India Untold: The haunting poem the British tried to erase, written by a Jallianwala Bagh survivor

Like birds from the woods, they flocked together

So the hawk could have his fill, my friends.

To quench Dyer’s deadly thirst

With streams of blood their own, my friends.

Ah! My city mourns with grief today

Happy homes lie shattered because they go.

Heads held high offered for sacrifice

For Bharat Mata’s pride and honour, they go.

Pray, stop these valiant souls of God!

Straight to the abyss, they rise and go.

O mothers, watch your precious sons

To give up their youthful lives, they go.

O sisters, hold back your brothers dear

You won’t see them again once they go.

O wives, hang on to your dear beloveds

Or you’ll spend your lives widowed, if they go.

O children, go run and hug your fathers

’Cause you’ll be orphans if they go.

Stop them, hold them, do what you can

They won’t come back, once they go.

Says Nanak Singh, Can’t stop them now

For nation’s sake to die they go.

Five-thirty sharp the clock had struck

Thousands gathered in the Bagh, my friends.

Leaders came to lament the nation’s woes

Taking turns to speak out loud, my friends.

Voiced grievance, hardship, anger, sorrow

Saying, no one listens to us, my friends.

What can we do, what options left?

Can’t see any ray of light, my friends.

Those words forlorn, they barely voiced

Came soldiers thundering down, my friends.

At Dyer’s command, those Gurkha troops

Gathered in a formation tight, my friends.

Under the tyrant’s orders, they opened fire

Straight into innocent hearts, my friends.

And fire and fire and fire they did

Some thousands of bullets were shot, my friends.

Like searing hail they felled our youth

A tempest not seen before, my friends.

Riddled chests and bodies slid to the ground

Each one a target large, my friends.

Haunting cries for help did rend the sky

Smoke rose from smouldering guns, my friends.

Just a sip of water was all they sought

Valiant youth lay dying in the dust, my friends.

********

These verses, vivid and visceral, are from Khooni Vaisakhi—a powerful Punjabi poem written by Nanak Singh, a 22-year-old eyewitness to one of colonial India’s most brutal atrocities: the Jallianwala Bagh massacre of 13 April 1919. What makes this work extraordinary isn’t just the poetic craftsmanship, but the rare truth it contains—truth that colonial power desperately tried to erase.

A survivor speaks

On that fateful day, Nanak Singh had joined thousands of peaceful protestors in Amritsar to denounce the Rowlatt Act and the arrest of leaders like Dr Satyapal and Saifuddin Kitchlew. As General Reginald Dyer’s troops—comprised mostly of Gurkhas—opened indiscriminate fire into the unarmed crowd, Singh collapsed during the stampede. His two friends died. He survived, barely, buried under a pile of corpses, suffering partial hearing loss.

Instead of silence, Nanak Singh chose verse. Just over a year later, he poured his anguish, fury, and heartbreak into Khooni Vaisakhi, a 4,000-word poem that chronicles not just the massacre, but the oppressive atmosphere leading up to it, and its shattering aftermath.

Censored and forgotten

The British Raj quickly banned the poem after its publication on 30 May 1920. All known copies were confiscated and destroyed. Khooni Vaisakhi disappeared—buried like so many of its victims—until its astonishing rediscovery six decades later.

Dr Kishan Singh Gupta, a Punjabi literature lecturer in Hoshiarpur, found an original copy in an old gunnysack of books belonging to his grandfather. The poem’s fierce brilliance compelled him to write an academic paper in 1980. Separately, Nanak Singh’s son, Kulwant Singh, a leading publisher, had spent years searching for the poem, eventually tracking down Dr Gupta and arranging for its re-publication.

Meanwhile, an unexpected envelope arrived from Delhi’s Ministry of Home Affairs—photocopies of the entire poem, possibly located in an old colonial archive. The irony was not lost on the family: the British, known for keeping meticulous records, may have inadvertently preserved the very poem they tried to suppress.

Postcards of pain

Translated into English by Singh’s grandson, diplomat Navdeep Suri, the poem found new life on the centenary of the massacre in 2019. Navdeep retained the original rhyme and meter, defying the temptation of free verse.

“Indian poetry is meant to be read aloud,” Navdeep told The Better India. “If you miss out on facets like rhyme, you commit some violence on the soul of the poem.”

More than a poem

Born Hans Raj in 1897 in Chak Hamid (present-day Pakistan), Nanak Singh’s journey from a class 4 dropout to the “Father of the Punjabi Novel” is remarkable. After converting to Sikhism and adopting the name Nanak Singh, he became deeply involved in the Akali Movement and was imprisoned for political activism.

In jail, he began writing fiction that would reform society—producing over 50 books, including Pavitra Paapi and Ik Mian Do Talwaran, the latter winning the Sahitya Akademi Award in 1962.

Despite his prolific literary career, Khooni Vaisakhi remained a relatively small footnote—until now. Its rediscovery and translation offer a window into a moment of unimaginable violence, resistance, and the indomitable spirit of Indian poetry.

Why 'Khooni Vaisakhi' must be read today

‘Khooni Vaisakhi’ is not just a poem—it’s living testimony. It forces us to confront the cost of freedom and the depth of sacrifice. It speaks of colonial brutality, yes, but also of dignity, grief, and the strength to stand again.

At a time when historical memory is increasingly contested, this poem is a powerful reminder—of a survivor’s voice, nearly silenced, now echoing again across generations.