City of Ghosts (35 page)

‘Thank you, Gurdial,' said Udham.

‘Will you be all right?'

Udham shook his head. ‘Not until the dogs that did this have gone to their graves,' he whispered.

By the time Gurdial reached the stage area there were many more people walking around. Some were helping the injured, but the majority were simply dazed and trying to find their way out. The little girl hadn't moved since he'd picked her up. He stroked her hair and she
mumbled something. He whispered softly into her ear and then walked on, his eyes searching the ground all around. There were many, many dead, of all religions and castes. Tears began to fall from his eyes as he remembered Heera's warning. But, he asked himself, if she had known this was going to happen, why hadn't she done something to stop it?

‘Because I couldn't,' her voice told him through the darkness. And then she was standing in front of him, her beautiful face full of sorrow.

‘This is not right,' he told her.

‘No, it isn't. But it
is
what Fate decreed, and even the ghosts of Amritsar cannot argue with what has already been written.'

Gurdial told her that he understood.

‘The little girl in your arms has lost all her family,' Heera told him. ‘She needs you to be strong.'

Gurdial frowned. ‘I still haven't found Jeevan. That is why I came.'

‘Come,' she said, ‘let me take you to your friend . . .'

Before Gurdial could speak, she walked off into the darkness. He followed without question. After fifty yards Heera stopped and knelt down. Gurdial felt his heart trying to jump out of his mouth.

‘He killed two men during the riots,' Heera explained. ‘And then he saved himself . . .'

Jeevan lay on the ground, his eyes open and his mouth set in a smile. Two blackened holes burrowed into his face, one in his forehead, the other in his left cheek.
Next to him, peppered with bullet holes, was the body of Pritam. His face was contorted and the acrid smell of excrement rose up from his corpse. Tears, as bitter as vinegar, streamed down Gurdial's face.

‘I'm sorry,' Heera told him. ‘This is the way it had to be—'

Gurdial shook his head. ‘No,' he whispered. ‘I should have stopped him,
saved
him . . .'

She told him to look around. ‘There are many dead here . . . Could you have saved them all?'

‘No,' he said. ‘But he was my friend, my
brother
.'

‘He made his own choices, Gurdial,' Heera replied. ‘Just like you, he wanted something from this world – a chance to belong, to be part of a real family.'

‘I know,' whispered Gurdial.

‘He made the wrong choice but he paid for it,' she continued. ‘And now he has what he's always desired.'

‘But he's dead,' replied Gurdial. ‘How can he—?'

‘I'm dead too,' Heera reminded him. ‘Look . . .'

She pointed towards Jeevan. Gurdial blinked, then looked away. When he turned back again, Jeevan was gone.

‘Where—?' began Gurdial.

‘Amritsar has many ghosts,' she told him.

Gurdial held the little girl a little more tightly. She mumbled again and then nuzzled him. He looked into Heera's eyes. ‘There is so much I don't understand,' he told her.

‘But you will. Your life has been blessed, Gurdial. It
will be long and full of happiness. This is not because you are special, although you
are
a fine young man. It is simply the way it is . . .'

Gurdial nodded. ‘Let me take this little girl to Sohni. I want to come back and help with the wounded . . .'

‘Like Udham Singh,' said Heera.

‘You know of him too?'

‘Yes,' she replied. ‘The spirits of those who lie dead here today, they will not rest for a very long time. They will wander the same alleyways, streets and fields that they did when they were alive. But one day Udham Singh will set them free.'

‘How?'

‘Exactly as it has been written by Fate,' she replied. ‘I cannot tell you any more.'

‘And what about you?' asked Gurdial. ‘Where will you go?'

Heera smiled. ‘Give me the child,' she said. ‘I will take her to my daughter. You stay and help Udham Singh.'

She took the little girl from Gurdial, all the while whispering soothing words, and then, without looking back, walked off into the smoke. Gurdial stood for a moment and looked at the ground where Jeevan's body had been. He wiped his eyes and smiled a little. Life and Fate were confusing, he decided, but Heera was right. He was alive and he had been blessed.

‘Why argue?' he said out loud.

He turned and walked back towards Udham Singh.

Heera stopped at the southern entrance to the Bagh and knelt down by a low stone wall; the child was now asleep on her shoulder.

He was sitting slumped against the wall, his legs stretched out in front and his arms dangling between them. In his chest was a single bullet wound, which had stained his white shirt a rich crimson. Heera reached out, closed his eyes and stroked his cheek, letting her long, slender fingers linger for a few seconds. Reaching into her clothes, she pulled out a single-stemmed rose that matched the colour of his blood exactly. She placed the rose by his hands and stood up.

‘I warned you not to come,' she whispered softly. ‘You should have taken your letter and gone, just like I told you . . .'

She looked down at his hands; hands that were still clutching his precious letter. Shaking her head, she turned and walked away . . .

. . . hiding it from you for so long. I had to wait, my love, until I was certain that we could be together. Uncle Bertie believes that we can – he has already spoken to some people he knows. There is no more danger for you here, now that the war is over. You will be employed by him as a butler, but only to make it look official. I hope with all my heart that you will still want to be with me and our son. I'm truly sorry for hiding his birth from you, but I was at my wits' end and did not know what to do. The year after you left was so difficult, so agonizing, and when you didn't reply for so long I grew afraid that you had forgotten me or perhaps been hurt.

Our son was born on 1 October 1916 – soon he will be three years old. I have called him Thomas after my own father, but if you do not wish it to be so, we can change it once you return to England. His eyes are like yours and his nose is proud and strong. I tell him about you every day and he cannot wait to
meet his brave, handsome, courageous father. He even smiles as you do, and I am sure, when he has grown to be a man, he will be the image of you . . .

. . . the roses in the gardens. Each time I see them they remind me of our short time together. There is one bush, with flowers that are crimson, that I have even named after you. You will think me a fool when I tell you that I talk to that bush and pretend it is you. I long to feel your hands on my face once more and to watch you as you sleep. My life without you would have been empty. Had it not been for Thomas and Uncle Bertie I would have been driven insane. Now we have only a short time to wait until we can be a family – my heart beats faster just to think of it.

I remain, truly and deeply, your sweetheart, and send to you all the love in my heart,

Lillian

‘An episode without precedent or parallel in the modern history of British Empire . . . An extraordinary event, a monstrous event, an event which stands in singular and sinister isolation.'

Winston Churchill (8 July 1920)

A few years ago I discovered something about the First World War that sent my imagination into overdrive; one third of all the soldiers who fought for Britain during that war were non-white. Having studied the Great War, I was shocked. No mention of these non-white soldiers was made during my time at school. I'd never seen any representation of them in the media either. Perhaps it was my own ignorance, but for me these unknown soldiers seemed to have vanished from the pages of history.

Very many of these non-white troops were Indian, mostly Sikhs and Muslims. And all of them ended up fighting for the very country that had colonized them. How did they feel about fighting what one of my characters termed a ‘white man's war'? And what was the reaction to them when they returned to their homeland; a place of simmering anti-colonial tensions?

My research led me to many places, all of which were interesting. But the most exciting of all was Amritsar; the holy city of the Sikhs and the scene, in April 1919, of the worst atrocity ever carried out by British troops against civilians. Coming from a Sikh background I knew of the Jallianwalla Bagh massacre; it's a part of Punjabi
and sikh folklore. But how was I going to connect the massacre and the Great War? That was when Bissen Singh, who for me is the central character (you can choose your own favourite), appeared.

He was followed swiftly by many more characters, young and old, Indian and British. Eventually I had a huge cast list and a story that had spun itself into a web. Love, honour, brotherhood, loss, family, magic and myth became tangled together inside it. I did even more research, working out, over the course of a full year, where each of my characters' journeys would begin and end. The result is this novel.

But I must explain.
City of Ghosts
is
not
rooted entirely in fact, as some people will no doubt point out to me. Rather than worry about the details that I had painstakingly noted down, I decided to put them away and let my mind run wild. The central characters are both real
and
made-up; the city scenes are
entirely
imaginary. France in the First World War, Brighton in 1915 and Amritsar in 1919 are the landscapes I dreamt up in my imagination, not the real places. The result is a multilayered novel with elements of history, fantasy and magic working in tandem.

And because of this,
City of Ghosts
is very different to anything I have previously written. I'm very excited about it and I hope that you enjoyed it. And I also hope that you can forgive the liberties I have taken with the facts.

Warmest wishes,

Bali Rai

How was I going to present factual events and real historical figures in a work of fiction? What were the events that I researched and who were the key characters? To answer those questions I have compiled a quick guide for you below:

Udbam Singh (aka Ram Mohammed Singh Azad)

‘I have nothing against the English people at all. I have more English friends living in England than I have in India. I have great sympathy with the workers of England. I am against the Imperialist Government.

Udham Singh (15 July 1940)

Udham Singh became a hero to millions of Indians when he avenged the 1919 Amritsar Massacre by assassinating Michael O'Dwyer in London. His act was seen as a strike against the inhumanity shown by the British, not just in Amritsar but across India during the Raj.

Udham Singh was an orphan and spent part of his life at the Khalsa Orphanage in Amritsar. He went to Iraq when the war started, as a sixteen year old, and served the Raj. But he soon returned to Amritsar and witnessed first hand the massacre at Jallianwalla Bagh. He swore revenge and became a radical, influenced by the growing independence movement,
and particularly by the armed struggle led by a rebel called Bhagat Singh.

He spent much of the next decade attempting to procure weapons from the US, and other places, and was captured and imprisoned. Upon his release he left India and went abroad. He travelled widely and was known to have visited the USSR and other countries. By the mid 1930s he was in England, planning his revenge, having renamed himself Ram Mohammed Singh Azad. The name is Hindu, Muslim and Sikh, and signified the united India for which Udham Singh stood.

Very little is known about his time in England. Friends' testimonials, police documents and studies by experts reveal that he frequented the Shepherds Bush gurdwara (the first in the UK) and also spent some time in Devon, close to Michael O'Dwyer's home, perhaps working as a bus driver. In 1940 he surfaced at Caxton Hall and carried out his revenge. He was hanged in Pentonville prison the same year.

The East India Company arrived in India during the 1600s and, using its own army, took effective control of the subcontinent by the 1790s. In 1858 British Crown Rule was established and became known as ‘The Raj'. India was Britain's largest and most-favoured colony and was often called ‘The Jewel in the Crown'. British companies and individuals made huge
fortunes trading in India's natural wealth and resources.

But for the ordinary Indian population, British rule wasn't welcome. The British gave India many things, including the railways and democratic systems, but in reality they ruled with an iron fist. Over the years there were many uprisings against British rule but all of them failed.

By the time of the Amritsar massacre, opposition to the British was widespread. No longer secure in their colony and hounded by peaceful and violent opposition, the British did all they could to prevent the inevitable Indian independence. But, in trying to hold on to their prized jewel, the British lost the support of the people.

The Jallianwalla Bagh atrocity was one of the pivotal moments in the move towards independence. For most of the Punjab, an area that was a key to British control, the massacre was the last straw. Although it took another three decades for the last of the British to leave, Amritsar certainly helped to make it happen by radicalizing an entire generation of young people against the British.

India gained its independence from Britain in 1947.

Reginald Dyer