12 Puri-Boli 281 qaum 246 Queen Victoria 232, 234 rababis 164 racial discrimination 264, 269, 272–273 racialization: of religious dress 263– 264; and Sikhs in Hong Kong 262– 264; and Sikhs in Malaysia 262–264; and Sikhs in Singapore 262–264; of Sikhs in Southeast Asia 260–273 racial profiling 23 racial stereotyping 273 racism 260, 262–264, 350n33 Radcliffe, Sir Cyril 118 rāgs 57 Rahit 73, 74, 78, 162 Rahit namas 22, 79 Rahtias 256n12 Rai, Jaspat 245 Rai, Lakhpat 245 Rai, Lala Lajpat 252–253 Rai, Ram 64 Rāi Balvaṇḍ 55 Rai Sikhs 344, 348 Raja Jai Singh of Amber 62 Raja Petra Kamarudin (RPK) 262 Raj karega Khalsa (“The Khalsa shall Rule”) 65 Ram, Kanshi 343–344 Ram, Munshi 248

Ram, Ronki 24 Ramananda 103 Ramanuja 103 Ramdassia Sikhs 347 Ramey, Steven 254 Ramgarhia, Jassa Singh 179 Ramgarhia Sabhas 179 Ramgharia community 172 Ramgharia Gazette 283, 295n21 Rāmkalī mode (GGS: 967) 56 Randhawa, Ajita 55 Ranganath, Nicole 309 Ravidassia communities 24 Ravidassia Dharm 346 Ravidassias Sikhs 343 Red Crescent 197 Red Cross 197 reformed Hinduism 251 Registration of Marriage of NonResident Indians Bill 184 Rehit Maryādā 139, 156, 307–308 religio-cultural masculinity 176 religion: defined 7; and law 306–308; lived 7–21; material culture of 20; Sher-Gil on 19; and state 306–308; see also specific religions The Religion of the Sikhs (Field) 93 religious communities 247 religious fundamentalisms 255 religious nationalism 247, 251 Religious Nationalism: Hindus and Muslims in India (van der Veer) 247 religious pluralism 230 religious syncretism 242 Risala Satyarth Prakash (Singh) 249 rituals: practices Harmandir Sahib/ Golden Temple 154–167; Sikh and langar 135, 138–143; Sikhism(s) 7–21 Roots in the Sand 305, 309 Rowling, J. K. 6, 95–96, 108 Roy, Anjali Gera 21 Rushdie, Salman 217 SAADA 313n45 sacred spaces: defined 128n1; Sikh 118–121 Sacred Thread 227, 229 Sadi, Shaikh 86 SAFAR – the Sikh Feminist Research Institute 13 saguna 255n2 Sahajdhari sect 67, 250, 257n17 Sainapati, Kavi 64–65, 74–78

372 Index sajjada 65 Sakhi Sarwar 245 Salok Vārān te Vadhīk (GGS: 1424) 57 Sampla, Vijay 123 sanatan dharm 248 sanatan Hindus 248 sangats (Sikh congregations) 280, 283, 285, 286, 317, 329 Sangatshahi sect 249 Sangats of Eastern India 284 Sanghera, Jasvinder 177 Sansi Sikhs 344, 348 Sant Baba Puran Singh 198 sant veneration 243–246 Sarabloh Granth 77, 83 Sāraṅg hymn 58 sarbat da bhala (welfare of all) 15, 192, 196, 206 Sarbat Khalsa (“Entire Khalsa”) 66 Sarwaria sect 250 satī 56 Schmidt, Carl 48 “Science as a Vocation” 39 script communities 251–253 Second World War 268 Seleucid Kingdom 255n1 Self-Portrait as a Tahitian 216 sevā (selfless service) 15, 192–193, 206, 329 sevadars 146, 167n6, 198–199 Seva Food Bank: in Canada 16; in USA 16 Sewa Das Dian Parchian 41 shabads 12, 51 Shah Alam (Mughal emperor) 36 Shah Jahan, Mughal Emperor 61–62 shared practices 243–246 shared spaces: continuity of 253–254 Sher-Gil, Amrita 18–19, 215, 216–220, 236 Shergill, Parminder Singh 327 Shimla Agreement 119 Shintoism 47 Shiromani Akali Dal (SAD) 3, 111 Shiromani Gurdwara Parbandhak Committee (SGPC) 3, 22, 67, 68, 119, 149n6, 156–157, 163, 192, 200, 208n21, 250, 307, 343; amritdhari (initiated) women 165; and rituals at Golden Temple 166 Shudra Hindus 342 Sidhu, Jaswinder 178 Sidhu, Navjot Singh 121, 185 Sikand, Yogendra 256n4

Sikh advocacy organizations: challenges of 326–331; critiques of 326–331 Sikh Aid 204 Sikh American Float Foundation 205 Sikh American institution-builders: public scholarship by 324–326 Sikh American institution-building: and public scholarship 317–323 Sikh American Legal Defense and Education Fund (SALDEF) 24, 203, 209n33, 209n34, 317, 319–320, 327, 328; “Turban Myths” report 326 Sikh American organizations 356–361 Sikh Americans 320 Sikh civil rights organizations 327, 328 Sikh Coalition 24, 203, 209n34, 317, 319–320, 325, 326, 327, 328–329 Sikh diaspora: caste and caste relations 178–180; counter narrative 185–187; discourses of abuse 183–185; diverse 171–173; dominant narratives on women’s experiences 180–187; family life 175–178; and gender identities 175–178; lived experiences in 170–188; settling/making family life abroad 173–180; socioeconomic differentiation 174–175; state, religion, and law 306–308; transnational marriages 183–185; and violence 175–178; women’s agency and empowerment 185–187 Sikh egalitarianism 199 Sikh extremism 205 Sikh female artists 25n2 Sikh Formations: Religion, Culture, Theory 33, 136, 310n4, 318 Sikh Foundation 320, 325–326 Sikh Gurdwaras Act of 1925 67 The Sikh Gurus and the Temple of Bread (Singh) 136 Sikh Hindu Hain 249 Sikh humanitarianism 208n29; global contexts 200–205; in global perspective; historical exemplars 196–198; institutional structures 198–200; textual underpinnings 192–196 Sikh Human Rights Group (SHRG) 202 Sikhi 2, 83, 137, 193, 195; egalitarian commitments 138; ethics of 148; ideology of sarbat da bhala 204; and langar 138, 140; preaching 56; vs. sardari 147; and seva 197; see also Sikhism(s); Sikhs

Index  373 Sikhi (the Sikh way of being) 192–193 Sikh inclusiveness 199 “Sikhisation” 156 Sikhism(s) 176, 241, 243, 246, 255, 305, 328, 343, 344, 345, 346; and Arya Samaj 249; in Canada 2; defined 2; expression 7–21; histories 3–7; identities 21–25; and izzat 13; and langar 138; lived 7–21; practices 7–21; rababi musicians converted to 164; rituals 7–21; in USA 2; see also Sikhi; Sikhs Sikh Kanya Mahavidialya, Firozpur 201 SikhLens 320 Sikh media channels 6 Sikh migrant consciousness 176 Sikh migration 171 Sikh Nation Blood Drive 205 Sikh Panth 5, 34, 179, 246; caste diversity 341–344; construction of authority within 51–70; diversity within 21–25, 338–348; factionalism in 64; hierarchy within diversity 344–348; problematizing caste within 339–341; sentiments and emotions 6; transference of authority within 54–64 Sikh Rehat Maryada 21, 22, 67, 192–193, 195, 199, 200 Sikhs: caste identity 24; gender dynamics 15; hate crimes towards 22; in Hong Kong 267–271; humanitarian ethics 15; identities 21–25; and India 111–128; as Indians/South Asians in Southeast Asia 264–272; in Malaysia 271–272; overview 1; and Pakistan 111–128; philanthropic and humanitarian efforts 15–16; political system 126; “praxis” 2; racialization of 260–273; and racialization of religious dress 263–264; remembering home 288– 290; in Singapore 264–267; social welfare activities 15; traditions 2, 22; see also Sikhi; Sikhism(s) Sikh separatism 250, 252 Sikh settlements: in Medieval India 283–285 Sikh sevādārs (those who provide service) 198 Sikh Student Associations (SSAs) 320–321 Sikh Studies 1–2, 24–25; and academic history 33–48; in Canada 3, 33; in

England 3; Sikh critics of 4; in USA 3, 33; see also Sikhism(s); Sikhs Sikh women 13–14; agency and empowerment 185–187; dominant narratives on 180–187; experiences 180–187; gender dynamics 15; spiritual devotion, alternative form of 18; see also Panjabi women Sikh Women’s Aid 181 Simon Commission 252 Sindhi Mandir 253–254 Sindhi Sikhs (Bannerji) 254 Sindh & the Races that Inhabit the Valley of the Indus (Burton) 254 Singapore: racialization and Sikhs in 262–264; Sikhs in 264–267 Singh, Ajit 65 Singh, Ala 38 Singh, Amarinder 122–124 Singh, Amrit 14, 18, 20 Singh, Arpita 18, 19, 215, 220–226; language of love 220–221; musicality 221–224; pluralism 225; unicity 224; woman-centered spirituality 225–226 Singh, Atamjit 252 Singh, Baghel 36 Singh, Balak 257n18 Singh, Baldev 113, 115 Singh, Banda 65 Singh, Basant 249 Singh, Bhagat Puran 15 Singh, Bhai Chet 65 Singh, Bhai Gurdas 77 Singh, Bhai Santokh 35 Singh, Bhai Takhat 36 Singh, Bhai Vir 36 Singh, Birinder Pal 283 Singh, Dalip (Maharaja) 37 Singh, Datuk Seri Amar 262 Singh, Duleep 20, 231–232, 234 Singh, Fauja 42, 47 Singh, Ganda 6, 35, 42, 93 Singh, Ganga 117 Singh, Giani Gian 39 Singh, Giani Kartar 115–118 Singh, Gopal 105 Singh, Govindoo 95 Singh, Gurharpal 6–7 Singh, Gurvinder 210n53 Singh, Harbans 2 Singh, Harnam 116 Singh, Harpreet 210n53, 326 Singh, Hathi 65 Singh, Jagat 249

374 Index Singh, Jagatjit (Sikh maharaja) 98, 101 Singh, Jagjit 347 Singh, Jasjit 22, 203, 204 Singh, Jawahir 249 Singh, Karam 4, 33, 34, 35–43, 47 Singh, Kavi Santokh 39 Singh, Kharak (Maharaja) 37 Singh, Khushwant 35–36 Singh, Koer 84, 349n9 Singh, Lilly 14 Singh, Maharaj 261 Singh, Malminderjit 265 Singh, Maya 249 Singh, Narain 249 Singh, Navjot 267 Singh, Nikky-Guninder Kaur 17–20 Singh, Pandit Jvala 38 Singh, Pashaura 4, 5 Singh, Prakash 136 Singh, Pritam 95 Singh, Rabindra Kaur 14, 18, 20 Singh, Raja Hira 37 Singh, Ranjit (Maharaja of Sikh Empire) 6, 66–67, 96, 116, 154, 163, 288, 343, 344 Singh, Ravi 204 Singh, Sant Attar 36 Singh, Santokh 291 Singh, Sardar Arur 250 Singh, Sher (Maharaja) 37 Singh, Sir Jogendara 38 Singh, Sukhdeep 262 Singh, Sukhraj 309 Singh, Teja 36, 117 Singh Sabha movement 4, 303 Singh Sabhas 246–251 Singh Twins 231–236 SMART (Sikh Mediawatch and Resource Taskforce) 203, 319–320 Snehi, Yogesh 253 social imaginaries 34–35, 47 social pollution 330 Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada 33 “Society and Sex Roles” 322 socio-economic differentiation, and Sikh diaspora 174–175 Sodhi, Balbir Singh 23, 203, 318 Soor, Bibi Balwant Kaur 198 ‘Sources of the Life and Teachings of Guru Nanak’ 93 Southall Black Sisters 184 South Asian Americans Lead Together (SAALT) 319

South Asian Association for Regional Cooperation (SAARC) 124 Southeast Asia: linguistic differences 273; minority/supremacy 272; racialization of Sikhs in 260–273; racial stereotyping 273; religious dress 273; Sikhs as Indians/South Asians in 264–272 sovereignty: defined 51; and Guru Nanak 51–52 spaces: shared 253–254 spiritual autonomy 65 spiritual cleansing 159 spirituality 229; woman-centered 225–226 Spivak, Gayatri 300, 311n7, 311n12 Srī Gur-Sobhā (Sainapati) 64, 74–79, 82–83, 87 state: and law 306–308; and religion 306–308 Step Up to the Plate, Maria Singh (Krishnaswami) 309 Stewart, Tony 300 St. John’s Gospel 107 Stokes, Eric 37 “strategic syncretism” 248 Sufi brotherhoods 247 Sufi Islam 138 Sufi shrines 253 Sufism 245, 247 Suthreshahi sect 249, 256n15 Swami Ramakrishna Paramahansa 107 Swami Vivekananda 107 Syan, Hardip Singh 66 syncretism 255; defined 241–242; Graeco-Buddhist 242; Hindu-Muslim 245; religious 242; strategic 248; thesis 241–243 Takhar, Opinderjit Kaur 2, 5, 21 Takhats 22 Takht Sri Harmandir Sahib 94 Tat Khalsa 4, 21, 22, 250 Taylor, Charles 34–35 Temple, Richard C 245 textual body 220–226 The Theosophical Society 107 The Theosophist 102 “Third Sikh War” 67 Tolstoy, Leo 44, 216 Toshākhānā 60 Toynbee, Arnold 105 transnational humanitarianism 208n23 transnational marriages 183–185

Index  375 Trikha, Chander 256n9 Trudeau, Justin 187 Truth and Reconciliation Commission 46–47 Tucker, Charlotte 102, 104–106 Tumahri Amrita 217 “Turban Myths” 320 Tuteja, K. L. 253 Tutu, Desmond 46 Udasi panth 249, 254, 256n13 Udasi Sikh Sewa Das 88 UNESCO 217 unicity 224 United Nations (UN): Committee on Elimination of Racial Discrimination 179; Economic and Social Council (ECOSOC) of 202 United Sikhs 204, 205, 320–321, 325 United States: hate crimes 23; Immigration Acts in 1965 174; racial profiling 23; Seva Food Bank in 16; Sikhism(s) in 2; Sikh Studies in 3, 33 upanayana 227 Upanishads 103 upper/dominant castes diversity 342 utilitarian reformism 248 Vaars 296n23 Vaid, Bhai Mohan Singh 36 Vaisākhī 56, 119 Vaishnavite Hindu tradition 103 Valmiki communities 24, 340 Valmiki Dharm 346 vand chakko 15, 192, 206 van der Veer, Peter 242, 255 Van Gogh, Vincent 219, 236 Vārān 193, 207n12 Vār Gauṛī 58 Vār Mājh (GGS: 150) 52, 55 Vedanta 107 Vedic religion 248

Vedic texts 248 Ved Parkash 281 Velayutham 264 Verschmelzung 242 “vilayati munday” (foreign-based boys) 183 violence 175–178 Virgin Mary 236 Wainwright, A. Martin 234 Waiting ’Til the Midnight Hour: A Narrative History of Black Power in America (Joseph) 330 Walking into the Unknown 309 Walking with Nanak (Khalid) 121 War and Peace (Tolstoy) 44 ‘War on Terror’ 260 Watergate scandal 45 Wazir Hind Press 37–38 Weber, Max 39, 51, 54 Werbner, Pnina 136, 147 Where Have all the Flowers Gone 231 Where Many Streams Meet 230 wilāyat 77 Wilson, Amrit 175 Winterhalter, Franz 232 Within and Without 227, 228 Wolf, Margery 322 Woman-centered spirituality 225–226 World Sikh Organization of Canada (WSO) 202–203, 208n31, 312n30 World War I 261, 280 World War II 292 Yaadgar Shaheedaan gurdwara 163 Young Sikh Association Singapore (YSAS/YSA) 262, 265–266 Ẓafar-nāmah 83, 85, 86 Zubin Foundation 267