Jarnail Singh Bhindranwala: A Curse or a Blessing? A Holy Cow or a Wild Bull?
“Let us understand the past & prepare for the future.”
"ਕੂੜੁ
ਨਿਖੁਟੇ ਨਾਨਕਾ, ਓੜਕਿ ਸਚਿ ਰਹੀ"
Although 42 years have passed from the fateful day when the
Indian army was used to attack the holiest of Sikh Shrines, every year, the
arrival of June is observed as a ritualistic month to glorify a Sant by the
Sikh community. People keep creating stories as eye-witness accounts, and to
me, it seems the community is going in circles, and culling out selective
truths that may appeal to the emotions of the masses and simultaneously suit
the persona of the "Santji".
So many distortions, exaggerations, and selective narratives
have accumulated since 1984 that we must begin all over again. The present
generation deserves an opportunity to understand how the tragedy unfolded. The
story did not begin in June 1984; it began to take shape after Vaisakhi of 1978
with the rise of a new star on the Sikh horizon.
The 'Shooting Star' to 'Blue Star'
The shooting star is mistaken by people at large for the
‘star’, and they begin to make a wish. The shooting star is, in fact, a dust
particle, a speck, that creates a streak of light and intense heat from
compressed heat ahead of it when it enters the upper layers of Earth’s atmosphere.
Until April 13, 1978, Jarnail Singh Bhindranwala was largely unknown to the
wider Sikh community. Outside the circle of his followers in the Damdami
Taksal, few Sikhs had heard of him. Bhindranwala became the head of the Damdami
Taksal during the Bhog ceremony of Sant Kartar Singh Khalsa on 25 August 1977
following the latter's death in a road accident. The Damdami Taksal itself was
not widely known among the Sikh masses. Outside limited religious circles, few
ordinary Sikhs were familiar with its name, role, or influence.
Every individual who aspires to establish himself as a
community leader requires an issue around which he can mobilize public opinion.
The first step is to identify a cause and then draw the wider community's
attention to it. In the Indian subcontinent, one of the most popular themes
employed by superficial and shortsighted leaders has been the invocation of an
alleged threat to the very existence of a community or its religious identity
and belief system. Once such a threat is projected, people are rallied around
the cause, often through emotional rather than rational appeals.
Having assumed leadership of the Damdami Taksal,
Bhindranwala identified the activities of the Nirankaris as the issue around
which he would mobilize Sikh sentiment. The Nirankari Mission had already
established a substantial following and maintained hundreds of centers across
India and abroad. Their teachings drew references from the Guru Granth Sahib
but differed from mainstream Sikh doctrine on one fundamental question: they
believed that a living spiritual guide was necessary to assist followers in
understanding religious teachings and applying them to everyday life.
Bhindranwala strongly opposed this concept. He maintained
that the title of Guru belonged exclusively to the Ten Sikh Gurus and that no
other individual could legitimately claim such authority. For him, the issue
was not merely a theological disagreement; it became a struggle over religious
legitimacy. As tensions grew, doctrinal disagreement gradually transformed into
hostility. The Nirankari convention at Amritsar became a rallying point.
Religious debate increasingly gave way to confrontation.
Bhindranwala possessed a quick wit, a commanding presence, a
sharp tongue, and an extraordinary ability to stir emotions through rustic
speeches. By linking immediate issues and facts, he established a direct
connection with his audiences. The majority of his speeches focused on police
excesses, discrimination, corruption, authoritarian governance, and the routine
injustices of which the common man was a victim. He laced these grievances with
a mix of religious condiments, creating an incendiary Molotov cocktail ready to
catch fire and blast. Ironically, although Bhindranwale himself came to be
known as "Sant" among his followers, the language he frequently
employed against his opponents was often harsh, contemptuous, and derogatory. He
often addressed Nirankari sant Gurbachan Singh as ‘Bachnaa’ and addressed Prime
Minister Indira Gandhi as ‘Baahmani’. His speeches were marked by a rustic
aggressiveness and personal ridicule that many would consider inconsistent with
the restraint, humility, and compassion traditionally expected of a spiritual
leader. Rather than fostering dialogue or encouraging intellectual debate, such
rhetoric contributed to an atmosphere of polarization, hostility, and
confrontation, the consequences of which would later extend far beyond the
original dispute with the Nirankaris. It was the language of violence and
political deception. What goes around comes around.
Because he believed in instant, summary punishment, he
actively encouraged his followers to resort to it—a tactic that made them feel
all-powerful. Even as Bhindranwala was dispensing this instant justice, he was
simultaneously announcing rewards for acts of violence. For instance, when the
head of the Sant Nirankari Mission was shot dead at his residence in Delhi, the
assassination was actually carried out by Bhai Ranjit Singh and his
associate—men who were neither followers of Bhindranwala nor even remotely
connected to him. In fact, Ranjit Singh had made an independent decision to
eliminate the Nirankari chief without any link to Jarnail Singh Bhindranwala.
Yet, Bhindranwala made a public statement declaring that
whenever he met Bhai Ranjit Singh, he would “weigh him in gold.” He seemed keen
to project the impression that he himself was instrumental in the act,
appearing unusually inclined to take credit for the assassination through
public speeches directed particularly at the youth. This message resonated at a
time when many Sikhs felt politically marginalized, frustrated, alienated, and
culturally insecure. Ultimately, Bhindranwala's rise reflected not merely his
personal appeal, but also the vacuum created by ineffective political
leadership and the manipulation of religious sentiments by competing political
actors.
A Tale of Two Leaders: Mahatma and Santji
Hindus of pre-Independence India gifted themselves a Mahatma
who had embarked upon the mission of liberating Hindustanis from British
slavery through non-violence. In contrast, Sikhs of post-British India gifted
themselves a Santji who embarked upon the holy war to liberate Sikhs from what
he portrayed as slavery in Hindustan through organized violence.
The Mahatma was a Barrister-at-Law with considerable
grassroots experience in mass mobilization, political struggle, and
constitutional processes. He fully understood the consequences and dynamics of
mob mentality, the workings of the governance apparatus, and the nature of
state power. Even so, the British and the ruling establishment still succeeded
in employing divisive politics to advance their own agendas and implement their
own strategies, resulting in an unprecedented bloodbath.
The Sikh preacher of Damdami Taksal came from an entirely
different background and was far removed from such experiences. He was a
preacher rather than a statesman. While he possessed remarkable oratorical
skills, he completely lacked a comparable understanding of political,
administrative, constitutional, and economic dynamics—and the rest is history.
Was his transformation into the sole self-styled
spokesperson of the Akalis' Dharamyudh Morcha, and his effective hijacking of
that movement while portraying himself as the sole and all-powerful leader and
arbitrator of the Sikh community, the product of a coherent political vision?
Or was it merely an emotionally charged rhetorical instrument designed to
invoke public sentiment and mobilize gullible Sikh masses?
The Intoxicating Nature of Power & The Reality of
Records
The rise of Jarnail Singh Bhindranwala was also the story of
a man who gradually discovered the extraordinary influence he could exercise
over large numbers of people. History teaches that the most intoxicating
substance known to mankind is not alcohol, opium, or any narcotic drug—it is
power. The intoxication of power is unique because it affects not the body but
the mind. It creates a sense of invincibility, convincing its victim that he
possesses superior wisdom, superior judgment, and superior moral authority.
Once bitten by the serpent of power, the poison spreads slowly. Reason gives
way to arrogance, prudence yields to recklessness, and judgment becomes clouded
by self-righteousness.
I know that many Sikhs, and some Hindus as well, never tire
of portraying Jarnail Singh Bhindranwala as a peaceful preacher and repeatedly
claim that there was never an FIR registered against him. The reality, however,
is quite the opposite of this propaganda.
The fact of the matter is that Jarnail Singh Bhindranwala
was instrumental in the killing of Lala Jagat Narain (the founder-editor of the
Hind Samachar Group and a prominent critic of Bhindranwala) on 9 September 1981
through his own nephew, Swaran Singh, son of Jagir Singh of village Rode, along
with Nacchatar Singh and Dalbir Singh, who acted as his bodyguards. Swaran
Singh and Dalbir Singh were armed with .32-bore and .455-bore revolvers, while
Nacchatar Singh drove the motorcycle. All this information shall be a matter of
police records and part of the disclosure.
The arrest and subsequent release of Bhindranwala in
connection with this murder investigation were not the outcome of professional
police work, but rather the result of political manipulations by the state and
central governments of the day. These political developments and accommodations
far from diminished his stature; they enhanced it. Each confrontation increased
his popularity, and each retreat by the authorities strengthened the perception
that he stood above ordinary constraints.
These developments further emboldened Bhindranwala, leading
him to believe that he was invincible. Critical examination gave way to
loyalty, and the man increasingly became a symbol. Once a leader becomes a
symbol, objective assessment becomes difficult; facts matter less than
emotions, and narratives become more important than realities.
During the period of Bhindranwala's custody, the All India
Sikh Students Federation (AISSF) had already begun a campaign of bombings and
killings aimed at generating terror. Bhindranwala never condemned this
violence. On the contrary, he encouraged it by preaching that anyone who joined
his jatha would remain beyond the police's reach.
A Memory from 2014
One evening in 2014—though I no longer recall the exact
date—I was gathering information from various sources for my book At War: Four
Pillars of Falsehood & Public of Republic. As part of that research, I
telephoned one of my former Directors General of the Border Security Force, Mr.
Birbal Nath, an ex-IPS officer who had also served as the first Director
General of Punjab Police during the early years of Punjab's most turbulent
period, heading the force from 1980 to 1982.
At the time of my call, Mr. Nath must have been close to
ninety years of age and had become hard of hearing. My call was answered by his
orderly, who relayed my questions to him and his responses back to me. What
struck me most was not the information he provided but something entirely
unexpected: throughout our conversation, the retired Director General
consistently referred to Jarnail Singh Bhindranwala as “Santji.” He used the
term naturally, without hesitation or qualification.
Coming from a former head of Punjab Police who occupied one
of the most critical positions in the state's security apparatus during those
turbulent years—and under whose leadership Bhindranwala was arrested and later
released—it offered a perspective I had neither anticipated nor encountered
elsewhere. Twelve years later, that single word—“Santji”—returns to my mind as
a testament to how deeply interwoven these narratives became.
The Descent into Violence: 1980–1984
Meanwhile, Punjab's political environment was undergoing
rapid transformation. Rivalries between political parties, factional struggles,
electoral calculations, militant activism, and administrative failures combined
to create conditions in which increasingly radical voices gained prominence.
The Dharam Yudh Morcha, originally conceived as a constitutional and political
agitation, gradually became overshadowed by militant rhetoric and armed
activism.
The tragedy did not emerge overnight; it unfolded one
incident at a time, and violence became normalized long before the climax of
June 1984.
24 April 1980 – Assassination of Baba Gurbachan Singh: Bhindrawala's
speeches and his inclination. CBI took note of it and sought to take him into
custody, although the political manipulation thwarted their efforts.
Late 1980 – Armed Bank Robberies Begin: A series of armed
robberies targeting cooperative and nationalized banks began across rural
Punjab. The proceeds were used to procure weapons, ammunition, transportation,
and logistics.
9 September 1981 – Assassination of Lala Jagat Narain: The
prominent journalist and critic was assassinated near Ludhiana, triggering one
of the most consequential episodes in Punjab's modern history.
20 September 1981 – Arrest of Bhindranwala and Mehta Chowk
Violence: Bhindranwala surrendered to the police at Mehta Chowk. Violent
clashes erupted between his supporters and security forces, resulting in
multiple deaths and injuries, elevating his stature among supporters.
21 September 1981 – Jalandhar Market Shootings:
Motorcycle-borne gunmen opened indiscriminate fire in Jalandhar, killing Hindu
civilians and deepening communal tensions.
29 September 1981 – Hijacking of Indian Airlines Flight 423:
Militants hijacked an Indian Airlines aircraft and diverted it to Lahore,
demanding Bhindranwala's release and other concessions.
Punjab became trapped in an atmosphere of fear,
polarization, communal hatred, and political paralysis. Moderate voices were
drowned out by extremists. Political disputes increasingly became matters of
intimidation and force. Innocent civilians, police personnel, public servants,
journalists, political activists, and ordinary citizens became victims.
Communities that had coexisted for generations found themselves divided by
suspicion.
The Price & the position of no return
Ultimately, the violence consumed its own architects.
Bhindranwala lost his life during the military action at the Golden Temple
complex in June 1984. The assault inflicted deep wounds upon Sikh religious
consciousness, severely damaging the Akal Takht, and thousands of innocent
devotees paid the ultimate price.
The retaliation escalated further with the assassination of
Prime Minister Indira Gandhi, followed by the anti-Sikh massacres of November
1984, which inflicted deep trauma upon the Sikh community and remain one of
independent India's darkest chapters. The decade that followed witnessed
extensive bloodshed, counterinsurgency operations, human rights violations,
disappearances, and the destruction of countless families. Public confidence in
institutions is completely eroded.
The crucial question for the Sikh community is not whether
Bhindranwala was sincere. Sincerity alone does not determine historical
judgment. The real question is whether the path he championed advanced Sikh
interests or damaged them.
Measured by outcomes, the record is sobering:
Punjab's economy suffered extensively.
Sikh political influence diminished significantly.
Thousands of Sikh youth lost their lives, liberty, or future
opportunities.
The community emerged more divided than united.
The structural problems confronting ordinary citizens
remained largely unresolved, while the very system many sought to challenge
remained entirely intact.
Lessons for the Future: From Shrines to Structural Reform
History repeatedly demonstrates that, in moments of
insecurity, communities become vulnerable to charismatic personalities who
promise dignity, justice, and redemption. Yet charisma alone is not wisdom, and
emotional mobilization is not a substitute for political vision. The twentieth
century offers many examples of charismatic leaders whose appeal ultimately
brought disaster upon the very people they claimed to represent because they
convinced followers that emotional confrontation was a substitute for institutional
reform.
The true challenge facing Sikhs—and indeed all citizens of
India—is not the memory of one individual but the continuation of a governance
structure inherited from colonial rule. The British Raj created institutions
designed primarily for control rather than citizen empowerment. After
independence, many of these structures survived with only limited reform. The
concentration of power, bureaucratic opacity, weak local accountability, and
excessive dependence on centralized authority continue to affect citizens
irrespective of religion, caste, or region.
If Sikhs genuinely seek justice, dignity, and self-respect,
their struggle should focus not on romanticizing past confrontations but on
building democratic institutions capable of protecting liberty and
accountability for all. The future does not belong to those who glorify
martyrdom alone. It belongs to those who understand governance, law, economics,
education, and democratic participation. Communities progress when they produce
scholars, reformers, entrepreneurs, jurists, educators, and public intellectuals
who can challenge unjust systems through knowledge and organization rather than
emotional mobilization alone.
The Sikh tradition itself provides this lesson. The Gurus
combined spiritual wisdom with social reform, institution-building, community
service, and ethical governance. Their legacy was not merely resistance to
injustice but the creation of alternative institutions rooted in human dignity
and collective responsibility.
The challenge before the Sikh community today is therefore
not whether to worship or condemn Bhindranwala. The challenge is to learn from
history. Communities that transform historical figures into unquestionable
icons often become prisoners of the past. Communities that critically examine
their history acquire the wisdom necessary to shape the future.
The greatest tribute to the victims of Punjab's tragedy is
not the preservation of old divisions but the determination to ensure that
future generations never repeat the same mistakes. The Sikh community must move
beyond personalities and focus on principles; beyond emotion and toward
understanding; beyond symbolic battles and toward institutional reform. Only then can it contribute meaningfully to the larger struggle for a democratic society in which power truly belongs to the people—"Power to the People" that Sikh Gurus had envisioned—through dialogue, rather than to political elites, bureaucratic establishments, or inherited colonial structures.
History should not be a shrine. It should be a teacher. The
purpose of remembering the past is not to relive it, but to learn from it and
build a better future.