The Khalsa Flag Fluttered At the Citadel of the Mughal Empire

devinder singh saggu chandigarh

May 1710: The Khalsa Flag Fluttered At the Citadel of the Mughal Empire

 

Seeing his end drawing near, Guru Gobind Singh initiated Banda Bahadur into the fold of the Khalsa brotherhood and invested in him the political and military authority to vigorously launch a crusade against the forces of evil. The Guru, after having blessed him with temporal authority, adorned him with a sword, a bow, five arrows with golden tips from his quiver, and an insignia of the Khalsa, the Nishan Sahib.
After Banda Bahadur took Amrit, Guru Gobind Singh dispatched him, along with 25 Sikhs, to Punjab to uproot tyranny, oppression and injustice. Question arises? With no money, no arms, no shelter and no base to accomplish the mission set forth, how could a handful of Sikhs shatter the citadel of the mighty Mughal empire?
It speaks volumes of Banda Bahadur’s towering personality, his military acumen, organizational skill, coordinated efforts and, above all, his illustrious leadership that he surged like a hurricane to take on the Mughal Empire. Undaunted, unfazed by the heavy odds against him, he led his men in the most magnificent fashion crushing the forces of evil one after the other.
War brings out the stuff that makes legends and this is what Banda was, a legend. The blood-splattered battlefield of Chappar Jherdi spewed awe-inspiring tales of heroism, sacrifice and self-confidence of the Khalsa to win the battle against insurmountable odds.

THE ASSAULT ON SARHIND

After the fall of Mughal towns of Samana, Sadhuara and Kapuri, the next target was Sarhind. The flattening out of these towns gave the Mughal Empire a shiver down its spine. Shock waves of awe were felt all around. This news was received by the Sikhs residing far and near in the hinter land of Punjab.
Banda needed time to consolidate his gains, and muster required war materials and men to take on Wazir Khan. He retired to a secluded place called Mukhlispur. It had a fort on the top of a hill. History speaks that Mukhlis Khan built the fort, on the orders of Emperor Shah Jahan. The fort was a strong structure. It was located between Sadhuara and Haripur, about 10km from Sadhuara. At the time of occupation by Banda Bahadur, the fort was in a dilapidated condition. Later, it was restored and made the first capital of the Sikhs, and renamed Lohgarh. Here it was that Banda Bahadur struck coins in the name of Guru Nanak and Guru Gobind Singh. Preparation of war commenced.
Simultaneously, the Hukumnamas of Guru Gobind Singh directing Sikhs to gather under the overall command of Banda Bahadur also were received. Propelled by the zeal, they set course to join the Khalsa commonwealth, leaving their hearths and homes. Contingents of Sikhs marched for the final assault towards Sarhind. They carried whatever war material they could lay their hands on. Banda Bahadur also descended from the hills of Logarh, Mukhlispur, near Kala Amb. The entire operation was planned in two phases.
 
The Battle of Ropar: 
When Wazir Khan found out about the movement of Sikhs, he was terribly upset. Sikhs of Majha and Doaba had already reached Kiratpur and were preparing to cross over the Satluj River. Wazir Khan deputed Nawab Sher Mohammad Khan of Malerkotla to check their advance and prevent their union. Accompanied with his brother, Khizar Khan, and his cousins, Nashtar Khan and Wali Mohammad Khan, marched towards Ropar. In route, detachments of Sarhind and Ropar also joined in. They had two guns and assorted weapons, including superior horses.
Sikhs, on the other hand, had few men. They had insufficient weapons, muskets and other tools of battle. Notwithstanding the smaller numerical strength, they surged ahead with determination and courage. The battle started in the morning. Initially, the guns played havoc on the Sikhs. Fierce fighting continued throughout the day. A great deal of blood was shed on both sides. Throughout the contest, the Mughal troops had the upper hand. It appeared that the battle would end in their favor. They were confident of their victory but the Sikhs fought with unprecedented ferocity. As the sun set, darkness descended and the battle ceased for the day. The next morning, to their good luck, a fresh contingent of Sikhs arrived.
Emboldened with the new arrival, Sikhs hit their foe with redoubled vigor. Khizar Khan mounted a fierce assault. Desperately, Sikhs made a dashing charge, shooting arrows with great precision. At that point, a bullet hit Khizar Khan and he fell dead. There was chaos and confusion in the rank and file of the Mughal forces. Exhorting his men to push forward, Sher Mohammad Khan led another charge. All his efforts to stand up against the Sikhs proved futile. Nashtar Khan and Wali Khan tried to extricate the body of Khizar Khan but both were killed in battle. Sher Mohammad Khan was severely injured and fled away. The entire Mughal force suffered a complete rout. The Sikhs carried the day.
After cremating their dead, the Sikhs hurriedly set course to join their brethren. By this time, Banda also reached Banur. The news of this conquest was received with great delight. Sikhs advanced on Ambala-Kharar road to meet their brethren. There was a great rejoicing at their union. Karaha Parshad was liberally distributed.

Love, Sex and Robots?

There is no doubting that technology has a major impact on our lives. We live and breathe our computers, smartphones and tablets on a daily basis. However, technology within the next few years is promising to take us to new levels – social interaction with robots that may just lead to love, marriage, and yes, even sex. Is it possible, though, for humans to love an artificial being?

Experts in the technology industry like David Levy are certain this is the next step for the human race. They envision a partner that never complains, is always happy and always ready to service – in more ways than one – and is not moody. It is not unfeasible that a robot can be customized to be a person’s dream partner, simply ask Truecompanion owner Douglas Hines. He debuted his sexbot at an adult expo in 2010 and has already received over 4,000 orders. People, he say, want someone who is emotionally available and oftentimes human companions cannot offer this type of availability. Robots, on the other hand, will always be available.

The robotics behind these humanoids is nothing short of amazing. Not only do the robots speak, but they are sensitive to touch, ensuring that human interaction is responded to. For some people, this is everything that they have desired.

Some people, however, question how far technology really goes. Is it crossing a boundary by offering robots to take the place of human beings? And can robot love really be as good or better than that we experience with other humans? According to some people who already own these human-like robots, not only does it compare to human companionship, but in many ways exceeds it.

Whether or not the trend will catch on is yet to be seen, but according to industry experts, it may not be long before we see these robots as a common occurrence.

Devadasis are a cursed community'

Southern India's devadasi system, which 'dedicates' girls to a life of sex work in the name of religion, continues despite being made illegal in 1988

Parvatamma is a devadasi, or servant of god, as shown by the red-and-white beaded necklace around her neck. Dedicated to the goddess Yellamma when she was 10 at the temple in Saundatti, southern India, she cannot marry a mortal. When she reached puberty, the devadasi tradition dictated that her virginity was sold to the highest bidder and when she had a daughter at 14 she was sent to work in the red light district in Mumbai.
Parvatamma regularly sent money home, but saw her child only a few times in the following decade. Now 26 and diagnosed with Aids, she has returned to her village, Mudhol in southern India, weak and unable to work. "We are a cursed community. Men use us and throw us away," she says. Applying talcum powder to her daughter's face and tying ribbons to her hair, she says: "I am going to die soon and then who will look after her?" The daughter of a devadasi, Parvatamma plans to dedicate her own daughter to Yellamma, a practice that is now outlawed in India.
Each January, nearly half a million people visit the small town of Saundatti for a jatre or festival, to be blessed by Yellamma, the Hindu goddess of fertility. The streets leading to the temple are lined with shops selling sacred paraphernalia – glass bangles, garlands, coconuts and heaped red and yellow kunkuma, a dye that devotees smear on their foreheads. The older women are called jogathis and are said to be intermediaries between the goddess and the people. They all start their working lives as devadasis and most of them would have been initiated at this temple.
Girls from poor families of the "untouchable", or lower, caste are "married" to Yellamma as young as four. No longer allowed to marry a mortal, they are expected to bestow their entire lives to the service of the goddess.
The devadasi system has been part of southern Indian life for many centuries. A veneer of religion covers the supply of concubines to wealthy men. Trained in classical music and dance, the devadasis lived in comfortable houses provided by a patron, usually a prominent man in the village. Their situation changed as the tradition was made illegal across India in 1988, and the temple itself has publicly distanced itself from their plight.
The change started in colonial times. Academics dispute what the British thought of the custom, but their presence meant that kings and other patrons of temples lost their power and much of their economic influence.
Now the system is seen as a means for poverty-stricken parents to unburden themselves of daughters. Though their fate was known, parents used religion to console themselves, and the money earned was shared.
Roopa, now 16, has come to buy bangles at the festival. She was dedicated to the goddess seven years ago and was told that Yellamma would protect her. Her virginity was auctioned in the village, and since then she has supported her family by working as a prostitute out of her home in a village close to Saundatti.
"The first time it was hard," she admits. In fact, her vagina was slashed with a razor blade by the man she was supposed to sleep with the first time. Her future, like that of other devadasis, is uncertain. Once they are around 45, at which point they are no longer considered attractive, devadasis try to eke out a living by becoming jogathis or begging near the temple.
Chennawa, now 65 and blind, is forced to live on morsels of food given by devotees. "I was first forced to sleep with a man when I was 12," she says. "I was happy that I was with Yellamma. I supported my mother, sisters and brother. But look at my fate now." She touches her begging bowl to check if people have thrown her anything. "My mother, a devadasi herself, dedicated me to Yellamma and left me on the streets to be kicked, beaten and raped. I don't want this goddess any more, just let me die."
BL Patil, the founder of Vimochana, an organisation working towards the eradication of the devadasi system, says that although the dedication ceremonies are banned, the practice is still prevalent, as families and priests conduct them in secret. The National Commission for Women estimate that there are 48,358 Devadasis currently in India.
"For certain SC communities [Scheduled Caste – a government classification of lower castes] this has become a way of life, sanctioned by tradition," he says. The priests conduct the ceremonies in their own houses because "it is profitable for them".
Patil started Vimochana partly to stop the children of devadasis becoming devadasis themselves. He set up a residential school for devadasi children in his own home 21 years ago, in order to train them to become teachers or nurses. Enduring protests from neighbours who did not want to live near the untouchable children of prostitutes, the school has gone on to educate more than 700 children, and is today housed in several buildings. "More than 300 of these children are married and have become part of society," he says.
Roopa does not know what her future is. She says that although she does not like to be "touched" by many men, the money feeds her family. "I would like to be a teacher, but this is my fate." she says. As she walks past Chennawa, she adds: "When I am old like this aayi [grandmother] I may become blind like her."
Roopa places some food in Chennawa's hands: "I hope some one will look after me then. I am not counting on Yellamma though." She wears her new bangles, admires them and says it is time for her to go back to work.

Indian girls sexually exploited in the name of religion

By NEETA LAL

India’s Devadasi system ‘dedicates’ girls to a life of sex work in the name of religion.
EACH January, as parts of India are gripped by the bitter cold of winter, a horde of devotees throng the tiny temple village of Saundatti in southern Karnataka. Poor men, women and children march in a colourful parade, singing and dancing, to “marry off” the young village girls to the Hindu goddess Yellamma.
The streets leading up to the temple are thick with atmosphere, with peddlers hawking bangles, cosmetics, clothing, sweetmeats and other items, adding to the carnivalesque scene.
In reality, however, there’s little that’s festive about the heinous tradition of the Devadasis (or female servants of god) in India which dates back to the sixth century. Pre-pubescent girls – sometimes as young as three of four – are “married off” by their poor and illiterate parents to “god” under the garb of religion. The Devadasis are then required to “serve” the priests and the local landlords in lieu of payment to their parents.

Childish innocence: Pre-pubescent girls are sometimes ‘married off’ by their poor and illerate parents to ‘god’ in the garb of religion.

“In the olden days,” informs Pandit Bhaskar Reddy, a seventh generation priest, “after young girls are dedicated to local temples, they act as temple caretakers, conduct rituals as well as sing and dance to entertain the wealthy.”
Gradually, however, Reddy says the lines started blurring and the girls got sucked into the ugly vortex of sexual exploitation.
Despite a 1988 law banning the practice in India, the Devadasi tradition is thriving across the southern states of Karnataka, Andhra Pradesh, Tamil Nadu and Maharashtra. Ironically, these are the IT hubs of the country, now synonymous with India’s progress in the global market.
The National Commission for Women (NCW) estimated in 2008 that currently, there are more than 450,000 Devadasis in India. An NCW survey states that the Devadasis in Karnataka account for approximately 80% of all sex workers while overall, these girls account for an estimated 15% of all sex workers in India.
The practice thrives due to a complex interplay of poverty, social acceptance and sex trade enmeshed inextricably with religious practices that have gradually institutionalised the sexual exploitation of women.
Social activist Asha Ramesh found a direct correlation in a 1993 study, between the dedication of Devadasis to the god to the parents being childless. The parents vowed to dedicate their first child to a temple if it happened to be girl, according to Ramesh’s research. If the parents had no son, then the girl child was “dedicated” and would not be able to marry as she was now deemed to be a “son” and had to earn the family’s bread and butter.
Meanwhile, other clever families with properties ensured that the familial booty remained in house by turning the girl into a “son”. Unfortunately, over the years, the system also became a means for poverty-stricken parents to unburden themselves of daughters.
Devadasi Vaishnavi*, 45, who is based in Maharashtra’s Sangli district, says she was around eight years old when she was “married off to god”. Born into a poor family, she vividly recalls her elaborate initiation ceremony as a child surrounded by relatives and strangers.
Over the years, as the practice became illegal, Vaishnavi says she was dragged into prostitution and is now an active sex worker in Sangli’s red light district. “I have been exploited physically and mentally since my childhood,” says the middle-aged woman. “Men have raped and beaten me. The local cops too, exploit me. It is a living hell for me. But what choice do I have?” she asks.
Chandni*, 38, was luckier. Or perhaps, pluckier. The Devadasi left the practice at 26 and joined a self-help group in Maharashtra. She now offers support to those who want to leave. She also educates families not to sacrifice their children at the altar for this disgusting practice. She runs awareness programmes at temples and fairs, mobilises community support and lobbies with district officials to help other Devadasis.
According to a National Human Rights Commission (NHRC) report in 2004, the Devadasi tradition has become synonymous with the commercial and sexual exploitation of women in India.
The report further states that after their initiation as Devadasis, these women migrate either to nearby towns or other far-off cities to practice prostitution.
According to the 1934 Devadasi Security Act, this practice was banned in India by the British. And though the ban was reinforced in the 1980s, it continues to be flouted as the laws aren’t punitive enough. Anyone found guilty of helping a girl to become a Devadasi or even attending the ceremony, can be jailed for three years or fined a paltry sum of US$44 (RM133). Parents and relatives can be fined up to a maximum of US$111 (RM336) if they are found guilty of encouraging the girl to be dedicated.
A survey by the Joint Women’s Programme, Bangalore, states that 63.6% of young girls were forced into the Devadasi system due to tradition while 38% reported that their families had a history of Devadasis. Nearly 40% of them join the flesh trade in cities.
In a way, a Devadasi is considered “public property” in the village. Most Devadasis earn under US$22 (RM66) per month and run a high risk of acquiring sexually transmitted diseases.
Activists acknowledge that inaccessible villages and a dramatic upward spiral in the demand from organised traffickers who pay attractive sums of money for young girls to fill the urban brothels are the biggest stumbling blocks in obliterating this pugnacious system.
Education for the Devadasi girls is difficult as they are pulled out of schools (if they are sent to one, that is) to follow the tradition. Their health is compromised as they risk the danger of contracting HIV/AIDS. A 1993 government survey indicated that more than 9% of all Devadasis in India were infected with the virus. Those that escape contracting the HIV/AIDS virus are still likely to face physical assaults on their bodies, psychological trauma, and/or social castigation.
“Even if a Devadasi discontinues her ‘career’,” sums up Chandni, “she is still vulnerable to victimisation in human trafficking. Our children aren’t spared because the government does not recognise their birth status as they do not carry their fathers’ surname. This makes it very convenient for traffickers to sell our daughters to brothels.”

Sikhs can register marriages under Anand Act

NEW DELHI: Meeting a long-standing demand of the Sikh community, Parliament today passed a law allowing them to register their marriages under the Anand Marriage Act instead of the Hindu Marriage Act.

The Sikhs will be able to register their marriages under the Anand Marriage Act, Law Minister Salman Khurshid said replying to the debate on the amendment Bill which was later approved by voice vote. It was earlier passed by Rajya Sabha.

Although the Anand Marriage law was enacted in 1909, there was no provision for registration of marriages which were were registered under the Hindu Marriage Act, 1955.

Admitting that it had taken a lot of time to pursue amendments in the Anand Marriage Act, Khurshid said, this was a symbolic gesture and "we should respect the sentiments of all communities ...whether Bodos or any other group."

Sikh groups have maintained that members of the community face problems abroad as their certificates are issued under the Hindu Marriage Act. Besides Sikhs, Jains and Buddhists are issued certificates under the Hindu laws.

Sikh marriage ceremonies are known as 'Anand Karaj' (blissful event).

According to the amendment bill, couples whose marriages have been registered under this Act, will not be required to get their marriage registered under the Registration of Births, Marriages and Deaths Act, 1969 or any other law for the time being in force.

Supporting the bill, Harsimrat Kaur (SAD) said Sikhs face problems abroad because while they identify themselves as Sikhs, their marriages are registered under the Hindu Marriage Act. She thanked Prime Minister Manmohan Singh for approving the amendments in a recent Cabinet meeting.

P S Bajwa (Cong) said it was necessary to make it clear that the Act was never repealed as claimed by some writers in the recent past. Several other members cutting across party lines supported the Bill. 

Indian "prostitute village" marries girls to end flesh trade

A veiled girl from the Saraniya community waits for her engagement ceremony to start at Vadia village in the western Indian state of Gujarat March 11, 2012. The Vadia village in western India hosted a mass wedding and engagement ceremony of 21 girls on Sunday aimed at breaking a tradition of prostitution which has for centuries exploited women of a poor, marginalised and once nomadic community in the region.

 

By Nita Bhalla

 A village in western India hosted a mass wedding and engagement ceremony of 21 girls on Sunday aimed at breaking a tradition of prostitution which has for centuries exploited women of a poor, marginalised and once nomadic community in the region.

Hundreds of guests from surrounding villages and government officials gathered at the colourful event, which saw eight couples married and 13 others engaged in a huge marquee in Wadia village, 115 km (70 miles) west of Palanpur city in India's Gujarat state.

"Prostitution is a tradition which this community adopted for ages and it has been very normal for them. They did not think they were doing anything wrong. But it is uncivilised, indecent," said Vijay Bhatt, development officer for Banaskantha district, which Wadia village is part of.

"By marrying and engaging these girls we have been able to break this culture. Once a girl is married, she is out of the profession. Once she is even engaged, she is out of this nexus."

Adorned in gold jewellery and dressed in brightly coloured pink sequined skirts and blouses, the girls sat veiled on a raised platform in a long line next to their grooms and fiancés in golden turbans, as a Hindu priest chanted Vedic mantras.

Activists said the girls - who come from the Saraniya community, where women traditionally do not marry and work as prostitutes in nearby towns and cities - will now be able to break free of the profession of their mothers and lead "normal, pious" lives.

"We are trying to get rid of this culture and stigma. We want to pull it from its roots," said Ramesh Saraniya, whose 25-year-old sister and 22-year-old niece were wedded to local village men in the mass ceremony.

"It is happening for the good of our society."

"EASY MONEY"

The men of the Saraniya community, a nomadic group of 50,000, once worked for various warring factions which ruled over this drought-prone region prior to India's independence from Britain in 1947, sharpening their daggers and swords.

The Saraniyas' women were "entertainers" for the feuding warlords in the then fragmented Gujarat and neighbouring state of Rajasthan, dancing and singing, as well as providing sexual pleasure for their employers.

Post independence, activists and officials say, the Saraniya were given land by the government to provide a better means of income, but due to the "easy money" made from sex work, Wadia's men have continued soliciting their sisters and daughters.

Local people from mud-and-brick Wadia village are reluctant to talk about the issue, fearing discrimination against them in this conservative and largely patriarchal country.

"We are poor and don't have water. We have been doing agriculture and farming castor seeds and now are earning more money. The kind of work that you talk about has stopped now," said Valiben Saraniya, whose 20-year-old niece was married.

At the ceremony, musicians played the dhol and shehnai, the traditional Indian drum and trumpet used in weddings, as the eight marrying couples simultaneously placed garlands over one another and walked around a sacred fire placed in front of them, as per Hindu tradition.

Thirteen couples as young as 12 were also engaged during the ceremony, exchanging rings in the incense-filled tent, as a priest gave instructions from a microphone. Their parents said their weddings would take place when they turn 18.

Social activists who organised and the funded 900,000 rupee ($18,000) event said securing the girls with future husbands would end Wadia's flesh trade, but they added that more development was needed to ensure other girls did not become sex workers.

"It is damn sure that no one will go into this profession after getting engaged or married as that is how this community has worked. If there is a husband, she won't be sold," said Mittal Patel from the Vicharta Samuday Samarthan Manch, a local charity that works to support India's nomadic tribes

"Alternative employment to the women is necessary such as teaching them embroidery, boosting irrigation for their fields and for them to do animal husbandry. This will end this cycle. No woman wants to do this by choice."

India's 1984 Anti-Sikh Riots: Waiting for Justice\MRIDU KHULLAR

On the surface, the line of two-room dwellings on a dusty street in west Delhi appears little different from thousands of other roads in India's crowded capital. The paint flakes off buildings' walls and the grass grows in parks that haven't been mowed in months. Kids play cricket in the street, fruit and vegetable sellers push their wooden carts through narrow lanes and women busy themselves with housework and cooking. What sets this impoverished community apart is one remarkable absence: men.
C-block, or the "widows' colony," as it is more commonly known, is where Surinder Kaur, 65, lives today after she sold her house in Sagarpur and moved next door to her sister Harjinder Kaur, 57, a few years ago. Every morning, the women have tea together in a two-room house, where the only picture is of a newlywed Harjinder and her husband, killed 25 years ago in one of the darkest chapters in Indian history. The widows' colony in Tilak Vihar is a cheaply built and neglected cluster of homes, which were given by the government to hundreds of women and their children who survived what have become known as the anti-Sikh riots of 1984. But as the grim event's 25th anniversary nears at the end of this month, crime, addiction and prostitution have taken root in what was supposed to be a survivors' safe haven. Residents say this is because of the damage to the mental health of children who were witness to their parents' and siblings' murders and who grew up in impoverished homes and weren't given any medical help — physical or mental — for their problems. "They'll slice a blade right through you if they know you're new to the area," warns Harjinder. "Even the autorickshaw drivers refuse to come here."
Devender Singh, 26, an unemployed drug addict whose father was killed before his eyes in 1984, says his brother was murdered in the colony a couple years ago and that it's likely he'll meet the same fate. "We're all thieves and addicts here," he says. "When you get no work, what else will you do?" The lawless attitude of the young people is an echo, residents say, of India's broken justice system. The young people saw no punishment for the crimes committed against their families, so they see no justice for the crimes they'll commit in the future.
The anti-Sikh riots were four days of mayhem in the northern parts of India, particularly Delhi, in which armed mobs set fire to Sikh homes and businesses, killed unarmed men, women and children and attacked gurdwaras, Sikh places of worship. The violence, which left almost 3,000 people dead, was a reaction to the assassination of the country's Prime Minister, Indira Gandhi, on Oct. 31, 1984, by her two Sikh bodyguards, Beant Singh and Satwant Singh. Earlier, in June, Gandhi had approved Operation Bluestar, a mission to flush out Sikh separatists who had amassed weapons in the Golden Temple in Amritsar in northern India. While the operation was considered a success, almost 500 Sikh civilians visiting the temple that day were killed by the Indian army, though unofficial reports suggest numbers much higher.
Surinder Kaur was at her home in Delhi when the rioters broke in. Diwali, the biggest festival of the season, had just ended, but she and her husband had left the lights around the house up. In just 15 days, their eldest son was getting married, and the celebrations were already getting under way. Then a mob of more than 2,000 people descended on their middle-class neighborhood, killing dozens of Sikh families and burning alive Kaur's soon-to-be-married son and husband with petrol from the family's motorbike. "It's like a cyclone came through our lives and ripped it apart," she says. "We've never celebrated another festival since."
Initially a response to the death of a beloved leader that unfolded mostly in the poorer parts of west and north Delhi, the events of the days that followed became much more organized, spreading strategically across the city, including upper-class and diplomatic neighborhoods. Eyewitnesses have repeatedly told stories of the police looking on as rioters murdered and raped, having gotten access to voter records that allowed them to mark Sikh homes with large Xs, and large mobs being bused in to large Sikh settlements. "On Oct. 31, there was primarily looting and arson attacks," says Jaskaran Kaur, co-director of Ensaaf, a U.S.-based nonprofit that works in the predominantly Sikh state of Punjab.        "On Nov. 1, you see that everything happened very methodically — there were simultaneous attacks following similar patterns where the gurdwara was often attacked first before the residences and properties, and the death squads were able to make extensive use of state infrastructure like buses and trains." Despite this, the army was not called in until days later. "We saw what they did and who did it," says Surinder Kaur. "We saw the local politicians marking up our homes. At the time, we didn't know what it was for."
But while 10 official commissions have been set up over the years to investigate the events of the four days, only a handful of minor convictions have been made, and not one major politician or police officer has been convicted. "The justice system is based on evidence, and people are scared to come forward or are persuaded not to," says political analyst Amulya Ganguli. During the riots, Kaur of Ensaaf says the government "worked to destroy a lot of the evidence about who was involved with the killings by refusing to record [first information reports] or name those that family members mentioned."
Instead, in March 2009, India's Central Bureau of Investigation filed its final report on the riots, clearing Jagdish Tytler, one of the accused who had major political ambitions and was announced as a candidate for Indian parliament elections in 2009. Tytler had been accused of leading mobs of thousands during the riots, and though he was named by several eyewitnesses, he was ultimately exonerated because of lack of concrete evidence. Hundreds of Sikh protesters gathered outside the courts afterward, and Sikh journalist Jarnail Singh threw a shoe at Home Minister P. Chidambaram during a press conference in April, following his remarks on the matter. The Congress Party was forced to drop Tytler, and another accused, Sajjan Kumar, as candidates for the election to protect its image.
Outside of India, too, Sikhs have been making a consistent effort to get more international attention to the lack of accountability for what happened. In the 2005 elections in Britain, the country's 700,000- strong Sikh community banded together to make it a campaign issue. For the 25th anniversary of the event later this month, advertisements by Ensaaf — showing an old woman wiping away her tears, with the words, "25 years ago, our loved ones were burned alive in front of our eyes," and in the next line, "Why has India, the world's largest democracy, denied us justice?" — are scheduled for the month of November in the San Francisco Bay Area's transit system.
But many Sikhs in India seem to have been quick to move on. While there is still a large community waiting for justice and, in some cases, compensation, the deep distrust that once existed between the community and the Congress Party has dissipated. The party has been in power in Punjab for many years, and party chief Sonia Gandhi — daughter-in-law of Indira Gandhi — helped by formally apologizing to the Sikh community in 1998. In September, India's cabinet also extended a $1.5 million rehabilitation package for victims. "It doesn't exonerate the Congress, but by and large the Sikh community agrees that it was a one-off thing and there is no anti-Sikh philosophy in any political party and [the incident] was not a result of a clearly articulated worldview, as it has been with Muslims in the country," says Ganguli.
Many, however, feel that more compensation — which was insufficient and delayed to begin with — is not the answer. Jaskaran Kaur suggests starting with a truth commission, a special prosecutor's office and a wide range of services, including rehabilitation of family members, physical and mental services and acknowledgement of the event in the form of museums, history books and convictions. "Apologizing doesn't amount to much for family members unless the state is going to acknowledge its role in the massacres and then take serious steps for accountability."
For Surinder Kaur, it no longer matters. The safe haven provided by the government made her community unsafe a long time ago. "We haven't allowed our children to mix with anyone in this neighborhood," she says of the widows' colony. "One day, they'll get out of here, and there will be a new beginning."

The Possibility of Alien Life

   

Jesus Diaz

The Possibility of Alien Life Is Now (Almost) Impossible to Deny

An international team of astronomers have reached the most definitive conclusion, one with profound implications: our galaxy contains a minimum of 100 billion planets. Of those, most are small planets like ours. Statistically, every star would have at least one planet.
This means that the chances of life and habitable planets in our galaxy alone is overwhelmingly high. So high that it's impossible to deny that it's out there. The only question is how much of that is little dumb critters* and how much is civilized.
According to Stephen Kane—at NASA's Exoplanet Science Institute at CalTech in Pasadena and one of the authors of the study—"not only are planets common in the galaxy, but there are more small planets than large ones. This is encouraging news for investigations into habitable planets."
Kane is being too conservative when he says that this is "encouraging news". This is amazingly great news! The number of Earth-like planets is much higher than Jupiter-sized giants. The rough estimate is that there are at least 10 billion terrestrial planets across our galaxy alone.
That is a mind-blowing number.
Couple this number with the latest calculations that have extended the goldilocks zone, the area where life could happen around stars. And then add the fact that life happens spontaneously, even under the most extreme conditions, and the idea of a Milky Way thriving with life is impossible to deny.
There's no doubt that, statistically, there's life out there (and let's not even talk about the other 500 billion galaxies in the Universe).

Intelligent civilizations

Of course, how much of this life is smart enough to build computers, communication dishes or Imperial Star Destroyers is another matter altogether. As far as we know, all those habitable worlds may be full of killer snails and dozy fish
But the fact remains that, until now, we could only guess much of this stuff. Now we know. That makes a big difference.
The fact that there are at least 100 billion planets in our Milky Way alone has profound implications for our understanding of the Universe. These discoveries, made using Hubble and Kepler, are finally putting some real numbers in the Drake Equation.
The equation—created by Frank Drake, Emeritus Professor of Astronomy and Astrophysics at the University of California, Santa Cruz—is used to estimate the number of extraterrestrial civilizations in the Milky Way galaxy.
Now we are starting to replace the guesses with solid information and things couldn't look better. Soon it will not be "we want to believe" but "we know." [Hubble]

Harimandir SahibWhere All May Eat, and Pitch In

 LYDIA POLGREEN   

AMRITSAR, India — The groaning, clattering machines never stop, transforming 12 tons of whole wheat flour every day into nearly a quarter-million discs of flatbread called roti. These purpose-built contraptions, each 20 feet long, extrude the dough, roll it flat, then send it down a gas-fired conveyor belt, spitting out a never-ending stream of hot, floppy, perfectly round bread.
Soupy lentils, three and a third tons of them, bubble away in vast cauldrons, stirred by bearded, barefoot men wielding wooden spoons the size of canoe paddles. The pungent, savory bite wafting through the air comes from 1,700 pounds of onions and 132 pounds of garlic, sprinkled with 330 pounds of fiery red chilies.
It is lunchtime at what may be the world’s largest free eatery, the langar, or community kitchen at this city’s glimmering Golden Temple, the holiest shrine of the Sikh religion. Everything is ready for the big rush. Thousands of volunteers have scrubbed the floors, chopped onions, shelled peas and peeled garlic. At least 40,000 metal plates, bowls and spoons have been washed, stacked and are ready to go.
Anyone can eat for free here, and many, many people do. On a weekday, about 80,000 come. On weekends, almost twice as many people visit. Each visitor gets a wholesome vegetarian meal, served by volunteers who embody India’s religious and ethnic mosaic.
“This is our tradition,” said Harpinder Singh, the 45-year-old manager of this huge operation. “Anyone who wants can come and eat.”
India is not only the world’s largest democracy, it also is one of the most spiritually diverse nations. It was born in a horrific spasm of religious bloodshed when British India was torn in two to create a Muslim homeland in Pakistan. Yet from the moment of its independence, India has been a resolutely secular nation and has managed to accommodate an extraordinary range of views on such fundamental questions as the nature of humanity, the existence of God and the quality of the soul.

Indeed, few places in India demonstrate so clearly the country’s genius for diversity and tolerance, the twin reasons that India — despite its fractures and fissures — has remained one nation.
Sikhism, which emerged in the Punjab region of India in the 15th century, strongly rejects the notion of caste, which lies at the core of Hinduism.
The Golden Temple, a giant complex of marble and glittering gold that sits at the heart of this sprawling, hectic city near the border with Pakistan, seeks to embody this principle. Nowhere is it more evident than in the community kitchen, where everyone, no matter his religion, wealth or social status, is considered equal.

Guru Amar Das created the community kitchen during his time as the third Sikh guru in the 16th century. Its purpose, he said, was to place all of humanity on the same plane. At the temple’s museum, one painting shows the wife of one of the gurus serving common people, “working day and night in the kitchen like an ordinary worker,” the caption says.

Volunteerism and community support are other central tenets of Sikhism expressed in the langar. When the Mughal emperor Akbar tried to give Guru Amar Das a platter of gold coins to support the kitchen, he refused to accept them, saying the kitchen “is always run with the blessings of the Almighty.”

Ashok Kumar, a Hindu with a scraggly beard, has been coming to the kitchen for the past five years — all day, almost every day — to work as a volunteer. “It is my service,” he explained, after reluctantly taking a very brief break from his syncopated tray sorting.

A white rag covered his head, and his hands were bound like a boxer’s. His job is to man the heavy bucket that receives the dirty plates and bowls. He is the last man on a highly organized line that begins with collecting the spoons, dumping out any leftover food, then loading giant tubs of dirty dishes bound for the washing troughs.

Plates and bowls fly at him, but he never misses a beat, using a metal plate in each hand to deflect the traffic into the tub. Plates go around the rim, while bowls get stacked in the middle.

Mr. Kumar used to be a bookbinder.

“I feel happy here,” he said when asked why he had given up his old life.

Indians of all faiths come here to find a measure of peace largely unavailable in the cacophony of the nation’s 1.2 billion people. Like the thousands of pairs of shoes left at the temple gates, the chaos and filth of urban life are left behind at the marble entrances.

The temple is a world of cleanliness and order — where the wail of the harmonium and the shuffling of bare feet are the only sounds, and every square inch is scrubbed many times a day.

It has not always been a peaceful place. A Sikh insurgency, which sought a separate homeland for Sikhs in Punjab, tore at India’s heart in the 1970s and ’80s. In 1984, Indira Gandhi, then the prime minister, ordered a bloody raid on the temple. Hundreds of militants were hiding there, and many were killed. The temple was also damaged. Sikh bodyguards later assassinated Mrs. Gandhi to avenge the attack on the temple.

Despite this history, Sikhs remain resolutely a part of India’s mainstream, holding leading positions in the arts, government and business. India’s current prime minister, Manmohan Singh, is a Sikh.

Pankaj Ahuja, who owns a medical supply shop in Rajasthan, was visiting the temple for the third time, this time bringing his wife and son, who had never been before. They took the Golden Temple Express train, and were sleeping in the pilgrims’ dormitories, which are also free. The family is Hindu, but the temple has a special significance for them nonetheless.

“You have lots of religious places in this country,” said Mr. Ahuja’s wife, Nikita. “But the kind of peace and cleanliness you find here you won’t find anywhere else.”

Back home, cleaning floors would be considered degrading for someone of her status — people of low caste usually do such work. But here, Mrs. Ahuja happily scrubs floors.

“In normal life, I would ask, ‘Why should I do this?’ It is shameful to clean floors,” she said. “But here, it is different.”

Indeed, she never gives a moment’s thought to who prepared the food in the kitchen, even though in India’s highly stratified caste traditions such matters are vital.

“It is more than food,” she said of the meals that she had eaten at the community kitchen. “Once you eat it, you forget who is cooking, who is serving it, who is sitting next to you.”

Anil Kumar, a 32-year-old Hindu, was up to his elbows in soapy water at one of the washing troughs.

“At home, I would never do this,” he said with a laugh. “It is my wife’s work.”

But he said he tried to come for at least an hour every day to wash dishes. “It is not a question of religion,” he added. “It is a question of faith. Here I feel a feeling of peace.”