at me with what appeared to be pure disgust. What had I said?
“What is Operation Bluestar?” he repeated. “Dhadhi! Are you sure she is Dilawar uncle’s daughter? Are you sure Chotu didn’t make a mistake? Is she even Sikh?” he questioned, glaring at Dhadhi then again at me.
I just stood and watched in confusion as his anger grew with each passing moment. His sudden reaction was alarming and didn’t make any sense.
“What’s the problem?” I asked, getting defensive. “So I don’t know what it is. Why are you getting so angry? I don’t understand what this Operation Bl . . . uh . . . Blue . . . shit . . . Blue—”
“Bluestar! BLUESTAR!” he roared. “Every Sikh knows what Operation Bluestar is. It is a mark on our heritage, on our very foundation! How dare you be so ignorant?”
“Chill out! So this is some religious nonsense? Now what does that have to do with me going to Kiratpur, then getting back to Canada?” I asked, still not sure what his exact reservation was.
Instead of enlightening me, however, Ekant crumpled up his morning paper and tossed it onto the table. It was unbelievable. He was actually fuming. If I looked closer, I thought I might see steam escaping from his ears. But I didn’t really care. I just wanted to get to Kiratpur, so I just stared blankly at him. He turned around and stormed out the screen door, mumbling something under his breath. I watched in surprise as he paced back and forth outside in the courtyard, spitting out words. To an outsider, he would have looked like a psych ward patient. Jas simply shook her head and sat down beside me. I looked at Dhadhi, hoping for an explanation.
“This is a very sensitive subject for Ekant,” she said. “It is for all of us.”
“For the family?” I asked.
“No child. It is for all Sikhs,” she answered.
“What is Operation Bluestar, Dhadhi?”
“On June fourth, just a few weeks ago, the Indian Army attacked our Harmandir Sahib, or as many call it, the Golden Temple, in Amritsar. Thousands of pilgrims were there, and most were killed. The holiest shrine for Sikhs has been nearly destroyed. People say the complex still stands, but it is no longer what it was. Gunfire, tanks, cannons, all have ripped it apart. Our most respected and comprehensive library containing many original scripts from our Gurus has burned down. What is worse, the oppression continues. The army still maintains its control over it.”
“There must be a reason for all of this?”
“The government and army argue that they had no choice. They say they needed to bring out ‘terrorists’ who had taken refuge in the Complex. The problem is the army wasn’t clear on who it considered a terrorist. Some call the men under Sant Jarnail Singh Bhindrawale, who was a spiritual leader for many Sikhs, terrorists, but they never harmed anyone. Under him, many Sikh people became baptized. He brought back people’s devotion to the religion in a healthy manner. In the end, politics is politics,” she said with a loud sigh. “All this talk about terrorists and separation it is to make Sikhs seem like the aggressors. They are making it appear like something that it is not. Punjab needs better representation and an equal share of the resources it provides to the rest of the nation. Along the way, it turned into a discussion about a new Punjabi homeland. Sikhs led the fight, and somehow it all turned upside down. Regardless of how it happened, I am sure that there was a choice.”
“How can you be sure?” I persisted. I was baffled at how a simple question had turned into a political discussion.
“Sikhs are warriors, Esha. We have fought many wars during the time of our Gurus, and we make strong, principled soldiers. But we fight for justice. It is a cardinal rule for our religion. So it is understandable why the so-called militants devoted to Sant Bhindrawale persisted for their cause. Now, not every Sikh agrees with that. What matters most is the principle that builds the foundation of a Sikh’s fight or cry for battle, and that is justice. So I strongly believe that no Sikh would willingly sacrifice a holy shrine like the Harmandir Sahib without leaving a choice. That Sikh, like every Sikh, has to answer to God one day or another.”
“But maybe there really wasn’t a choice.”
“There is always a choice,” Dhadhi said, quickly cutting me off. “Can you imagine anyone carelessly attacking the Muslim holy shrine in Mecca or the Roman Catholics’ Vatican in this day and age? This was not just a golden complex. It was the heart of millions of people; it was the soul of a great doctrine. It survived British rule and Partition. When there are political disagreements, you do not attack the ancient foundation of a world religion. You do not burn scriptures that have a place in civilization. You do not mercilessly kill thousands of innocent pilgrims. It is a sin; a sin that was committed for what? Land, resources, pride?” Dhadhi dropped her shoulders and clutched the prayer book in her hands. “When will man give more importance to the soul of a human being?”
“But Dhadhi, to allow a completely new territory, a Punjabi homeland, I mean that would have shaken up the country, no?” I pointed out.
“Would it really? A separate Punjab was already promised during the time of Partition. India just has not delivered on that promise. But of course they do not want to give up that land now. Besides, separation is not what Punjabis or Sikhs were calling for. Later, it turned into a separatist discussion, because the central government had already painted Sikhs as separatists. The demands were for greater equality, to address diplomatically the issues that concerned the land. For example, Sikhs are not even legally recognized. We are still categorized as Hindus. Reforms were needed, but through discussion and appeals, as was the initial course of action. However, the government did not allow it.”
“Why not?”
“Because Punjab feeds this country, that’s why!” yelled Ekant. He had ventured back into the room and was standing over the table with his arms firmly crossed over his chest. “Punjab is rich in resources,” he continued. “The vast and bountiful farmlands, the five rivers that run through it, the clean air, the beautiful climate. The rest of India is heavily polluted or barren compared to Punjab. There is no way the central government will give up its control. Instead, they want to keep a tight leash over it, subjecting Punjabis and farmers to an unequal status. But all of this could have been debated. It was not a reason to attack Amritsar. Debate, discussion and choice are supposed to be the core of any democratic nation.”
“So why attack Sikhs by destroying their holiest shrine?” I asked. I wanted to know more. Ekant’s erratic behaviour suddenly made me very interested in the topic.
“Because they want to completely destroy the morale and the soul of Sikhs. Under Sant Bhindrawale, Sikhs were becoming unified. Since the day of the attack, reports have been coming in of forced disappearances. Sikhs are being randomly picked up, jailed and beaten. Innocents are being branded as ‘terrorists’, regardless if they are ten years old or fifty. The social and political climate is too unpredictable. If we set out on a long journey to Kiratpur, there is no telling what could happen. We are safe in Delhi, as long as we stick to our business. So, until I decide otherwise, you will remain in this house and only travel about in the city during daylight hours.”
“But how long—”
“Until I say so!” Ekant shouted.
“You really love to shout, don’t you?” I snapped, but Ekant didn’t reply. He turned around and left the room. I looked to Dhadhi for support, but she just patted me on the shoulder.
“I agree with Ekant, dear. It is not safe,”
