Mukherjee
Mukherjee
ISHAN MUKHERJEE
TRINITY COLLEGE
This dissertation is submitted for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy at the University
of Cambridge
March 2017
Declaration
This dissertation is the result of my own work and includes nothing which is the
outcome of work done in collaboration except where specifically declared in the text.
It is not substantially the same as any that I have submitted, or is being concurrently
concurrently submitted for any such degree, diploma or other qualification at the
This thesis is 74,816 words in length, including the Table of Contents but excluding
Committee. Tables and graphs are counted as 150 words each. It does not exceed the
ii
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Thesis summary iv
List of abbreviations vi
Glossary viii
Introduction 1-43
Chapter 2: Aftermath of the First Red Fort Trial: The Rashid Ali
Agitations in Calcutta 91-142
Conclusion 306-312
Bibliography 313-336
iii
PhD Thesis Summary –
Ishan Mukherjee
The thesis examines the agitations and riots that broke out in Calcutta in the
aftermath of the Second World War. Through a close analysis of local outbreaks of
through which decolonization has been understood in the historiography of the region.
At the same time, the study analyses the continuities and changes in the practices of
the local state apparatus, especially the police, through the transition ‘from the
colonial to the post-colonial’ regime in South Asia. The scope of the study is limited
concluding that the immediate aftermath of the Second World War saw widespread
period, many argue, people of all religions came together for the last time to fight the
colonial regime. However, this moment of communal unity was quickly lost as the
Calcutta are believed to exhibit this pattern very clearly. In February 1946 the city
witnessed large-scale protests against the conviction of Captain Rashid Ali of the
Indian National Army. However, just six months later, Calcutta witnessed massive
iv
communal riots. The Great Calcutta Killing of August 1946 set off the chain of
communal violence across the subcontinent that ultimately precipitated the partition
of British India into two mutually hostile post-colonial states of India and Pakistan.
communal’ dimension of the anti-colonial protests. It also argues that the outbreak of
communal violence was not as sudden as has been assumed. Rather, communal
The thesis will also examine inter-community relations in the city in the very first
years after independence. It will study how new minorities produced by the Indian
nation state grappled with, and were affected by, the changed circumstances in
Calcutta.
v
Abbreviations
DC Deputy Commissioner
IB, GB, WBSA Intelligence Bureau, Government of Bengal, West Bengal State
Archives
INA Indian National Army
OC Officer-in-charge
PM Political Miscellaneous
SB Special Branch
vi
SBR, CP Special Branch Records, Calcutta Police
TP Transfer of Power
UP United Provinces
vii
Glossary
akhand undivided
ashram hermitage
badmash ruffian
bhadralok gentlefolk
workshops
ghats river-bank
hartal strike
julum/zulm oppression
kafir infidel
mohalla neighbourhood
narak hell
parda veil
viii
sadhu Hindu saint
tamasha entertainment
zamindar landlord
ix
Introduction
and his brother, Jagabandhu Bose, both loosely affiliated with the Congress Socialist
Party, led a criminal gang in the jurisdiction of Muchipara thana 2 in central Calcutta.
During the agitation in February 1946 against the conviction of Rashid Ali of the In-
dian National Army (INA), he allegedly advised his men to kill police sergeants and
sahebs. This, he explained, would ‘help us free India’. Armed with the confession of
one of Bhanu’s followers, who had testified against him during interrogation, the po-
lice arrested him on 5 April 1946. Well-connected as Bhanu was, the police had to set
When Calcutta plunged into communal mayhem in August 1946, Bhanu’s name
surfaced again in police records. 4 He had allegedly struck up an alliance with other
powerful goondas of the city to join the murderous spree against Muslims. He disap-
peared from official discussions soon thereafter, and it remains uncertain whether the
police ever brought him to book for communal rioting. But he reappeared in police
fast to bring an end to communal violence in Calcutta, urging the city’s underworld
1
For a definition of what colonial officials meant by the term ‘goonda’ in the 1940s, see India
and Burma Committee – Indian Political Situation: Memorandum by the Secretary of State
for India, 15 August 1945, Nicholas Mansergh and Penderel Moon (eds.), The Transfer of
Power, 1942-47: Constitutional Relations between Britain and India, vol. VI, London: Her
Majesty’s Stationery Office, 1976, no. 28, pp. 70-71. Also see Suranjan Das and J.K. Ray,
The Goondas: Towards a Reconstruction of the Calcutta Underworld, Calcutta: Firma
K.L.M., 1996.
2
A ‘thana’ is a police station. Derived from Indian vernaculars (both Hindusthani and Ben-
gali), it was incorporated within colonial English vocabulary.
3
K.P.M. No. 01699/05, S.B. File No. 868 (D/7), P.M. (1946), Special Branch Records, Cal-
cutta Police.
4
Ibid.
1
operators to surrender their arms. The Muchipara gang split. Jagabandhu Bose sub-
mitted himself to the Mahatma’s wishes; but Bhanu led a rebel faction and decided to
Figures like Bhanu Bose sit uncomfortably within Indian historiography, which
mains the case, despite many examples of individuals like Bhanu Bose who partici-
pated in a range of street actions that defy neat separation into either of these catego-
ries. This has serious consequences for how historians of popular politics have hith-
the Second World War generated ‘cross-communal’ ‘anti-colonial’ fervour among the
public at large. Sumit Sarkar has held that popular mobilization against the INA trials
and the rebellion in the Royal Indian Navy were expressions of a post-war anti-
imperialist spirit. 6 Gautam Chattopadhyay has gone so far as to suggest that the
Rashid Ali agitations, in which Bhanu Bose participated, constituted an ‘almost revo-
lution’. 7 For Chattopadhyay, the mass enthusiasm evident in the agitation held out
5
K.P.M. No. 01488/05, S.B. File No. 506/48, P.M. (1947), Special Branch Records, Calcutta
Police.
6
Sumit Sarkar, ‘Popular Movements and National Leadership, 1945-47’, Economic and Po-
litical Weekly, vol. 17, no. 14/16, Annual Number, April, 1982, pp. 677-689. This article has
been reprinted in Sumit Sarkar, A Critique of Colonial India, Calcutta: Papyrus, 1985.
7
Gautam Chattopadhyay, ‘An Almost Revolution (A Case Study of India in February 1946)’
in Barun De (ed.), Essays in Honour of Prof. S.C. Sarkar, New Delhi: People’s Publishing
House, 1976. Also see Gautam Chattopadhyay, ‘Bengal Students in Revolt against the Raj,
1945-46’ in Amit Kumar Gupta (ed.), Myth and Reality: The Struggle for Freedom in India,
1945-46, New Delhi: Manohar, 1987.
2
Sucheta Mahajan, while critiquing these upsurges as ‘premature’, 8 agrees that a
popular ‘anti-colonial’ mood was pervasive in the post-war period, expressed in small
gestures of support for the nationalist cause expressed by all sections of people
that the descent into partition violence was a sudden development. This trajectory of
popular politics on the eve of India’s independence allegedly found most vivid ex-
only months after the vigorous, even spectacular, ‘cross-communal’ and ‘anti-
in the last years of colonial rule in India. Gyanendra Pandey has, of course, pointed
towards the concurrent histories of nationalism and communalism, both being prod-
ucts of the ‘age of Reason and Capital’. 9 He shows how nationalist and colonialist
ism’s ‘other’. But elucidation of this entangled history of nationalism and communal-
ism in Pandey’s analysis remains at a discursive plane; the empirical case studies he
uses to unpack the ‘construction of communalism’ remain confined to issues that had
manifestly sectarian and divisive overtones. Pandey does not use cases that could be
8
Sucheta Mahajan, Independence and Partition: The Erosion of Colonial Power in India,
New Delhi: Sage Publications, 2000.
9
Gyanendra Pandey, The Construction of Communalism in Colonial North India, Delhi: Ox-
ford University Press, 1990.
3
mobilization of unambiguously communal identities, this research also attempts to
reassess some issues and events that have hitherto been narrated in historiography as
gration into nationalist historiography has only been made possible by oversight or
suppression of aspects that would have rendered them unavailable for the mythologies
of Indian nationalism.
state practices and the rich archival records that such practices have produced over a
period of about five years, from the end of the Second World War to the first few
years after independence. It examines in detail patterns of street mobilization and state
action in urban Calcutta during these critical years. Moments of cross-communal soli-
darity notwithstanding, the study shows how communal antagonism had become
ubiquitous, both in spectacular street action and in everyday life, during the last days
of the Raj.
4
In nationalist historiography, popular mobilization in support of nationalist causes
National Congress, being the largest nationalist organization, was the automatic
choice for large sections of Indians who instinctively rallied around Congress leaders
when called to action to free the nation from colonial rule. 10 Communal mobilization,
in this framework, is the result of certain sections of people being ‘misled’ by self-
seeking leaders of opportunist parties patronized by the British as part of their ‘divide-
and-rule’ policy. 11
At the other end of the spectrum are historians who have projected nationalist mo-
lized their social subordinates through patron-client relationships and aligned with
provincial and all-India leaders to achieve their own ends. The tall leaders of the na-
for their own agenda, producing large-scale mass movements that appeared to be uni-
fied over a national cause only when observed superficially from a distance. Of
studies, such as those of Judith Brown 12 and the early work of Anil Seal, 13 take a
largely top-down view of political mobilizations, often reducing these to the result of
10
Bipan Chandra, Mridula Mukherjee, Aditya Mukherjee, Sucheta Mahajan and K.N. Panik-
kar, India’s Struggle for Independence, New Delhi: Viking, 1988. Also see Bipan Chandra,
Nationalism and Colonialism in Modern India, New Delhi: Orient Longman, 1981. For a spe-
cific discussion of mobilizations in the late colonial period, see Mahajan, Independence and
Partition.
11
Ibid. Also see Bipan Chandra, Communalism in Modern India, New Delhi: Vikas, 1984.
12
Judith M. Brown, Gandhi’s Rise to Power: Indian Politics, 1915-1922, Cambridge: Cam-
bridge University Press, 1972; Judith M. Brown, Gandhi and Civil Disobedience: The Ma-
hatma in Indian Politics, 1928-34, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977.
13
Anil Seal, The Emergence of Indian Nationalism: Competition and Collaboration in the
Later Nineteenth Century, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1968.
5
frustrations and competitions among different types of educated elites perusing their
disparate self-interested ends. Latterly, the ‘new Cambridge school’ has produced
very sophisticated studies of local power dynamics, showing how these were mobi-
lized for larger movements and associations at provincial and all-India levels, and re-
vealing their links with the changing structures of colonial governance. 14 Scholars
working within this framework have rarely studied communal mobilizations specifi-
cally; but when they did so, these were explained as another instance of cobbling to-
Rejecting both the above trends in Indian historiography for their ‘elitist’ biases,
vast numbers of disempowered unlettered masses. 16 These scholars argued for a do-
even while drawing upon elements of elite politics, remained autonomous from it.17
14
See, especially, the essays in two edited volumes: John Gallaghar, Gordon Johnson and
Anil Seal (eds.), Locality, Province and Nation: Essays on Indian Politics, 1870 to 1940 (Re-
printed from Modern Asian Studies), Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1973; Christo-
pher Baker, Gordon Johnson and Anil Seal (eds.), Power, Profit and Politics: Essays on Im-
perialism, Nationalism and Change in Twentieth Century India (Reprinted from Modern
Asian Studies), Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981.
15
This is at least one reading of Ayesha Jalal, The Sole Spokesman: Jinnah, the Muslim
League and the Demand for Pakistan, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985.
16
For a manifesto-like presentation of the Subaltern Studies project, see Ranajit Guha, ‘On
Some Aspects of the Historiography of Colonial India’, in Ranajit Guha (ed.), Subaltern Stud-
ies I: Writings on South Asian History and Society, New Delhi: Oxford University Press,
1982. Also see Ranajit Guha, Elementary Aspects of Peasant Insurgency in Colonial India,
Delhi; Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1983. For an earlier study of Congress mobilization
along similar lines, but prior to the launch of the Subaltern Studies project, see Gyanendra
Pandey, The Ascendancy of the Congress in Uttar Pradesh, 1926-34: A Study in Imperfect
Mobilization, Delhi; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1978.
17
For example, some of these scholars have shown how Gandhi was reconfigured in ‘subal-
tern consciousness’ to produce idioms of politics that had nothing to do with what Gandhi
thought, said or did. See Shahid Amin, ‘Gandhi as Mahatma: Gorakhpur District, Eastern UP,
1921-2’ in Ranajit Guha (ed.), Subaltern Studies III: Writings on South Asian History and
Society, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1984; David Hardiman, ‘Adivasi Assertion in
South Gujarat: The Devi Movement’, ibid. Also see their individual works for the elaboration
6
This strand of historiography has produced invaluable insights into the world of sym-
bols, myths and rumours that constituted a rich repertoire of politics and energized
vast sections of people into mass action. However, its outright dismissal of all under-
tory powers of their framework. 18 For example, rejecting the value of studying strate-
gic political alignments with ‘elite’ politics completely has invariably left out entirely
the plausible explanations of mass action that could at least complicate straightfor-
ward ‘initiative from below’ approaches to mobilizations. 19 This thesis has gained
considerably from the emphasis on symbols and signifiers for mass politics, but com-
bines these insights with efforts at delineating possible structures of strategic align-
alty, and perceptions of interests. Leaving the latter domain out, this thesis argues,
would amount to overlooking valuable historical material that can provide nuanced
With the exception of Gyanendra Pandey, few Subaltern Studies scholars have
of similar themes: Shahid Amin, Event, Metaphor, Memory: Chauri Chaura, 1922-1992,
Delhi; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995; David Hardiman, The Coming of the Devi:
Adivasi Assertion in Western India, Delhi; Oxford University Press, 1987.
18
See Guha, ‘On Some Aspects’; David Hardiman, ‘The Indian ‘Faction’: A Political Theory
Examined’ in Guha (ed.), Subaltern Studies I.
19
See, for example, the following collection of essays containing some of the most influential
critiques of the Subaltern Studies project: Vinayak Chaturvedi (ed.), Mapping Subaltern Stud-
ies and the Postcolonial, London: Verso, 2000. Also, Rajnarayan Chandavarkar, Imperial
Power and Popular Politics: Class, Resistance and the State in India, c. 1850-1950, Cam-
bridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998 (especially chapter 8).
20
Much of Pandey’s works on the evolution of communalism in North India scattered in vari-
ous journals and in the Subaltern Studies volumes have been brought together, elaborated and
reworked by him in Pandey, The Construction of Communalism. For his investigations of par-
7
more useful, in fact, to read Pandey’s writings alongside those of other scholars of
communalism who have highlighted the role of performative practices and rituals in
public arenas for collective action along communal lines, and examined specific mo-
tifs and symbols around which communal antagonisms coalesced. Thus, a range of
women – have been foregrounded as typical sites for the constitution and mobilization
of communal identity. 21 This thesis has sought to examine how such images and sym-
cutta during the last years of the Raj; but it foregrounds other important symbols and
slogans that are not seen as part of the usual repertoire of communal politics. In fact,
some of these are seen as more congruent with nationalist rhetoric. This thesis shows,
range of street actions that were reflective of Hindu-Muslim animosity. In fact, Hindu
communal propaganda often used this rhetoric to portray Muslims as saboteurs of the
In examining communal discourses and the actions these precipitated, this thesis
argues for the need to interrogate the activities of a wider range of participants beyond
tition violence, see Gyanendra Pandey, Remembering Partition: Violence, Nationalism and
History in India, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011.
21
Particularly influential has been the works of Freitag. See Sandria B. Freitag, Collective
Action and Community: Public Arenas and the Emergence of Communalism in North India,
Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989; Sandria B. Freitag, ‘Sacred Symbol as Mobi-
lizing Ideology: The North Indian Search for a “Hindu” Community, Comparative Studies in
History and Society, vol. 22, no. 4, 1980. Also see Anand Yang, ‘Sacred Symbol and Sacred
Space in Rural India: Community Mobilization in the “Anti-cow killing” Riot of 1893’, Com-
parative Studies in Society and History, vol. 22, no. 4, 1980. Chapters 3 and 4 of this thesis
contains detailed references of works on communal mobilizations and violence.
8
affiliates of communal bodies or sections within the Congress. It shows that even left-
wing organizations and individuals associated with them often played active roles in
politics in UP (United Provinces, which later became Uttar Pradesh after independ-
ence), William Gould has explored how socialist leaders easily navigated between the
Congress and Hindu nationalist organizations. 22 He points out that by the 1930s, there
the Hindu Mahasabha; however, this did not prevent even prominent Congress social-
ists in various urban centres of UP from maintaining close links with Hindu commu-
were not merely about strategically exploiting multiple political affiliations for selfish
ends, but were often backed by elaborate intellectual efforts at bringing together so-
cialist radicalism and elements of ‘Hindu thought’. This thesis studies somewhat simi-
lar cases of involvement of leaders and cadres of various socialist and left-wing out-
tensions in Calcutta by the late 1940s, little intellectual effort seems to have been ex-
While some of the mobilizing rhetoric discussed in the thesis have long been part
of the repertoire of Indian politics, some were specific to the late-colonial and early
post-colonial period. This necessitates a discussion of the temporal span this thesis
covers and the ways in which this period has been labelled by historians.
22
William Gould, Hindu Nationalism and the Language of Politics in Late Colonial India,
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004.
9
Dilemmas of ‘Naming’ the Process of British Withdrawal:
Disagreements abound about how to label the historical process that led to British
Objections to this description are that it portrays the process of British withdrawal
from India as a product of peaceful negotiations by elites at the top. ‘Freedom’ or ‘in-
dependence’ is the preferred choice of nationalist historiography (with all its internal
variations), which insists upon the role of ‘India’s struggle for independence’ in forc-
ing Britain to quit India. The problem with this perspective lies in its romanticization
of the ‘nationalist struggle’ that papers over internal contradictions, splits and dis-
and ‘freedom’ (or ‘independence’) – are, therefore, extreme positions, describing two
opposing views about what exactly happened in the subcontinent in the second half of
the 1940s.
23
This debate was precipitated with a multi-volume compilation of primary material relating
to developments in the 1940s mainly from the India Office records in London. Nicholas Man-
sergh and Penderel Moon (eds.), The Transfer of Power, 1942-47: Constitutional Relations
between Britain and India, London: Her Majesty’s Stationery Office, vols. I – XII, 1970-
1983.
24
Another multi-volume compilation of primary material pertaining to developments in India
in the late 1930s and 1940s was published from New Delhi under the title: Towards Freedom:
Documents on the Movement for Independence in India, New Delhi: Indian Council of His-
torical Research and Oxford University Press, 1985-2015. Also see Bipan Chandra, Mridula
Mukherjee, Aditya Mukherjee, K.N. Panikkar, Sucheta Mahajan, India’s Struggle for Inde-
pendence, New Delhi: Penguin, 1988; Mahajan, Independence and Partition.
10
The implications of using the term ‘decolonization’ remain ambiguous. Despite its
currency in recent scholarship, 25 Dipesh Chakrabarty has called for its rejection. 26
complete rupture with colonialism. He argues that the journey of societies and nations
‘from the colonial to the post-colonial’ involves a process in which ‘the colonizer and
the colonized were often engaged in a hybridizing encounter’. 27 A clinical break with
South Asia. This became evident, Chakrabarty asserts, right from the moment ‘anti-
– the ‘commonwealth vision’ and, what one might call, a bottom-up vision. 29 He has
rejected the first because it is elitist, statist and marked by a deep metropolitan bias.
He has endorsed the second vision of decolonization, which he has used to explore
This thesis is not particularly interested in this debate about labels, none of which
do justice to the complexity of the changes in the subcontinent in this period. It is spe-
25
Two ‘decolonization’ readers have been particularly popular among scholars of India in
recent times: Prasenjit Duara (ed.), Decolonization: Perspectives form Then and Now, New
York and London, 2004; James D. Le Sueur (ed.), The Decolonization Reader, New York and
London: Routledge, 2003.
26
Dipesh Chakrabarty, ‘Introduction: From the Colonial to the Postcolonial: India and Paki-
stan in Transition’, in Dipesh Chakrabarty, Rochona Majumdar and Andrew Sartori (eds.),
From the Colonial to the Postcolonial: India and Pakistan in Transition, New Delhi: Oxford
University Press, 2007.
27
Ibid., p. 3.
28
Ibid., p. 7.
29
Sekhar Bandyopadhyay, Decolonization in South Asia: Meanings of Freedom in Post-
Independence West Bengal, 1947-52, London and New York: Routledge, 2009.
11
cifically concerned with how, amidst this transition from the colonial to the post-
colonial condition, the institutions of the state intervened in social conflicts – during
state’. It does not aim to provide a general account of the effects of these transitions
empire and the emergence of the nation-state in India, this thesis argues, had specific
This thesis attempts to study the transition from the colonial to the post-colonial
situation over a relatively narrow time frame of about five years, beginning with the
end of the Second World War in 1945 and extending up to early 1950. It recognizes
the value of longue duree studies in identifying broad patterns and periodic shifts in
colonial policy leading up to the British withdrawal. However, this study is preoccu-
pied with delineating deeper nuances in the changing dynamic of state-society rela-
tions that the immediate context of imperial withdrawal brought about. An intense
focus over a shorter period – covering the eve and the immediate aftermath of the
The end of the Second World War marked a distinct shift in Britain’s policy to-
wards India. Before the end of the War, every initiative of the colonial government
12
was directed towards devising the best possible arrangement for retaining British con-
trol over the subcontinent. Ever since the East India Company’s ‘Indian possessions’
were taken over by the British Crown in 1857, constitutional reforms at periodic in-
tervals ensured rearrangements of power relations to suit the changing needs of the
governed. Even the Government of India Act of 1937 – the last constitutional reform
in British India – was deeply concerned with retaining the ultimate reins of govern-
ment in British hands. For the colonial administration, the Act only entailed a retreat
ers to elected political leaders in the provinces. However, everything changed when
the Second World War came to an end. The Labour government that assumed power
in war-weary Britain was clear about its intention of withdrawing from the subconti-
nent at the earliest opportunity. Colonial policy, therefore, for the first time, came to
be preoccupied with determining the best way of quitting India. This brought about a
sea change not only in British attitude towards India’s future, but also in the political
climate of the subcontinent. The pressing question in Indian politics was no longer
about how to drive the British away, ready as the British were to beat a retreat. It now
involved debates about India’s future once the British rulers were gone, and who
should inherit control over the institutions of government the British had created. This
decisive shift in the imperial government’s attitude towards India and the concomitant
change in the directions of Indian politics forms the context with which this thesis be-
The purpose of ending the thesis in 1950 is more tentative. Practical concerns have
helped shape this decision. The kinds of archival material that form the backbone of
13
the thesis – the local intelligence sources of Calcutta Police, for example – dry up by
extending the study further would have involved reliance on other kinds of sources.
Rewarding as that may have been, difference in the nature of sources would have in-
variably created problems of comparison with the earlier phases covered in this thesis,
compromising its overall narrative and analytical unity. The second reason is that
early 1950 witnessed a contrast that makes for an interesting note on which to end the
thesis. As independent India adopted the world’s longest written constitution, em-
bodying supposedly the best and the most liberal values of the times, it witnessed a
fresh wave of Hindu-Muslim violence. Calcutta, again, was one of the main theatres
of this anticlimax. Ending the thesis at this point, on a somewhat ironical note, serves
to emphasize the difficulty of identifying a precise date when the process of decoloni-
Through a close examination of how the local state apparatus intervened in social
conflicts, this thesis aims to study how state institutions and practices at the local level
This requires situating the study in the historiography of the nature of the state in co-
lonial and early post-colonial India. Scholarly opinion has always been sharply di-
vided on the issue. Some argue that the colonial state had struck deep roots in Indian
soil, changing the nature of Indian society beyond recognition. Others believe that the
14
colonial state was satisfied with leaving Indian society to its own devices so long as
Intrusive State:
The argument about the intrusive nature of the colonial state has had a long career,
depicted the colonial state as a highly exploitative machine that drove deep into In-
dian society to extract as much resources as possible. This ensured steady immiseriza-
tion of the Indian economy and society, robbing it of all its vitality. 31 The colonial
state’s ideological apparatus, however, was seen as rather weak. The blatant oppres-
have exposed its anti-Indian character early on, so that the spirit of national resistance
emerged spontaneously among Indians from the very beginning, waiting to be tapped
tate all forms of resistance – rebellions led by local notables, activities of group-
specific local associations, peasant movements, and tribal uprisings – within the
metanarrative of Indian nationalism’s heroic struggle against alien rule, leading the
30
For a brief but pointed discussion on the historiography of the nature of the colonial state in
British India, see Taylor C. Sherman, State Violence and Punishment in India, London; New
York: Routledge, 2010, pp. 1-4.
31
For a classic statement on colonial economic exploitation and its links with the evolution of
the Indian nationalist movement in nationalist historiography, see Bipan Chandra, The Rise
and Growth of Economic Nationalism in India: Economic Policies of Indian National Lead-
ership, 1880-1905, New Delhi: People’s Publishing House, 1966.
32
Chandra et al, India’s Struggle for Independence; Chandra, Nationalism and Colonialism.
15
Other steams of historical writing also argued for a deeply transformative impact
of the colonial state apparatus on Indian society. Scholars working within the Subal-
tern Studies framework argued for an autonomous consciousness of the Indian masses
that stood at variance with the elite nationalist leadership. 33 They insisted that the co-
lonial state reached deep into the Indian social fabric by transforming the power rela-
tions that operated within colonial society. It was not so much of the bureaucratic ap-
paratus of the colonial state itself reaching all the way down to the local level; it was
the social institutions and relations of production that colonialism either created or
The most far-reaching impact of colonial rule, argued Ranajit Guha, was orches-
trated by a radical restructuring of land relations that established the Raj as a ‘rule of
property’ in the subcontinent. 35 Keen to identify and fix ownership of land in the
quest for squeezing out maximum possible revenue, the British created a new regime
of landed property that not only tolerated older feudal-type exploitation, but reinvigo-
rated them with active support of the state. The recasting of land-ownership as bour-
forms. As older ‘local despots’ replaced new ones, mahajans and banias entered agrar-
ian land markets, ushering in an altogether new structure of oppression that combined
rentier exploitation with usury, ultimately backed up by the authority of the colonial
33
For a programmatic announcement of the ‘Subaltern Studies’ agenda, see Guha, ‘On Some
Aspects of the Historiography of Colonial India’.
34
See Ranajit Guha, Elementary Aspects of Peasant Insurgency in Colonial India, Durham;
London: Duke University Press, 1999 (first published 1983).
35
This argument was first developed in Ranajit Guha, A Rule of Property for Bengal: An Es-
say on the Idea of Permanent Settlement, Durham; London: Duke University Press, 1996
(first published 1963).
16
state. 36 By the time depredations of the new landed elites became too obvious to ig-
nore, and the colonial state was left with no choice but to take some remedial action, it
landlord authority’ and its legal system was readily available for manipulation ‘by
court officials and lawyers in favour of landlordism’. 37 Thus emerged the ‘Sarkar Sa-
hukar Zamindar’ model as the dominant framework in early subaltern studies scholar-
ship for explaining colonial exploitation, the tentacles of which supposedly reached
for understanding the nature of the colonial state. 39 Drawing upon Antonio Gramsci’s
formulations, 40 Guha argued that all states rule the societies they govern through a
range of modalities that encompasses both coercion and persuasion. However, a rul-
ing authority constitutes itself as ‘hegemonic’ only when its use of persuasion exceeds
that of coercion. Colonial rule, Guha insisted, articulated its authority overwhelmingly
through coercive means, while its reliance on persuasion remained marginal to its
36
Guha, Elementary Aspects, pp. 6-8.
37
Ibid, p. 7
38
‘Sarkar, Sahukar, Zamindar’ exploitation as the typical form of colonial oppression in India
were explored through several essays in the early volumes of Subaltern Studies. There are,
however, few articles that directly address the nature of the state, among which must be
counted: Ranajit Guha, ‘The Prose of Counter-insurgency’, in Ranajit Guha (ed.), Subaltern
Studies II: Writings on South Asian History and Society, Delhi: Oxford University Press,
1983; Upendra Baxi, ‘“The State’s Emissary”: The Place of Law in Subaltern Studies’, in Par-
tha Chatterjee and Gyan Pandey (eds.), Subaltern Studies VII: Writings on South Asian His-
tory and Society, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1992; Vivek Dhareshwar and R. Srivatsan,
‘“Rowdy-sheeters”: An Essay on Subalternity and Politics’, in Shahid Amin and Dipesh
Chakrabarty (eds.), Subaltern Studies IX: Writings on South Asian History and Society, Delhi:
Oxford University Press, 1996.
39
Ranajit Guha, Dominance without Hegemony: History and Power in Colonial India, Cam-
bridge, Mass.; London: Harvard University Press, 1997.
40
Antonio Gramsci, Prison Notebooks, (trans. Joseph A Buttigieg), New York: Columbia
University press, 2011.
17
functioning. He went on, therefore, to describe British rule in India as ‘dominance
without hegemony’. Corollary to this formulation was the assertion that the colonial
state was able to dominate Indian society, and hence penetrate deep into the social
fabric, largely without bothering to persuade its subject population to give their con-
sent to colonial rule. Nevertheless, Guha’s observations on the nature of colonial gov-
ernment was not based on an empirical evaluation of the actual functioning of the
state; his object of investigation was the nature of colonial knowledge production and
The shift towards the study of colonial knowledge production and discourse in the
analysis of the colonial state and its functioning began, therefore, under the influence
However, this historiographical move entrenched itself more firmly with the populari-
zation of Michel Foucault’s critiques of modern power his ideas about ‘governmental-
ity’, 42 Henri Lefebvre’s spatial analysis 43 and Edward Said’s theorization of ‘oriental-
ies on colonialism, focusing mainly on the nineteenth century and the early decades of
41
Bernard S. Cohn, An Anthropologist among Historians and Other Essays, Delhi; Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 1987; Bernard S. Cohn, Colonialism and its Forms of Knowledge:
The British in India, Delhi; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997.
42
See Graham Burchell, Colin Gordon and Peter Miller (eds.), The Foucault Effect: Studies in
Governmentality, with Two Lectures by and an Interview with Michel Foucault, Chicago:
University of Chicago Press, 1991.
43
Henri Lefebvre, The Production of Space, (trans. Donald Nicholson-Smith), Oxford:
Blackwell, 1991.
44
Edward W. Said, Orientalism, Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1985.
18
the twentieth century, that projected the colonial state as a highly intrusive machine
Limited State:
highly invasive form of government and remained skeptical of the ability and willing-
ness of the state to strike deep roots in Indian society and transform it in the process.
Inaugurating what has come to be called the ‘New Cambridge School’ thesis, Anil
Seal argued that imperialism was driven by impulses of power as well as profit. 46 This
meant that expenditure incurred in the quest for power could not be allowed to dimin-
ish the quantum of profit that the authorities wanted to extract from India. Lowering
the cost of administration was, therefore, a key concern for the colonial government,
which prompted them to seek out cheap allies in the localities. Such transactions in-
45
The ‘intrusive state’ thesis has been worked out in the context of the nineteenth and early
twentieth centuries in a number of highly influential works. For a discussion of the growing
intrusive and transformative potential of the prison system in British India, see Satadru Sen,
Disciplining Punishment: Colonialism and Convict Society in the Andaman Islands, Delhi:
Oxford University Press, 2000. For developments in the domain of science and medicine, see
Gyan Prakash, Another Reason: Science and the Imagination of Modern India, Princeton,
N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1999; David Arnold, Colonizing the Body: State Medicine
and Epidemic Disease in Nineteenth Century India, Berkeley: University f California Press,
1993. For a discussion of how the colonial state penetrated Indian society through colonial
knowledge production and caste, see Nicholas B. Dirks, Castes of Mind: Colonialism and the
Making of Modern India, Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2001. For an account of
spatial dominance, see Manu Goswami, Producing India: From Colonial Economy to Na-
tional Space, Chicago: Chicago University Press, 2004. On colonial forestry, see K. Siva-
ramakrishnan, Modern Forests: Statemaking and Environmental Change in Colonial Eastern
India, Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1999; for a study of governmentality in a city
space, see Stephen Legg, Spaces of Colonialism: Delhi’s Urban Governmentalities, Oxford:
Blackwell Publishing, 2007.
46
Anil Seal, ‘Imperialism and Nationalism in India’, Modern Asian Studies, vol. 7, no. 3,
1973, pp. 321-347. In his conception of imperialism, Seal was drawing upon an earlier thesis:
John Gallagher and Ronald Robinson, ‘An Imperialism of Free Trade’, The Economic History
Review, New Series, vol. 6, no. 1, 1953, pp. 1-15.
19
volved a political bargain which assured the authorities of low-cost revenue collection
and preservation of order in the localities provided the state allowed its collaborators
ample freedom in local affairs. This, Seal contended, amounted to a situation where
‘the British were winking at the existence of a legal underworld where the private jus-
tice of faction settled conflicts with the blows of lathis, or where, at the best, the
strong could get their own way in the courts’. 47 In time, however, increase in demands
for revenue from India on the behest of Britain’s expanding global ambitions necessi-
tated greater intervention in local autonomy. But these were balanced out by creating
nomination, representation and election in them. In effect, this was an effort at ‘cast-
ing wider nets to find collaborators’, 48 who could be harnessed to Britain’s imperial
ends. However, to ensure that these new institutions worked within the framework
this ensured that even in matters where Indians were given a free hand, they now had
to express themselves only through governmental categories in their dealings with the
state. Such developments, Seal argued, eventually ‘ruptured’ the autonomy of regions
and localities, but did so in ways that allowed the state to economize on administra-
tive costs by leaving local initiative in the hands of Indian collaborators. 49 What
emerges from this description is an image of the colonial state having to grant consid-
erable autonomy to Indian collaborators in the locality to satisfy demands made upon
it by the British imperial system. The mechanisms devised to channelize Indian initia-
tive may have varied over time, but, structurally, the colonial state retained these fea-
47
Seal, ‘Imperialism and Nationalism’, p. 328.
48
Ibid, p. 333.
49
Ibid, p. 329.
20
This framework was carefully worked out over two edited volumes through a se-
ries of essays. 50 Though the central concern of most of these studies was to explicate
the dynamics of Indian politics as it traversed the local, provincial and national do-
mains, they worked with, implicitly and explicitly, the notion of the colonial state de-
lineated by Seal. Subsequently, efforts were made to nuance the understanding of the
ness of its institutions over time. 51 But studies of specific localities revealed large
domains of autonomy that Indian collaborators continued to enjoy well into the twen-
tieth century. 52
Despite all the differences between those who believed in the intrusive nature of
the colonial state and those who argued for its limited reach, there seemed to be an
apparent agreement. There seemed to be a consensus that, over time, the colonial state
had been able to intervene in Indian society to a much greater extent. At least by the
last decade of its existence, it was believed, the Raj had been able to reach deeper into
Indian social life. This idea was subsequently elaborated mainly by political scientists
who began studying the nature of the post-colonial state in India. 53 Despite the initial
50
Gallagher and Seal (eds.), Locality Province and Nation; Baker, Johnson and Seal (eds.),
Power, Profit and Politics.
51
See, especially, David Washbrook, ‘Law, State and Agrarian Society in Colonial India’,
Modern Asian Studies, vol. 15, no. 3, 1981.
52
See, for example, Anand A. Yang, The Limited Raj: Agrarian Relations in Colonial India,
Saran District, 1793-1920, Berkeley; Los Angeles; London: University of California Press,
1989.
53
See, for example, Paul R. Brass, The Politics of India since Independence, Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1990; Sunil Khilnani, The Idea of India, London: Penguin
Books, 1997; Zoya Hasan (ed.), Politics and the State in India, Delhi: Sage Publications,
2000.
21
turmoil created by partition and the birth-pangs of the new nation, many scholars ar-
gued, the Nehruvian state was able to restore the state machinery to health and effi-
ciency within a short time; it was able to generate enough consensus for greater pene-
tration in the socio-economic life of its citizens; large-scale hydro-electric and indus-
trial projects driven by state initiative were seen as testimony to the early post-
how this had come about and the class interests that the state machinery came to ar-
ticulate. An influential strand within Indian Marxism came to characterize the early
single class being able to dominate the governmental apparatus. 55 This, they postu-
lated, gave the Indian state a degree of autonomy to intervene and restructure Indian
However, there were others who were simultaneously drawing attention to a deep-
ening crisis of governance in India. Soon, political analysts turned towards the theme
54
For historically grounded studies of these processes, see Ramchandra Guha, India After
Gandhi: The History of the World’s Largest Democracy, London: Macmillan, 2007. Also, for
a nationalist reading of the history of Nehruvian India, see Bipan Chandra, Mridula Mukher-
jee and Aditya Mukherjee, India after Independence, New Delhi; London: Viking, 1999.
55
For one of the earliest exposition of what has come to be called the ‘Neo-Marxist’ under-
standing of the Indian polity, see Pranab Bardhan, The Political Economy of Development in
India, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1990. Achin Vanaik, however, emphasized upon the
relative political strength of the agrarian bourgeoisie in the dominant coalition. See Achin
Vanaik, The Painful Transition: Bourgeois Democracy in India, London: Verso, 1990.
Ashutosh Varshney and Lloyd Rudolph and Susanne Rudolph also insisted on the growing
power of rich farmers and agrarian capitalists: Ashutosh Varshney, Democracy, Development
and the Countryside: Urban-Rural Struggles in India, Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1995; Lloyd I Rudolph and Susanne H Rudolph, In Pursuit of Lakshmi: The Political
Economy of the Indian State, Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1987. For a rigorous theori-
zation of this framework in terms of the idea of ‘passive revolution’, see Sudipta Kaviraj, ‘A
Critique of the Passive Revolution’, Economic and Political Weekly, vol. 23, no. 45-47, 1989,
pp. 2429-2444. For an overview of this debate see Partha Chatterjee, ‘Democracy and Eco-
nomic Transformation in India’, Economic and Political Weekly, vol. 43, no. 16, 2008, pp.
53-62.
22
of ‘ungovernability’, lamenting not just general lawlessness in public life but also
difficult to ignore since at least the 1980s, with a resurgence in secessionist and ethno-
coercive arms of government. State personnel seemed to take sides openly in situa-
tions of civic strife; they often appeared to be acting as agents of dominant groups. 57
Searching for roots of the crisis, however, has made scholars revaluate some of the
assumptions of the historiography of the colonial state, especially its last phase. An
dealings between the state and its citizens as a deepening of democracy and, counter-
ers have been less optimistic. A growing scholarship on the ‘everyday state’ has come
to argue that the crisis represents the continuation of practices pioneered by colonial
statecraft, which has been rendered unmanageable by its entanglements with democ-
ratic procedures. The foremost exponent of the latter thesis is Rajnarayan Chanda-
varkar, whose essay on ‘customs of governance’ has been seminal to a range of new
56
Atul Kohli, Democracy and Discontent: India’s Growing Crisis of Governability, Cam-
bridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990.
57
This increasingly expanding literature includes, for example, A.R. Desai (ed.), Expanding
Governmental Lawlessness and Organized Struggles: Violation of Democratic Rights of Mi-
norities, Women, Slum Dwellers, Press and Some Other Violations, Bombay: Popular Praka-
shan, 1991; Ujjwal Kumar Singh, Political Prisoners in India, Delhi: Oxford University
Press, 1998; Siddharth Varadarajan, Gujarat: The Making of a Tragedy, New Delhi; New
York: Penguin Books, 2002.
58
This is at least one reading of Partha Chatterjee, The Politics of the Governed: Reflections
on Popular Politics in Most of the World, New York: Columbia University Press, 2004.
23
studies engaged in rethinking the nature of the late-colonial and early post-colonial
proach to public order involved a regime of ‘salutary neglect’. This meant that the
state was interested only in maintaining a façade of peace over a range of social con-
power’. 60 But such power structures seldom proved resilient. Local conflicts fre-
quently erupted with enough vehemence to blow away the illusion of order. Increas-
ing demands on government for the preservation of peace, therefore, led to the crea-
tion of a bureaucratic and policing structure; but these often fell far short of the task.
Colonial policing therefore chose to concentrate on selected targets while leaving out
vast domains of social conflict to be resolved through informal power networks of the
neighbourhood. But when the veil of order blew away, the policing apparatus, true to
its military antecedents, responded with spectacular violence. This became increas-
ingly apparent with the growing strength of mass mobilizations in the 1920s and
1930s and the deepening self-perception among state functionaries of its own inade-
quacy and vulnerability. At the same time, however, the ingrained ‘habits and cus-
toms of governance’ produced powerful images of the state standing aloof from and
above the sociopolitical realm. The high-handed language of adjudication and conces-
sion that state officials deployed produced the illusion of the state’s abstraction from
elevated pedestal.
59
Rajnarayan Chandavarkar, ‘Customs of Governance: Colonialism and Democracy in Twen-
tieth Century India’, Modern Asian Studies, Vol. 41, No. 3, 2007, pp. 441-470.
60
Ibid, p. 449.
24
By the late 1930s, introduction of elections on a wider scale with an expanded
franchise pushed local-power dynamics up the tiers of government hierarchy. The re-
sult was that local power struggles, so long circumscribed within the locality, perme-
ated the entire state apparatus. Leaders dependent on local support and influence had
little interest in ensuring the rule of law when their local dominance was threatened,
often using their influence over the coercive machinery to shore up their power. On
the other hand, as David Washbrook has pointed out, Indian elected leaders who func-
tioned within the colonial autocratic framework of government, were always seen by
counter the supposedly adverse impact of representative government, and partly pro-
pelled by historical contingencies such as the outbreak of the Second World War, the
executive arm of the state was strengthened with exceptional and arbitrary powers.
This is the machinery that the nation state came to inherit after independence. The
people sat awkwardly alongside the belief in the necessity of extraordinary executive
power that is free from popular pressures. Chandavarkar suggested that the crisis of
61
David Washbrook, ‘The Rhetoric of Democracy and Development in Late Colonial India’,
in Sugata Bose and Ayesha Jalal (eds.), Nationalism, Democracy and Development: State and
Politics in India, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1997.
25
These insights, stated with sweeping brush-strokes by Chandavarkar, stimulated sub-
sequent research on the nature of state power and its relation to society during the
Arguing that the twentieth-century state in India was ‘vulnerable, fluid and replete
with tension’, 62 Taylor C. Sherman has put forward the notion of the ‘coercive net-
ance from the Jallianwala Bagh incident in 1919 to the ‘police action’ and counter-
insurgency operations in Hyderabad in the 1950s, Sherman has shown how the every-
day state constantly adapted to the changing political climate in India. Far from arbi-
trary sanctions of the state being progressively replaced by rational, streamlined penal
practices – involving formal arrests by the police, impartial trials and convictions by
the courts and reforms in prisons – the twentieth century state relied heavily on ‘penal
tangentially linked to the formal criminal justice system, remained the corner-stone of
the penal regime; sanctions were often imposed by ‘intermediaries, quasi-state actors
and private parties’ 65 rather than the formal governmental apparatus. Thus, under-
standing the state’s quotidian activities requires going beyond a narrow focus on indi-
vidual state institutions – police, army, bureaucracy and so on – to study the ‘inter-
connected institutions, laws and practices’ that constituted the ‘state’s coercive
repertoire’. 66
62
Taylor C. Sherman, State Violence and Punishment in India, London; New York:
Routledge, 2010, p. 1.
63
Ibid., p. 5.
64
Ibid.
65
Ibid, p. 1.
66
Ibid.
26
In drawing attention to the diversity of penal practices, Sherman has argued that
though most of the practices of the everyday state lay at the fringes of the formal re-
gime of criminal justice, these were always a part of larger imperial agendas. The pri-
petrated by individual state actors on their own initiative; a range of practices also fell
within the domain of ‘judicially sanctioned violence’. 67 This led to an expanding gap
between formal-official commitment to minimal use of force and tacit approval of in-
creasing levels of violence in the everyday practices of the state. This also meant ten-
one hand and assertion of autonomy by individual state actors tasked with implemen-
tation of policy on the other. The state in mid-twentieth century South Asia, argued
Sherman, tended to react to emerging circumstances and events much more than to
Some of these arguments have been explored by several authors in an edited vol-
ume on the nature of the everyday state in India and Pakistan in the first few decades
after independence. 69 Bringing both India and Pakistan within a single analytical
frame, these essays have sought to bridge the gap between ‘high’ and ‘low’ levels of
politics and state action by examining policy formulation at higher levels and their
interpretation and implementation at the local level. These authors have argued that
the process of post-colonial nation-building did have a profound impact on the every-
67
Ibid, p. 10.
68
Ibid, p. 11.
69
Taylor C. Sherman, William Gould and Sarah Ansari (eds.), From Subjects to Citizens: So-
ciety and the Everyday State in India and Pakistan, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
2014. These essays were first published in Modern Asian Studies in 2011.
27
day lives of the new citizens of India and Pakistan; however, the ‘rhetorical underpin-
nings’ and the ‘modus operandi’ of the new nation-states exhibited a surprising lack
Several authors have drawn attention to the overwhelming reliance on the ‘perfor-
mative aspects of state power’ of both the governments of India and Pakistan. Awe-
inspiring grand state projects, Marcus Daechsel and Danial Haines have shown,
sought not only to change the landscape and the built environment, but also to disci-
pline population, though with little ultimate success. 71 Similarly, Yasmin Khan has
shown how state spectacles and rituals that accompanied Gandhi’s death were aimed
the Nehruvian state, several authors have drawn attention to weaknesses of the both
the early Indian and Pakistani state, especially to meet popular demands. 73 Again,
some of the authors have shown how conceptions of Indian citizenship and constitu-
tional provisions guaranteeing fundamental rights deviated from the liberal egalitarian
rhetoric of the Constitution. They have shown that ‘quotidian conceptions of belong-
ing’ frequently acquired greater importance than legal considerations when it came to
how the regime of citizenship operated on the ground; 74 even legal provisions of citi-
70
Ibid, p. 5.
71
Markus Daechsel, ‘Sovereignty, Governmentality and Development in Ayub's Pakistan:
The Case of Korangi Township’, ibid; Daniel Haines, ‘Concrete ‘Progress’: Irrigation, Devel-
opment and Modernity in Mid-Twentieth Century Sind’, ibid.
72
Yasmin Khan, ‘Performing Peace: Gandhi's Assassination as a Critical Moment in the Con-
solidation of the Nehruvian State’, ibid.
73
William Gould, ‘From Subjects to Citizens? Rationing, Refugees and the Publicity of Cor-
ruption over Independence in UP’, ibid; Also see Ian Talbot, ‘Punjabi Refugees’ Rehabilita-
tion and the Indian State: Discourses, Denials and Dissonances’, ibid; Sarah Ansari, ‘Every-
day Expectations of the State during Pakistan's Early Years: Letters to the Editor, Dawn (Ka-
rachi), 1950–1953’, ibid.
74
William Gould, ‘From Subjects to Citizens?’, ibid; Taylor C. Sherman, ‘Migration, Citizen-
ship and Belonging in Hyderabad (Deccan), 1946-1956’, ibid.
28
zen’s rights came to be derived from colonial legal provisions that had clear majori-
tarian and masculine biases. 75 Together these essays went a long way in revising the
long-held beliefs on the nature of the everyday interactions between the state and sub-
A theme that recurs throughout this new historiography of the everyday state is the
extent to which popular perceptions and interpretations of state action had an impact
upon the functioning of government. Taylor C. Sherman has shown how criticism of
government action and the state’s mechanisms of dealing with disorder were engaged
ment, governmental practices also underwent transformations to deal with new forms
of mass action. Thus Sherman’s study has been invested in what she has called a ‘cul-
In studying how state action was understood by the people, historians have turned
to the theme of ‘corruption’. William Gould, for example, has attempted to open up
discussions about how subjects/citizens experienced the state by examining the range
of exchanges, relationships and interactions between officials and the public that has
come to be defined as ‘corruption’. 77 He has argued that both colonialist and national-
75
See Eleanor Newbegin, ‘Personal Law and Citizenship in India's Transition to Independ-
ence’, ibid.
76
Sherman, State Violence and Punishment in India, p. 1.
77
William Gould, Bureaucracy, Community and Influence in India: Society and the State,
1930s-1960s, London; New York: Routledge, 2011.
29
tion, either by introducing enlightened European practices of government or by the
developmental initiatives of the nation-state. However, Gould pointed out, even his-
torians who have studied local structures of social power and influence, and how these
constituted wider networks of political alliances and associations, have refrained from
demonstrates how studying what has been labelled as ‘corruption’ can provide invalu-
able insights into notions of proper state behaviour and public morality which are cru-
cial to the understanding of the functioning of the everyday state. By examining the
notion of ‘corruption’ historically, in the course of the transition from the colonial to
the post-colonial period, he shows how the contours of normative expectations from
and conceptions of transgressions by state actors changed over time. While systemic
towards ‘corruption’.
India and Pakistan as critical sites for the understanding of the everyday state. 78 The
authors have highlighted the tremendous pressures under which state functionaries
had to operate in the years after British withdrawal. These pressures were generated
by both the uncertainties and endemic violence precipitated by partition as well as the
high public expectations that independence inspired. Most importantly, the article has
argued for the necessity of taking into account two sets of relationships in the under-
standing of the everyday state: between ‘citizens and officials’ and those between
‘government servants, lobbying groups and political interests which often sought to
78
William Gould, Taylor C. Sherman and Sarah Ansari, ‘The Flux of the Matter: Loyalty,
Corruption and the ‘Everyday State’ in the Post-Partition Government Services of India and
Pakistan’, Past and Present, no. 219, 2003, pp. 218-279.
30
co-opt the services for their own ends’. 79 The latter became particularly important
and lower level civil servants and policemen, came to make their own demands upon
This new turn towards everyday practices in the analysis of state-society relations
have been inspired by anthropological perspectives on the nature of the state and how
the present thesis in the existing literature. The following section attempts this, but
One of the first group of historians to doubt the ability of the late colonial state to
dominate and transform society were those who had studied the impact of the Second
World War on India. 80 However, there were debates about the degree of autonomy the
79
Ibid, p. 242.
80
Indivar Kamtekar, ‘The End of the Colonial State in India, 1942-1947’, PhD Thesis, Uni-
versity of Cambridge, 1988; Indivar Kamtekar, ‘A Different War Dance: State and Class in
India, 1939-45’, Past and Present, vol. 176, 2002, pp. 187-221; Sanjoy Bhattacharya, Propa-
ganda and Information in Eastern India, 1939-45: A Necessary Weapon of War, Richmond,
Surrey: Curzon, 2001; Sanjoy Bhattacharya, ‘An Extremely Troubled Relationship: The Brit-
ish Colonial State and the Communist Party of India, 1942-1944’, in Biswamoy Pati (ed.),
Turbulent Times: India, 1940-44, Mumbai: Popular Prakashan, 1998. For studies on the Ben-
gal famine, around which there is now a consensus that it was very much the result of the
wartime state’s policies, see Amartya Sen, Poverty and Famines: An Essay on Entitlement
and Deprivation, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1981; Paul R. Greenough, Prosperity and
Misery in Modern Bengal: The Famine of 1943-44, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1982;
31
Indivar Kamtekar has suggested that the end of British rule should be understood
in terms of a crisis of state institutions.81 Until the Second World War, Kamtekar has
argued, the colonial state was successfully building new institutions through constitu-
tional negotiations. During the War, however, the state over-stretched its resources.
Post-war political upheavals made heavier economic exactions from India difficult
the subcontinent. Central to his thesis is an idea of a colonial state autonomous from
study of state propaganda during the Second World War, Sanjoy Bhattacharya has
shown how local state functionaries often subverted directives from higher officials,
and were deeply integrated into the dynamics of local society. 82 Subsequently, the
fundamental premises of the ‘autonomous state’ model came under conceptual criti-
cism.
Kamtekar has explicitly drawn his conceptual framework from Theda Skocpol’s
idea of the ‘autonomous state’. 83 Skocpol accounted for the collapse of the pre-
revolutionary states during the French, Russian and Chinese revolutions as outcomes
Bikramjit De, ‘Imperial Governance and Challenges of War’, Studies in History, vol. 22,
2006, pp. 1-43.
81
Kamtekar, ‘The End of the Colonial State in India, 1942-1947’.
82
Bhattacharya, Propaganda and Information in Eastern India, 1939-45; Bhattacharya, ‘An
Extremely Troubled Relationship’.
83
Theda Skocpol, States and Social Revolutions: A Comparative Analysis of France, Russia
and China, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979. Also see Peter Evans, Dietrich
Rueschemeyer and Theda Skocpol (eds.), Bringing the State Back In, Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1985.
32
of flawed policies that these states autonomously pursued. 84 The social composition
of the ruling elites, and class contradictions within these societies, played no role in
her explanatory framework. Similarly, Kamtekar has explained the collapse of the co-
lonial state in India in terms of the fatal policies it (autonomously) pursued during the
War. From this standpoint, the rebellion of government functionaries against the state
(as in the Royal Indian Navy mutiny or revolts within the constabulary) represented
the ‘infiltration’ 85 of the state by society. This military metaphor was used to suggest
how the entry of socio-political forces into state institutions was an anomaly, pro-
foundly limiting the choices available to the colonial state for manoeuvre. This, Kam-
Timothy Mitchell has been the most vocal critic of the ‘autonomous state’
model. 86 Mitchell argues that those who subscribe to it fail to sustain this binary with-
out adopting an extremely narrow view of policy-making impulses of the state, often
Rather than conceiving of the boundary between state and society as rigid and exter-
nally demarcated, Mitchell proposes that we should see it as one that is drawn from
tional mechanisms and practices through which networks of power maintain a socio-
84
Skocpol, States and Social Revolutions.
85
Kamtekar, ‘The End of the Colonial State in India, 1942-1947’, pp. 77, 109.
86
Timothy Mitchell elaborates his critique of the autonomous state model in two essays:
Timothy Mitchell, ‘State, Society and the State Effect’ in Aradhana Sharma and Akhil Gupta
(eds.), The Anthropology of the State: A Reader, Malden, Mass; Oxford: Blackwell, 2009.
Reprinted in G. Steinmetz (ed.), State/Culture: State Formation after the Cultural Turn,
Ithaca, New York and London: Cornell University Press, 1999. Timothy Mitchell, ‘The Lim-
its of the State: Beyond Statist Approaches and their Critics’, The American Political Science
Review, vol. 85, no. 1, March 1991, pp. 77-96.
87
Mitchell, ‘Society, Economy and the State Effect’; Mitchell, ‘The Limits of the State: Be-
yond Statist Approaches and their Critics’.
33
political order. Drawing upon Michel Foucault, Mitchell argues that the polymor-
phous forms of modern power that operate through the elaboration of hierarchical in-
tions, also produce, through the same mechanism, a ‘state effect’. 88 The operation of
governmental techniques produces the illusion of the modern state as a coherent, lar-
for example, has shown how the state at the local level is no more than a cluster of
fragmentary institutions and mundane practices of local officials. These blur any con-
On the other hand, his study has revealed how the state, as a distant trans-local entity,
rural development. The inhabitants of the village also exhibited a grasp over the hier-
88
Mitchell, ‘Society, Economy and the State Effect’.
89
Aradhana Sharma and Akhil Gupta (eds.), The Anthropology of the State; Thomas Blom
Hansen and Finn Stepputat (eds.), States of Imagination: Ethnographic Explorations of the
Postcolonial State, Durham: Duke University Press, 2001; C.J. Fuller and Veronique Benei
(eds.), The Everyday State and Society in Modern India, London: Hurst & Co., 2001; and
Stuart Corbridge, et. al. (eds.), Seeing the State: Governance and Governability in India,
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005.
90
Akhil Gupta, ‘Blurred Boundaries: The Discourse of Corruption, the Culture of Politics,
and the Imagined State’, American Ethnologist, vol. 22, no. 2, May 1995, pp. 375-402. Also
reprinted in Sharma and Gupta (eds.), The Anthropology of the State; Also see Akhil Gupta,
Red Tape: Bureaucracy, Structural Violence and Poverty in India, New Delhi: Orient
BlackSwan, 2012, pp. 75-110.
34
archical distribution of power within the state apparatus, and were able to call upon
the help of higher authorities to remedy their victimization by corrupt local officials. 91
He argues that Foucault underestimates the role of resistance in destabilizing the dis-
ciplinary project of modern institutions of power. But he does not explore what impli-
cations this critique might have on his own postulation of the ‘state effect’. If discipli-
nary power is under constant challenge, the ‘state effect’ it produces must also be per-
ennially unstable. How, then, is the image of the state as a coherent, all-powerful, dis-
tant entity sustained? In the Indian context, Thomas Blom Hansen’s works offer use-
ful insights.
Thomas Blom Hansen has pointed to a long legacy in British legal theory of imag-
ining the state through a ‘deep and constitutive split’ between its ‘sublime’ and ‘pro-
fane’ aspects. 92 This imagination of the state, he has argued, has had its imprint upon
post-colonial India as part of its colonial inheritance. The profanity of the state con-
and ‘the rough and tumble of negotiation, compromise and naked self-interest dis-
played in local politics’. 93 On the other hand, the state’s sublime dimension consists
91
For another insightful anthropological study on state and corruption, see Jonathan Parry,
‘“The Crisis of Corruption” and “The Idea of India”: A Worm’s Eye View’, in Italo Pardo
(ed.), Morals of Legitimacy: Between Agency and System, New York; Oxford: Berghahn
Books, 2000.
92
Thomas Blom Hansen, ‘Governance and Myths of State in Mumbai’ in Fuller and Benei
(eds.), The Everyday State and Society in Modern India; Also see Thomas Blom Hansen, Vio-
lence in Urban India: Identity Politics, Mumbai and the Post-Colonial City, Delhi; Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 1998.
93
Hansen, ‘Governance and Myths of state in Mumbai’, p. 35.
35
of a conception of an all-powerful, distant entity, far removed from the contaminating
proximity of the pettiness of everyday life. The state, in its sublime aspects, embodies
rationality and appears as a repository of impartial justice. Thus, when state function-
aries participate in, or even orchestrate, social conflicts, this imaginary of the state
facilitates its relegation only to its profane dimensions. Its sublime aspects retain their
sanctity, and are called upon to deliver justice and resolve conflicts in the socio-
political realm. Commissions of inquiry, the ‘impartial’ judiciary and such other insti-
dimension of the state restores the ‘state effect’ every time its profanity drives it to the
point of crisis. This is how even in the most unjust, majoritarian and xenophobic re-
good and as an embodiment of a higher notion of justice. Even when state power is in
acute crisis, those who operate the state machinery strive to perpetuate the sublime
imaginaries of the state; because, in the interest of its own survival, ‘the myth of the
This thesis proposes that the specificity and, indeed, the profundity of the moment
of transition from the colonial to the post-colonial order in South Asia may be under-
stood as a crisis of state power when both the sublime and the profane dimensions of
the state’s imaginary had fallen apart. This moment is the subject of this thesis. It was
marked by a loss of hope in the capacity of the state to deliver any higher justice.
94
Ibid., p. 64.
36
The thesis embarks upon a detailed study of the patterns of street agitations and
communal violence in Calcutta that exhibit a sense of deep crisis of state power.
However, the depth and complexity of the historical material that this research had to
deal with does not allow for a simple reduction of the state’s imaginary into a sub-
and injustice saw no remedy immanent in the state. They had no one to turn to, no au-
thority who could intervene on behalf of the state and restore faith in its institutions.
This also prompted people to question state authority in radical ways. They could di-
rectly threaten state officials during ‘anti-imperialist’ street action; they could kill
their communal ‘others’, confident of their impunity from state sanction. In fact, it
was the depth of the sense of complete erosion of state authority that presented direct
street action as the only mode of securing justice. The transition to post-colonial na-
elite having to rescue the state from an unusual crisis. They had to resurrect, once
again, a state imaginary with sublime attributes – rational, benevolent, just, incor-
upon the new historiography of the everyday state, this thesis shows how this process
the efficacy and neutrality of the state, the institutions of governance survived and
came to be strengthened, extended and elaborated by the nation state. However, even
this process remained haphazard; some colonial institutions were strengthened, some
95
Some recent historians of the everyday state argue that criticisms of government, ‘made
worse by the pressures of the Second World War, meant that confidence appeared to have
reached its nadir by 1947…’ See Gould, Sherman and Ansari, ‘The Flux of the Matter’, p.
240.
37
marginalized, while others acquired new content. Thus, it defies any simple teleologi-
The thesis argues, however, that the crises that state institutions encountered dur-
ing this interregnum provided the new rulers with a great opportunity to rearrange the
distribution of social power on the ground. It created a moment when it was possible
to reorder society in such a way that enabled the new ruling elites to consolidate their
authority with greater ease. They frequently took recourse to suppression of all those
flexing. Sunil Khilnani reminds us that universal suffrage and constitutional democ-
racy were not bestowed upon the people of India through popular demand: ‘it was
given to them by the political choice of an intellectual elite’. 96 But before these
elites did everything they could to ensure that these enlightened constitutional provi-
sions would not endanger their ability to rule. Segments of society who were seen as
stumbling blocks to their dominance were either won over or subjugated. This brutal
task was accomplished in the interregnum before constitutional safeguards and de-
mocratic procedures obliged them, at least theoretically, to uphold the sanctity of the
96
Sunil Khilnani, The Idea of India, London: Hamish Hamilton, 1997, p. 34.
38
Sources and Methodology
the forms and possibilities of popular politics opened up by this transition to post-
documents of political organizations and newspapers; but the focus remains upon a
The work looks at interactions between different levels within the state apparatus –
local, regional, national and imperial – and analyses how these interactions catalysed
developments at the local level. Among official sources, it uses sources from archives
in London, New Delhi and Calcutta to understand the context within which local de-
velopments took shape and how these local issues informed discussions at higher offi-
cial levels. Yet the most important source base that it brings to the fore – much of it
for the first time – is the archive of the Special Branch of the Calcutta Police.
Political intelligence gathered by the city police constituted the lowest level of of-
ficial intelligence about political goings-on in the city-space. It is a unique source for
First, it lacks the authoritative, ‘truth-proclaiming’ voice of the state that official
tent. The police often deployed more than one agent to collect information about im-
portant political incidents. This often produced multiple, and sometimes even diver-
gent narratives of the same incident. This makes available to the historian a poly-
phonic perspective on events. Second, higher echelons of the government used these
39
fragmentary and disjointed records to arrive at the authoritative voice with which they
strove to proclaim the ‘truth’. This gives historians a unique opportunity to study how
makes, the knowledge that it elides, the gaps to which it turns a blind eye. It also pro-
vides the historian access, admittedly limited and incomplete, to the ‘official mind’.
Which versions of events higher officials choose to accept, what ‘facts’ they reject
and on what grounds, gives the historian a sense of the selectivity of official versions
of events. Third, unlike many other official repositories, police intelligence does not
completely exclude the voice of non-state actors. They enter the police archives
through a variety of means, even if they are heavily mediated. These unofficial voices
cuttings, confessions during police interrogations and many other ways. But, above
all, the police often used non-official networks, including ‘informers’ within criminal
gangs, to gather intelligence on vital issues. 97 This again demonstrates how closely
Of course, police sources have many limitations. The police archive is one whose
ultimate preoccupation is with criminality. It therefore has its own biases in terms of
the subjects it chooses, the people it talks about, the nature of events and actions that
finds space within it. This thesis aims to address these shortcomings in two ways.
First, it tries to read police records alongside other kinds of sources – official archives
40
Second, it seeks to read the archive both along and against the grain 98 – to go along
with what the narrators want the readers to know, the way they tell the stories, as well
as to remain alert to what the narrators do not want the readers to know, their omis-
sions and silences, and what they choose to leave out at the margins.
The thesis opens with official discussions of the trial of the Indian National Army.
Three officers of the INA – a Hindu, a Muslim and a Sikh – were selected for trial at
the Red Fort in Delhi. The chapter examines the official rationale for these decisions,
which are seen by many as a major faux pas of the government (qua Kamtekar, a fatal
policy pursued by the autonomous state). Next it analyses the agitation against the
trial of these officers in the streets of Calcutta. It exposes the myth that this agitation
terized mass movements in India in the aftermath of the Second World War.
If the agitation against the Red Fort trials deviated from the model of an ideal
tion in Calcutta moved even further away from this ideal. The second chapter seeks to
question the ‘revolutionary’ character that some historians have ascribed to this agita-
tion. The chapter shows that the celebration of this agitation is often premised about a
98
For methodological discussions on reading archives ‘along the grain’, see Ann Laura Stoler,
‘Colonial Archives and the Arts of Governance’, Archival Science, vol. 2, 2002, pp. 87-109.
Also see Ann Laura Stoler, Along the Archival Grain: Epistemic Anxieties and Colonial
Common Sense, Princeton; Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2009. For a discussion on
reading the archive ‘against the grain’, see Ranajit Guha, ‘On Some Aspects of the Historiog-
raphy of Colonial India’.
41
lack of knowledge of the details of the Rashid Ali case itself, as well as a misrepre-
sentation of some details about the agitation that followed. It will show that the al-
leged ‘injustice’ in Rashid Ali’s conviction became a mere symbol around which an
colonial’ protest, the street agitation represented deep resentments against the
The third chapter shows how relations between Hindu and Muslim inhabitants of
Calcutta began to fall apart during the last phase of the Second World War. It is inter-
ested in the deterioration of everyday interaction and the low-scale pervasive violence
in the city in the war’s aftermath. It deliberately takes the story beyond the Great Cal-
cutta Killing to show that this catastrophic communal riot was not a sudden develop-
Chapter four focuses on symbols for the articulation of communal grievances that
gained currency in early 1947. Punjabi Muslim policemen, newly recruited into the
Calcutta Police by the Muslim League government, became the target of street agita-
tions. Hindu propagandists highlighted this strategy of police recruitment to argue that
not only was the everyday state biased and corrupt, but that such biases and corrup-
tions were being encouraged by higher echelons of the government. Therefore, Hin-
dus could not expect justice from any state authority anymore. This campaign mobi-
lized support for the Hindu demand for Bengal’s partition, which sounded the death-
42
knell for alternative vision’s of Bengal’s (and India’s) future, especially the move-
The final chapter explores how the new Hindu elite who came to control the gov-
significant ways. Despite being a minority within the city’s population, pre-partition
Calcutta. The new rulers of West Bengal overturned these power relations by reduc-
ing the city’s Muslims to a vulnerable minority. This was accomplished through bru-
tal force, this thesis argues, in the crucial years before constitutional guaranties prom-
The aim of the thesis, on the whole, is to bring both so-called anti-imperialist agi-
tations and communal violence in the same city-space, and analyze them within a sin-
gle frame. Through this, it hopes to contribute to the understanding of India’s transi-
tion to nationhood and the transformations this brought about in the everyday prac-
43
Chapter 1
Studies of popular politics after the Second World War have understood the
protests against the first Indian National Army (INA) trials at the Red Fort as
apogee of this popular mood. Of the three INA officers who were tried at the Red
Fort, one was a Muslim, one a Sikh and the third a Hindu. Historians have argued that
this made people of all faiths come together to protest against the colonial
government. 1 Gautam Chattopadhyay goes on to insist that the protests had the
potential to change the very nature of decolonization, had they been taken to their
1
Sumit Sarkar, ‘Popular Movements and National Leadership, 1945-47’, Economic and
Political Weekly, vol. 17, no. 14/16, Annual Number, April, 1982, pp. 677-689. Also see
Sohini Majumdar, ‘A Different Calcutta: INA Trials and Hindu-Muslim Solidarity in 1945
and 1946’ in Tanika Sarkar and Sekhar Bandyopadhyay (eds.), Calcutta: The Stormy
Decades, New Delhi: Social Science Press, 2015, pp. 235-266.
2
Gautam Chattopadhyay, ‘The Almost Revolution: A Case Study of India in February 1946’
in Barun De (ed.), Essays in Honour of Prof. S.C. Sarkar, New Delhi: People’s Publishing
House, 1976. Also see Gautam Chattopadhyay, ‘Bengal Students in Revolt against the Raj,
1945-46’ in Amit Kumar Gupta (ed.), Myth and Reality: The Struggle for Freedom in India,
New Delhi: Manohar, 1987.
44
Sumit Sarkar also celebrates the November agitations in Calcutta as ‘non-
communal’ and ‘anti-colonial’, but recognizes that such agitations had their limits.
Protests against the trial of INA officers, he points out, were confined to only a few
cities, and the vast majority of India’s population living in the countryside remained
largely indifferent. 3 Sucheta Mahajan is also critical of these agitations. She agrees
that these were emotional outpourings of popular nationalism, but concludes that
Congress leaders rightly distanced themselves from such ‘militancy’ as the agitations
were ‘premature’. She prefers turning the ‘spotlight’ to the ‘vast, non-heroic, non-
militant multitudes’ who were equally stirred by anti-colonial feelings, who went to
‘compromising’, the Congress leaders were, in fact, the true champions of popular,
Instead of turning the spotlight away, this chapter hopes to intensify the focus on
challenges the consensus that the agitations represented a ‘non-communal’ and ‘anti-
The chapter begins by refuting the contention that the decision to try INA officers
belonging to different religions and to hold the proceedings at the Red Fort was a
misjudgement on the part of British India’s military establishment. The first two
3
Sarkar, ‘Popular Movements and National Leadership’.
4
Sucheta Mahajan, ‘British Policy, Nationalist Strategy and Popular National Upsurge, 1945-
46’ in Amit Kumar Gupta (ed.), Myth and Reality: The Struggle for Freedom in India, 1945-
47, New Delhi: Manohar, 1987, p. 80. Also see Sucheta Mahajan, Independence and
Partition: The Erosion of Colonial Power in India, New Delhi; London: Sage, 2000.
45
sections demonstrate that rather than being random, capricious and ‘autonomous’
decisions of state actors, these were products of negotiations between different layers
within the colonial government who responded to a variety of pressures in the socio-
political realm.
The last two sections delve deep into the details of the protest as it unfolded on the
streets of Calcutta in November 1945. It shows that the dominant description of these
which reveal the nature of Calcutta’s politics in the post-war period, but also provide
critical insights into the nature of mass mobilizations and popular politics.
Post-War Debates, Judicial Processes and the First Red Fort Trial
The trial of INA officers Shah Nawaz Khan, Gurbaksh Singh Dhillon and Prem
Kumar Sahgal staged at the Red Fort – an insignia of precolonial Indian glory –
backfired upon the colonial government. It allegedly provided the occasion for
different communities and political parties to come together to agitate against the
colonial state. Many historians assume that this decision was either borne out of
imperial arrogance or the government’s lack of foresight. 5 They hold the army,
lapse of judgment. Penderel Moon, for example, insists that the details of the trial
5
See, among others, Sarkar, ‘Popular Movements and National Leadership’; Chattopadhyay,
‘Bengal Students in Revolt against the Raj’; Leonard A. Gordon, Brothers Against the Raj: A
Biography of Sarat and Subhas Chandra Bose, New Delhi: Viking, 1989; Suranjan Das,
Communal Riots in Bengal, 1905-1947, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1991.
46
were decided upon by the army ‘against the advice of the Home Member’. 6 But Peter
Ward Fay believes that the decisions were ‘practical’, and that Auchinleck ‘did not
mean to send a signal’. 7 The Red Fort was ‘a known and public place’, its walled
enclosure made it secure, and its clerical staff could be easily mobilized to provide
‘logistical support’. 8 The choice of a Hindu, a Muslim and a Sikh for the trial was also
not deliberate. They were brought to trial, Fay argues, ‘because they were at hand and
agenda’. 10
The accounts, while at odds with each other in some respects, both explain
led to fixing the precise details of the trial remain unavailable. But, through a
contextual reading of debates that animated the post-war government, this section
suggests that decisions about the first Red Fort trial, were, in fact, products of
levels had their own concerns and responded to pressures of many kinds –
international opinion about British colonial policies in India, public opinion within
India, opinion of Indian and British political leaders as well as concerns about ‘law
and order’.
6
Penderel Moon (ed.), Wavell: The Viceroy’s Journal, London: Oxford University Press,
1973, p. 173.
7
Peter Ward Fay, The Forgotten Army: India’s Armed Struggle for Independence, New
Delhi: Rupa & Co., 1994, p. 471.
8
Ibid.
9
Ibid.
10
Ibid.
47
The INA issue came to the forefront of public debate in the context of a land-slide
victory for the Labour Party in the British general election of 1945. 11 In India, this
‘retain the initiative’, both London and New Delhi recognized the need for a ‘suitable
gesture’. 13 However, different echelons of government had different ideas about how
Britain should proceed to address India’s future. Differences of opinion with London
could have ‘fixed and old-fashioned ideas derived mainly from his Congress
contacts’. 14
Soon after assuming office, the new government in Britain invited Wavell to
London to discuss issues concerning India’s problems. 15 The meetings that followed
exposed the deep differences in outlook between the Indian establishment and the
India Office.
The priority of the Labour government, as became evident to Wavell during his
meetings with the India and Burma Committee, was to relieve itself of the burden of
11
Telegram from Government of India, Information and Broadcasting Department to
Secretary of State, dated 1 August 1945, Nicholas Mansergh (ed.), Transfer of Power, 1942-7
(Henceforth TP), vol. VI, London: Her Majesty’s Stationery Office, 1976, no. 1, p. 1.
12
‘Press Adviser’s appreciation for the second half of August 1945’, L/PJ/5/152/45, India
Office Records (Henceforth, ‘IOR’).
13
Telegram from Wavell to Pethick-Lawrence, New Delhi, 6 August 1945, TP, vol. VI, no. 5,
pp. 34-35.
14
Moon (ed.), Wavell: The Viceroy’s Journal, p. 161.
15
Letter from Pethick-Lawrence to Wavell, dated 18 August 1945, TP, vol. VI, no. 38, p. 92.
48
ruling India. War-ravaged Britain wanted to beat an honourable retreat as quickly as
possible, while securing Indian cooperation in strategic sectors such as trade and
wartime allies, especially the United States, as well as political parties in India and
Britain, that they were taking energetic steps in that direction. But, even before a
formal ‘transfer of power’ could be negotiated, London wanted to portray British rule
emergency ordinances with peacetime laws, fair trial to all those who had been jailed
during the war, a degree of political freedom and a free press. Through these
and Indian leaders of their genuine desire to promote self-government in India and
withdrawal from the subcontinent. In other words, the Labour government wanted to
project its immediate post-war policy priorities in India as guided by ‘rule of law’ –
courts and according to rational peacetime laws. They were motivated, therefore, by
the desire to uphold the ‘sublime’ aspects of the state. 17 They also wanted laws to be
interpreted in the most generous terms to generate ‘goodwill’ among Indians; this, the
balanced dialogue on India’s future relationship with Britain with open minds.
16
See Partha Sarathi Gupta, Imperialism and the British Labour Movement, 1914-1964,
London and Basingstoke: The Macmillan Press Ltd., 1975; Partha Sarathi Gupta, ‘Imperial
Strategy and the Transfer of Power, 1939-51’ in Amit Kumar Gupta, Myth and Reality: The
Struggle for Freedom in India, 1945-47, New Delhi: Manohar, 1987.
17
For a discussion on ‘sublime’ and ‘profane’ dimensions of the state, see: Thomas Blom
Hansen, ‘Governance and Myths of State in Mumbai’ in Fuller and Benei (eds.), The
Everyday State and Society in Modern India. Also see Thomas Blom Hansen, Violence in
Urban India: Identity Politics, Mumbai and the Post-Colonial City, Delhi; Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 1998.
49
The priorities of the government of India were different. During the war, it had
ruthlessly suppressed dissent, as was evident from the manner in which it crushed the
Quit India movement in 1942. 18 Its wartime economic policies unleashed a disaster
that claimed lives and livelihoods of millions. 19 It had replaced ordinary laws with
draconian executive ordinances – including the infamous Defence of India rules – that
enabled the state to throw thousands of political workers behind bars as a preventive
measure, even before they attempted subversion. 20 All these factors, the government
of India feared, had eroded whatever legitimacy it presumed it had among its Indian
subjects. It suspected that widespread dissension was brewing below the surface,
which would erupt the moment wartime regulations were relaxed. It therefore
18
Studies on the Quit India Movement include F.G. Hutchins, Spontaneous Revolution: The
Quit India Movement, Delhi: Manohar, 1971; Gyanendra Pandey (ed.), The Indian Nation in
1942, Calcutta: K.P. Bagchi & Co., 1988; Gyanendra Pandey, ‘The Revolt of August 1942 in
Eastern UP and Bihar’, ibid; David Hardiman, ‘The Quit India Movement in Gujarat’, ibid;
M. Harcourt, ‘Kisan Populism and Revolution in Rural India: The 1942 Disturbances in Bihar
and East United Provinces’ in D.A. Low (ed.), Congress and the Raj: Facets of the Indian
Struggle, 1917-47, London: Heinemann, 1997; Bidyut Chakrabarty, ‘Political Mobilization in
the Localities: The 1942 Quit India Movement in Midnapur’, Modern Asian Studies, vol. 26,
no. 4, 1992, pp.791-814; Bidyut Chakrabarty, Local Politics and Indian Nationalism:
Midnapore, 1919-1944, Delhi: Manohar, 1997; Stephen Henningham, ‘Quit India in Bihar
and Eastern United Provinces: The Dual Revolt’ in Ranajit Guha (ed.), Subaltern Studies:
Writings on South Asian History and Society, vol. II, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1983.
19
Wartime economic policies precipitated the Great Bengal Famine in 1943 that, according to
reliable estimates, claimed about three million lives. See Amartya K. Sen, Poverty and
Famines: An Essay on Entitlement and Deprivation, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1982; Paul R.
Greenough, Prosperity and Misery in Modern Bengal: The Famine of 1943-44, New York
and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1982; Bikramjit De, ‘British Policy in Bengal, 1939-
45’, Unpublished D.Phil Thesis, University of Oxford, 2002; Bikramjit De, ‘Imperial
Governance and the Challenges of War: Management of Food Supplies, Bengal, 1943 -
1944', Studies in History, vol. 22, no. 1, 2006, pp.1 – 43; Sugata Bose, ‘Starvation Amidst
Plenty: The Making of Famine in Bengal, Honan and Tonkin, 1942-1945’, Modern Asian
Studies, vol. 24 no. 4, October 1990; Janam Mukherjee, Hungry Bengal: War, Famine and
the End of Empire, New York: Oxford University Press, 2015.
20
Taylor C. Sherman has suggested that the colonial state always used a range of techniques
other than proper court trials to punish its colonial subjects. However, such practices became
acute during times of emergency, such as during the Second World War. See Taylor C.
Sherman, State Violence and Punishment in India, London; New York: Routledge, 2010.
50
legitimacy by slowly buttressing Indian cooperation at various levels. Accordingly,
schemes. 22 But given that his priority was to prevent violence at all costs, and ‘stiffen
the morale’ of administrative functionaries, especially the police and the army,
trial was tenuous. As opposed to the attitude of the new government in Britain, the
main concern of the government of India was to maintain ‘law and order’.
Frictions between the India Office in Britain and the government in India were
hardly a new feature of late colonialism. Wavell himself had faced considerable
challenges dealing with the Churchill government during the war. 23 Yet, the nature of
antagonism between the post-war Labour government and the government of India
was significantly different. During the War, the British government’s policy priorities
involved maintaining the status quo in India and mobilizing its resources for the war
effort. It was the government of India under Wavell which pressurized London to
21
‘Agenda, Memoranda and Minutes of the Governors’ Conference’, 1-2 August 1945, TP,
vol. VI, no. 2, p. 23.
22
Ibid., p. 17; Also, Wavell to Pethick-Lawrence, 6 August 1945, ibid., no. 5, pp. 36-37.
23
Moon (ed.), Wavell: The Viceroy’s Journal. Also, R.J. Moore, Endgames of Empire:
Studies of Britain’s India Problem, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1988; R.J. Moore,
Churchill, Cripps and India, 1939-45, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1979; Madhusree Mukherjee,
Churchill’s Secret War: The British Empire and the Ravaging of India during World War II,
New York: Basic Books, 2010.
51
initiate dialogue with Indian political leaders to secure their cooperation during the
War. After the War, under the Labour regime, the dynamic was reversed. As Wavell
put it in his diary after several sessions of discussion with the new India and Burma
Committee, ‘Compared with last time [during the Churchill regime], I have had to
raise my right foot – the one on the accelerator pedal – and put down my left foot –
the brake pedal… – gently but firmly.’ 24 Wavell thought that the Labour government
needed to slow down; they seemed to be too much in a hurry to solve India’s complex
problems.
cautious approach, Wavell knew all too well that he had to return to peacetime
administrative arrangements soon enough, and ensure press freedom and promote fair
trial, however limited in scope this might be. Neither did the British government want
played out, therefore, was the outcome of give-and-take between different policy
albeit at different paces and in different ways. Also, all of these imperatives emanated
compromises and negotiations provide vital clues about how the government of India
arrived at the controversial decisions about the first Red Fort trial.
24
Moon (ed.), Wavell: The Viceroy’s Journal, p. 171.
52
The INA trials, therefore, cannot be understood in isolation. They need to be
contextualized in their full entanglement with a range of other issues concerning the
administration. One such issue was that of punishments for those accused of violent
India’s involvement in the Second World War. In 1942, the Congress had launched a
Quit India movement to force Britain to grant India immediate independence. This
had invited state repression. The government of India imposed a ban on the Congress
and other allied organizations, confiscated their property and arrested their leaders and
activists.
Among the cases concerning Quit India violence, those linked to incidents at
Chimur and Ashti gained considerable publicity. 25 The Chimur case involved two
connected incidents: in the first instance, a magistrate and a revenue officer were
dragged out of a rest house and were ‘battered to death’; in the other, a mob chased
down a retreating police party and murdered an Inspector and a Constable. Twenty
death sentences were passed in this case, of which five were still standing in court in
August 1945. 26 In the Ashti case, an entire police station was ‘over-run and burnt’;
one Sub-Inspector was killed on spot, while a Head-Constable and two Constables
25
Wavell to Pethick-Lawrence, 11 August, TP, vol. VI, no. 13, pp. 44-45.
26
Ibid.
53
were beaten up and burnt alive. Another Constable was killed and thrown into a
pond. 27
Government of India knew that the decisions on Chimur and Ashti cases would
also affect at least three others. In the Fatwa district of Bihar, two pilot officers of the
Royal Air Force were dragged out of a train and murdered in the railway station.
Seven death sentences were originally passed in this case, out of which four were
connection with the attack and murder of an Assistant Inspector in a salt factory. 29
Again, there was a case in Jaunpur District in Uttar Pradesh, where three Constables
on duty in a village were attacked by a mob; two of them were brutally beaten to
death. This case differed from the rest in that the incidents occurred after the Quit
India agitations had passed its peak. Thus the trials on the last case, which led to five
death sentences, took place under the ordinary criminal procedures, unlike the others,
which were tried according to the Special Criminal Courts Ordinance (II of 1942). 30
Death sentences in all these cases were contested up to the level of Privy Council,
after the High Courts, Governors and the Viceroy had rejected the petitions. This had
resulted in delay in executing the sentences and the convicts were languishing in jail
27
Ibid.
28
Ibid.
29
Ibid.
30
Ibid.
31
Ibid.
54
After Labour’s victory in the elections in Britain, the India Office received several
the Viceroy. He assured Wavell that he was aware of the dangers of interfering with
convicts had been given a fair trial and all the appeals had been rejected by the highest
tribunals; he was also aware of the importance of protecting the police force and
ensuring that brutal attacks on them did not go unpunished; it was also extremely
necessary, he agreed with Wavell, to discourage ‘the belief that persistent use of the
However, he insisted, there were other facts that also deserved attention. The crimes
were actually committed about three years ago and convicts were living under the
sentence of death for the past two and a half years. The public perceived this as
‘premeditation’ in any of these incidents and that most of these were ‘constructive
murders’ 34. Finally, the demand was for mere commutation of the death sentences and
not complete remission of punishments altogether – exactly what the courts had
explained that both in Britain and in India, there was widespread hope that the
inauguration of the Labour regime in Britain ‘would coincide with some act of
32
Pethick-Laurence to Wavell, 7 August 1945, ibid., no. 8, p. 40; Pethick-Lawrence to
Wavell, 8 August 1945, TP, ibid., no. 9, p. 41.
33
Pethick Lawrence to Wavell,10 August 1945, ibid., no. 12, p. 43-44.
34
Ibid., p. 43, emphasis in original. ‘Constructive murder’ is a murder where the accused is
known to have been present, but where it was not proven that the accused dealt the fatal blow
to the victim. It is akin to the law on ‘joint enterprise’ in England and Wales.
55
clemency’. 35 Concessions, if granted, would be welcomed at a time when the relation
between the Government of India and the Congress ‘has been relaxed’. 36 Moreover,
he insisted that Wavell should also see the advantages in ‘securing and retaining
popular goodwill and of the undesirability of forfeiting it by turning these persons into
martyrs’. 37
grounds. Especially in cases concerning Quit India agitations, Wavell pointed out, the
Congress seemed to have rejected the path of non-violence altogether. Even Gandhi
activities had no apparent connection with Congress politics. When Choudhury was
hanged, Gandhi had issued a statement accusing the government of judicial murder.
Jenkins, the Viceroy’s Private Secretary, described this press statement as ‘typical of
Gandhi [at] his most tiresome’. 38 however the implication, the Viceroy explained, was
significant. Congress, in his opinion, was again on a collision path with the
treated as appeasement and hailed as Gandhi’s victory. This would only encourage
He further pointed out that delay in the execution of the death sentences resulted
from repeated appeals ‘on purely legalistic grounds’ 39 and, except the Jaunpur Case,
35
Ibid., p. 44.
36
Ibid.
37
Pethick-Lawrence to Wavell,10 August 1945, ibid., no. 12, p. 43-44.
38
Sir E. Jenkins to Mr. Turnbull, 13 August 1945, ibid., no. 21, pp. 63-65; Also, see Wavell
to Pethick-Lawrence, 12 August 1945, no. 20, ibid., pp. 60-61.
39
Wavell to Pethick-Lawrence, 11 August 1945, ibid., no. 13, p. 45.
56
consisted of challenging the validity of Special Criminal Courts Ordinance under
up, nevertheless, with a lengthy statement on the adverse consequences that might
follow from showing too much clemency to violent offenders. 41 First, he pointed out,
this would cause resentment in the fighting services. In the Fatwa Case, for example,
the Royal Air Force may be particularly unhappy given how brutally their men were
attacked and murdered. More importantly, Wavell explained, this would lead to
severe loss of morale among the Civil Services in the Provinces. Disaffection in both
the civil and military establishments would have serious repercussions on how
tendency to ‘exact retribution on the spot’ if the law and order machinery felt that the
authorities were incapable of punishing the most barbaric acts against them; this
practically impossible. 42
India ‘agitators’ shows how differences on policy priorities were negotiated within the
colonial state apparatus. Pethick-Lawrence’s objective was to project the image of the
‘goodwill’ among Indian politicians and prevent the latter from using petty offenders
40
Ibid.
41
Wavell to Pethick-Lawrence, 11 August 1945, ibid., no. 14, pp. 46-47.
42
Ibid.
57
as symbols of state oppression. For Wavell, such populism could demoralize
realm. If the Secretary of State was concerned about bringing Indian leaders to the
negotiation table, the Viceroy was responding to the alarm that top Congress leaders
were causing through public statements on the Quit India cases. Similarly, as will be
shown below, decisions concerning the first Red Fort trial were also products of
Another issue that critically framed debates about the INA trials was the
the war, the government had imprisoned members of political parties who had
opposed its war-time policies. Armed with emergency rules sanctioning ‘preventive
detention’, the government had rounded up large numbers of such ‘security prisoners’
without evidence of their participation in any illegal activity. 43 With the war coming
‘benevolent’, insisted that the government of India should either release political
43
Wavell to Pethick-Lawrence, 11 August 1945, ibid., no. 16, pp. 48-49.
58
prisoners or put them up for trial. Pethick-Lawrence was candid about the Labour
government’s rationale: ‘We are likely in the immediate future to come under strong
pressure from Indian public opinion to release persons still under restraint for political
reasons’. 44 It was important, from London’s perspective, that the initiative for their
release came from the government and not appear to be forced upon it ‘by public
pressure or outcry’. 45
Wavell, on the other hand, was determined to avoid such trials at all costs. 46 The
government had rounded up suspected offenders before they were able to commit any
act of violence. This was the logic of preventive detention – to detain suspects not
because they had committed any crime but because they could potentially do so.
Therefore, there was no evidence to prove the guilt of most such ‘offenders’. If the
government had to renounce its power of making preventive arrests, it had to put up
the detainees for trial, in which case, they were sure to be released for the lack of any
Wavell also wanted to avoid the other option, that of releasing prisoners without
trial. He feared that this would plunge India into chaos, as these prisoners, upon their
release, would start agitating against government, probably with support from
mainstream political parties. With the government’s power of making arrests severely
curtailed, the administration would not be able to control the resulting mayhem.
Therefore, Wavell wanted to release only those who could safely be classified as
44
Cabinet: India and Burma Committee, 17 August 1945, ibid., no. 33, p. 78.
45
Ibid.
46
Wavell to Pethick-Lawrence, 18 August 1945, ibid., no. 36, p. 85.
59
‘non-violent’ political prisoners. This led to lengthy debates between Wavell, voicing
government of India did not agree to large-scale release of political prisoners. Neither
between violent and non-violent prisoners. The outcome was a compromise. It led to
slow but steady streams of releases, which also included many ‘violent agitators’ –
November 1945 against the INA trials. The latter included (much to the Bengal
Governor’s annoyance), Sarat Chandra Bose, Subhas Bose’s elder brother, whom the
Again, it is telling how the Labour government’s decisions were influenced by the
possibility of strong public pressures in the future for the release of political prisoners;
the government of India’s views, on the other hand, were coloured by the need to
avoid public embarrassments or collapse of ‘law and order’. It demonstrates that, far
were closely linked with issues that came to the fore during discussions on INA trials.
The Quit India-related cases raised questions about the desirability of interfering with
judicial procedures. Debates on the fate of political prisoners raised issues concerning
47
Moon (ed.), Wavell: The Viceroy’s Journal, p. 171.
60
the necessity, or otherwise, of holding trials in court. Both became relevant when
officials at different levels of government discussed the trial of former officers of the
INA.
report to the Secretary of State describing how the government of India intended to
deal with rebel soldiers under its custody. 48 The War Department divided them into
three categories – Blacks, Greys and Whites. All Whites and Greys were members of
the INA. Among those classified as Blacks, some were members of the INA while
others were soldiers of the 950 Regiment who had allegedly served the Army of Nazi
Germany. 49
The Whites were those whose loyalties were ‘beyond question’. 50 The War
Department decided that they would be released forthwith and reinstated in the Indian
Army. The Greys were those who had served the ‘enemy’, had been subjected to Axis
propaganda, but were not ‘fundamentally and incurably disloyal’. 51 They would be
dismissed from the services of the Indian Army, forfeit their pay for the period they
48
Governor-General (War Department) to Secretary of State, 11 August 1945 (Received 12
August 1945), TP, vol. VI, no. 17, pp. 49-52.
49
‘Treatment of Indian and Burman Renegades and Collaborators with the Enemy:
Memorandum by the Secretary of State for India and Burma’, Cabinet: India and Burma
Committee, 20 October 1945, ibid., no. 154, p. 370.
50
Governor-General (War Department) to Secretary of State, 11 August 1945 (Received 12
August 1945), ibid., no. 17, p. 49.
51
Ibid.
61
had spent as prisoners of war, and would become ineligible for war gratuities. A press
The offence of going over to the enemy and fighting against their former comrades is
the most serious that a soldier can commit. It is punishable with death by the laws of
almost all countries, and those who have committed this offence and been recaptured
can claim no rights as belligerents or prisoners of war. The Government of India feels
however allowance must be made for the circumstances in which the rank and file
found themselves placed after their capture in Malaya and Burma. From that date they
were in no position to learn the truth of the progress of the war or to hear any news but
false and propagandist Japanese reports. Some of them were misled by this propaganda
or gave way to pressure or the desire for better treatment and joined the enemy with no
motives beyond an immediate improvement in their living conditions. Those men
therefore who seem to have been merely misled – and they are the great majority – will
be treated with clemency. 52
This ‘clemency’ included release from detention, leave with pay for forty-two days
prior to their discharge from the Indian Army and exemption from having to refund
allowances paid to their families during the time they spent under Japanese pay. 53
The fate of the Blacks, however, became a matter of intense disagreement between
Indian authorities and the Labour government. By August 1945, the War Department
had identified about 7,600 captured INA personnel as Blacks. But evidence against
the vast majority of them, about 5,600 in number, were either lacking or insufficient
to secure conviction through court martial procedures. Out of the remaining 2000, the
War Department wanted to try only 600 INA personnel. The Governor-General of the
War Department intended to dismiss the remaining 1,400 from the British Indian
Army, against whom incriminating evidence did exist, along with the 5,600 against
52
Ibid., p. 52.
53
Ibid., pp. 51-52.
62
whom sufficient evidence did not exist, and detain all of them as ‘security
prisoners’. 54
Punishments in cases of trial of Blacks were either death or transportation for life.
It was obligatory for courts to award one of the two. However, the confirming officer,
death sentences would be confirmed only for the following categories of offenders:
(a) Any person actively instrumental in causing the death of any British or Allied
subject, whether in or out of battle.
(b) Any person responsible for brutal treatment of any British or Allied subject.
(c) Any person taking a responsible part in the capture and handing over to the enemy
of any British or Allied subject.
(d) The Senior officer, V.C.O. [Viceroy’s Commissioned Officer] or I.O.R. [Indian
Other Ranks] of any party of over ten in number which deserted to the enemy and
joined the I.N.A.
(e) Any person who accepted an appointment as a member of Bose’s Government.
(f) Any officer of rank of substantive Major and above in the Indian Army who joined
the I.N.A. and took a prominent and active part in furthering opposition to the
Allied war effort.
(g) Officers and V.C.O.s who were Fujiwara volunteers. 55
In total, death sentences were likely to be confirmed in no more than fifty cases.
The rest would be reduced to periods of incarceration. 56 The press communique, after
dwelling on the ‘mercy and generosity’ 57 with which the government intended to treat
It is well to remember that the behaviour of all these men makes more glorious
by contrast the courage and endurance of those brave soldiers, the great majority
54
Ibid., pp. 49-50.
55
Ibid., p. 50. Fujiwara Volunteers were those units of the British Indian Army who defected
to the Axis camp before the surrender of British forces in Singapore.
56
Ibid.
57
Ibid., p. 51.
63
of the prisoners of war, who stayed true to their salt and stubbornly resisted the
efforts of the enemy to undermine their fidelity. 58
persons without trial and for an indeterminate period’. 59 While he appreciated that 600
courts martial were a huge number in itself, his colleagues would not agree, Pethick-
Lawrence warned, to permit the detention of 1,400 prisoners without trial, even more
so for the 5,600 Blacks about whom ‘there is a strong presumption of guilt [not]
sufficient on which to bring to trial’. 60 This was not so much because the Labour
government was obsessed with fair-play; they feared that this would compromise their
international reputation, and breed mistrust among Indian leaders, jeopardizing the
The Governor-General of the War Department argued that his policy was dictated
understaffed by about five thousand officers. The numbers would only go down
further with the end of the war, as many British officers would now want to retire or
be repatriated. Among those who would be available, officers with legal training (who
could act as prosecutors and judges) were even fewer. Every military court required at
least five officers. If trials were to be completed within a year’s time, two hundred
and fifty officers had to sit on courts martial as a whole-time commitment. Again,
completing the trials of two thousand cases within a reasonable time-frame of twelve
months would mean that the Commander-in-Chief would have to consider, in person,
58
Ibid., p. 52.
59
Secretary of State to Governor-General (War Department), 17 August, ibid., no. 32, p. 75.
60
Ibid.
61
Governor-General (War Department) to Secretary of State, 21 August 1945, ibid., no. 48,
pp. 109-110.
64
about forty cases each week for confirmation. As a result of these difficulties, trials
would have to be limited to the minimum number possible. 62 But above all, socio-
political imperatives limited his choices. He had to be fair to those Prisoners of War
(PoWs) who had ‘resisted enemy attempts to subvert their loyalty’. 63 On the other
hand, he had to take into account the public support for the INA and Subhas Chandra
Bose – head of the government-in-exile of Free India of which the INA was the
military arm. Thus, the War Department had to ‘steer a middle ground’. This entailed
putting only a small number of INA officers on trial, whose trial would certainly lead
to convictions.
It would also be impossible to release those INA personnel who would not be tried,
argued War Department officials. The Governor-General explained that this was not
that INA Blacks were not let loose on the countryside, where they could fuel civil
disorder. They were ‘indeed apprehensive about “Greys”’. The Bengal Governor, in
particular, thought that ‘[t]errorists were eagerly awaiting the return of these
detention under Ordinance without any prospect of a trial of the men in question’. 65
62
Ibid.
63
Ibid., p. 110.
64
Ibid.
65
Secretary of State to Governor-General, (War Department), 23 August 1945, ibid., no. 60,
p. 143.
65
He was prepared, however, to agree to detain the accused in ‘military custody’ 66 while
their cases were investigated for making a fair trial possible. His objection, then, was
merely about how the practice of detention without trial of rebel soldiers was
‘appearances’. The fact of detention without trial did not trouble them too greatly so
surrounding the INA trials, that the Commander-in-Chief worked out the details of the
first Red Fort trial. Although the exact process of settling the nitty-gritty of the trial
remain obscure, the tenor of arguments and negotiations between the Labour
administration in India, leaves no ground for doubt that the decisions around the Red
Fort trail was a compromise. The Indian military and civilian government stuck to
their ground of putting up only a few INA officers for courts martial. They did not
agree to any large-scale release of those who would not be tried. But, as part of the
bargain, they had to agree to the Labour government’s demand that the limited
number of trials that would take place should demonstrate the government’s
commitment to impartiality and justice. Red Fort was the preferred choice precisely
because it would draw public attention. The trial, as a performance of justice, would
show that the government had no intention of brushing the INA issue under the
carpet, or to dispose of the cases in secrecy. The choice of a Muslim, a Sikh and a
Hindu officer for the first trial also had similar motivations. It was aimed at avoiding
66
Ibid. Emphasis in original.
66
community differences, and prove that they were not trying to victimize one
The first Red Fort trial was neither an arbitrary nor an autonomous decision by
Auchinleck. Neither was it, as Fay believes, a casual decision based only upon
practicality. The details of the trial were settled upon, of course, to ‘send a signal’.
This signal was not that of imperial high-handedness or thoughtlessness. It was meant
imaginaries of the state as the repository of impartial justice. Of course, it failed, but
While colonial officials debated whether INA personnel were to be detained under
civilian or martial law, the Congress and the ‘nationalist’ press demanded that INA
officers had to be judged in the light of international law. According to its provisions,
they argued, Bose and the INA personnel were ‘entitled to all the honours of war and
are not liable to punishment’. 67 Congress was keen on championing the INA cause, at
least in part because elections loomed during the winter of 1945-46. The Red Fort
and Asaf Ali, important Congressmen and celebrated lawyers, informed Wavell that
the three accused – Shah Nawaz Khan, Gurbaksh Singh Dhillon and Prem Kumar
Sahgal – had entrusted their legal defence to the INA Defence Committee set up by
67
Sir J. Colville to Lord Pethick-Lawrence, 3 September 1945, ibid., no. 85, p. 197.
67
the Congress. 68 It was a high-profile Defence Committee. Apart from Desai and Ali, it
included luminaries like Jawaharlal Nehru, K.N. Katju as well as Sir Tej Bahadur
and had opposed the Congress in the past. In the letter to Wavell, Desai and Ali
asserted that the INA was the ‘well-organized, well-trained and well-disciplined’
‘great desire’ for ‘the achievement of the Independence of India’. 70 This was the line
the Congress INA Defence Committee took in a celebrated legal battle at the Red Fort
A.G. Noorani has examined the trial in detail. 71 Maybritt Jill Alpes has also shown
how, by championing the INA cause in the courtroom and outside, the Congress
appropriated the INA within its version of nationalism. 72 However, the protests that
the INA trial precipitated in different parts of India have not been probed in detail.
This is not because the agitations are of no interest to historians. In fact, in studies of
‘popular protests’, the agitations against the Red Fort trial, especially those in
Calcutta, have found a prominent place. 73 But all of this literature has assumed that
68
Desai and Asaf Ali to Wavell, 15 October 1945, ibid., no. 143, pp. 341-344.
69
Ibid.
70
Ibid.
71
A.G. Noorani, Indian Political Trials, 1775-1947, New Delhi: Oxford University Press,
2005.
72
Maybritt Jill Alpes, ‘The Congress and the INA Trials, 1945-50: A Contest over the
Perception of ‘Nationalist’ Politics’, Studies in History, vol. 23, no. 135, 2007, pp. 135-158.
73
Chattopadhyay, ‘An Almost Revolution’; Chattopadhyay, ‘Bengal Students in Revolt’;
Sarkar ‘Popular Movements and National Leadership’; Majumdar, ‘A Different Calcutta’;
Mahajan, ‘British Policy, Nationalist Strategy and Popular Upsurge’; Mahajan, The Erosion
of Colonial Power in India.
68
these street actions have been restricted to pointing out their limited geographical
reach: their location in a few cities. This section revisits the protests in Calcutta and
police agent reported a ‘morning procession’ at 6:15 a.m., when he spotted about
thirty individuals meandering through the streets of north Calcutta. 74 They carried
large framed photographs of Subhas Chandra Bose and Jawaharlal Nehru. As the day
institutions and poured into Wellington Square - a large open space in the heart of the
city, just south of College Street, the hub of student life in Calcutta. The Special
Branch of the Calcutta Police, whose agents made copious records of the events,
estimated the total number of protesters at the Square to be around one thousand.
Three organizations dominated student politics in Calcutta at the time: the Bengal
Provincial Students Federation (BPSF) led by the Communist Party of India (CPI); a
rival group also calling itself the Bengal Provincial Students Federation, referred to as
BPSF (New) and led by the Congress Socialist Party (CSP) and the Revolutionary
Socialist Party (RSP); and, finally there was the Congress-led Bengal Provincial
Students Congress (BPSC). 76 The Congress had taken up the legal defence of the INA
men; unsurprisingly therefore, the BPSC was initially at the forefront of the Calcutta
74
‘Students, 22.11.45 (Observance of I.N.A. Day on 21.11.45)’, K.P.M. No. 01687/05, S.B.
File No. 868D, P.M. (1945), Special Branch Records, Calcutta Police (Hereafter, SBR, CP).
75
Ibid.
76
See Chattopadhyay, ‘Bengal Students in Revolt Against the Raj’, pp. 153-154.
69
agitation, and its president, Dilip Kumar Biswas, presided over the Wellington Square
meeting. The CPI-led BPSF had supported the call for a students’ general strike, ‘but
This meeting continued till about 3:15 p.m. Speakers refuted the charge that the
INA was a Japanese-sponsored force and insisted that Indians should learn discipline
and communal camaraderie from its ‘own army’. 78 The protesters unanimously
adopted a resolution calling for the suspension of the INA trials. Finally, Dilip
Square and headed towards Dalhousie Square. Almost immediately, the police
stopped it at Dharamtalla Street, long before it could reach its destination. Angry
students protested by squatting on the main thoroughfare, dislocating the heavy traffic
in the area.
It was at this stage that the police began to show signs of panic. Special Branch
(SB) sources estimated the strength of protesters at one and a half to about two
thousand. The police were hugely outnumbered. A few of them were in plain clothes,
and they mixed with the crowd to gather intelligence. One such ‘watcher’ shadowed a
few students, who rang up student leaders of other colleges to join them. A few hours
later, this new procession of students arrived. The police party, frightened of being
77
Ibid., p. 154.
78
‘Students, 22.11.45 (Observance of I.N.A. Day on 21.11.45)’, K.P.M. No. 01687/05, S.B.
File No. 868D, P.M. (1945), SBR, CP.
79
Ibid.
70
surrounded on all sides by protesters, attempted to push back the new students’
procession. This angered the protesters even further. Thus began a veritable
The police force became scattered and communication broke down between its
cinema hall. The scared policemen took shelter in its lobby. Inspector Hammond, the
senior officer commanding this section of the force, tried in vain to disperse the crowd
with a lathi-charge, but this only infuriated the protestors further, and brickbat-
throwing became more intense. Someone set fire to a police lorry standing just outside
the cinema. Now the policemen began to fire bullets at the crowd. This resulted in the
very first casualty reported in police sources. A student, Rameswar Banerjee, died
having been struck by police bullets. The situation then got out of hand very quickly.
The protesters, after a brief retreat, began to reassemble and push through the police
Finally, after considerable damage had been done, a party of senior police officers
scene. But this hardly helped to bring the situation under control. 82
80
Ibid.
81
Ibid.
82
Ibid.
71
In the meanwhile, another intelligence agent shadowed two students who called up
Sarat Bose and asked him to lead the students. He refused. Then they called up Syama
Prasad Mookerjee, the Hindu Mahasabha leader, but he was not at home. Next they
rang Kiran Sankar Roy, another top leader of the Bengal Congress. He agreed to come
and speak to the protesters. Eventually, Kiran Sankar Roy, along with two other
Congress leaders – Atul Kumar and Indu Beed – arrived at Dharamtalla Street. They
carried a message from Sarat Bose. The police sources report the message as follows:
Students! You have broken my heart by your indiscipline. I appeal to you two dozen
times to disperse peacefully and I sent Kiran Sankar Roy, Atul Kumar and Indu Beed to
appeal to you. They appeal to you in the name of the Congress, but you have failed.
They appealed to you in my name, but you have refused. You have allowed yourself to
be influenced and guided by agents-provocateur and not by reason. You have by your
action broken my heart. Still I appeal to you for the last time in the name of the
Congress to disperse peacefully. May you have the good sense and wisdom to accept
the address you have been rejecting since 5 p.m.83
The protesters paid no attention to Sarat Bose; in fact, his message seemed to
incense them. One student tore up the paper that contained his message. 84 The rest
refused to disperse. At about 10 p.m., by the time the Governor arrived at the scene,
many leaders had tried to pacify the students, urging them to disperse. Dr. Syama
Prasad Mookerjee, the charismatic Hindu Mahasabha leader, also spoke to the
protesters. 85 Women leaders took a very prominent part. Bimal Pratibha Devi, a
socialist trade-union leader with Forward Bloc leanings, but who, by the mid-1940s
was becoming ideologically closer to the Congress Socialist Party 86, played a vital
role in leading the students’ protests. She was allegedly beaten up by the police.
83
Ibid.
84
Ibid.
85
Ibid.
86
An undated Special Branch report entitled ‘The responsibility for the disturbances in
Calcutta from 21.11.45 to 23.11.45’ in K.P.M. No. 01687/05, S.B. File No. 868D, P.M.
(1945).
72
Jyotirmoyee Ganguly, a leader of the women’s movement who had been close to
Subhas Bose in the 1930s, was also present in solidarity with the students. The very
Students continued to occupy Dharamtalla Street all night, although their numbers
fell to about two hundred. The police reported only the death of one student,
Rameswar Banerjee, in police firing, but it seems that there were other casualties
too. 88 Gautam Chattopadhyay mentions Kadam Rasul, a young factory worker, who
prominent Congress worker, fed the assembled students. At 6:30 a.m., Bimal Pratibha
Devi addressed them and implored them ‘to move as a disciplined army and to spread
revolution among the people’. She reminded them that their mission was not merely
to march to Dalhousie Square; their objective was to ‘attain the freedom of their
motherland’. 90 Upon Bimal Pratibha Devi’s advice, according to police sources, the
students divided themselves into groups and dispersed through the city streets urging
87
See Chattopadhyay, ‘Bengal Students in Revolt against the Raj, 1945-46’, pp.155-6. It is
important to note that Chattopadhyay specifically mentions that Kiran Sankar Roy did not
come to the demonstration at Dharamtalla Street-Madan Street crossing on 21 November (see
p. 155). And, he does not mention the presence of Syama Prasad Mookerjee. Both of them,
however, were reported to be present by Special Branch sources.
88
‘Students, 22.11.45 (Observance of I.N.A. Day on 21.11.45)’, K.P.M. No. 01687/05, S.B.
File No. 868D, P.M. (1945), SBR, CP.
89
Chattopadhyay, ‘Bengal Students in Revolt Against the Raj’.
90
‘Students, 22.11.45 (Observance of I.N.A. Day on 21.11.45)’, K.P.M. No. 01687/05, S.B.
File No. 868D, P.M. (1945), SBR, CP.
91
Ibid.
73
The protests on the first day, 21 November 1945, demonstrated considerable unity
among students. They challenged the legitimacy of judicial procedures under the aegis
of the colonial state through street action. They also rejected attempts at top-down
control by the established political leadership. Even the BPSC – the students’ wing of
the Congress, as well as the Forward Bloc, the party created by Subhas Bose, defied
Sarat Bose’s authority. Yet the apparent unity conceals the restricted support-base of
the protests. Large sections of the political spectrum of the province remained aloof
from the first day’s street action. Communist students continued to sit on the fence,
until P.C. Joshi, the General Secretary of the CPI, sent a wire on 22 November, urging
the BPSF to ‘be with the people’. 92 Again, beyond the rather passive presence of
Syama Prasad Mookerjee, the Hindu Mahasabha did not actively participate. Most
importantly, students affiliated with the Muslim League largely kept away from the
population and an influential Muslim League political leadership, this was a major
weakness of the movement. Protesters celebrated the non-communal spirit of the INA,
but the street action of 21 November did not break the communal divide.
Whatever unity there was on the first day of the demonstration soon began to
crumble. Dissensions and rivalries between political outfits and their factions came to
92
Chattopadhyay, ‘Bengal Students in Revolt Against the Raj’.
93
The Muslim League had actively discouraged Muslim students from participating in the
November agitations. Calcutta-based Muslim League leaders had assured the government that
they had no sympathy for the INA. See police report entitled ‘The Muslim League – I.N.A.’,
dated 24 November 1947, K.P.M. No. 01683/05, S.B. File No. 868D, P.M. (1945), SBR, CP.
This issue has been elaborated later in this chapter.
74
the forefront, to such a degree that it was impossible to sustain the image of these
the BPSF (New) office in Mirzapur street, student representatives of BPSC, BPSF
(New) as well as other smaller groups such as the Chatra Samsad, the Medical
Students’ Union and the Marwari Students’ Union attempted to form a joint council
of action. 94 The younger members of the RSPI, Forward Bloc and other parties were
‘very agitated’, a Special Branch agent observed, who were ‘in favour of creating
chaos and disorder similar to the August 1942 Disturbances’. 95 But Samarendra Basu
apparently withdrew the BPSC from any such ‘adventurism’. 96 The meeting broke up
in disagreement.
The CPI, as has been pointed out before, stayed largely aloof from the 21
favour of joining the movement from its party leadership, communist students
plunged into action, using CPI’s foothold among labour unions to orchestrate a
that despite the usual readiness of the colonial state to blame any ‘disruption’ as
94
‘The responsibility for the disturbances in Calcutta from 21.11.45 to 23.11.45’, undated, in
K.P.M. No. 01687/05, S.B. File No. 868D, P.M. (1945), SBR, CP.
95
Ibid.
96
Ibid.
97
Chattopadhyay, ‘Bengal Students in Revolt against the Raj, 1945-46’; Chattopadhyay, ‘The
Almost Revolution’.
75
Intelligence Bureau (IB) to show that they engaged in acts of violence as a party
although individual members might have done so.’ 98 It also expressed grave doubts
about the sincerity of Communist participation and wondered whether this was a mere
The second day’s protest was, nonetheless, impressive. All shops were shut, all
downed tools in many factories in the industrial suburbs of Calcutta. Buses, trams,
taxis and even rickshaws were invisible on the city’s streets. Massive student
processions came out. Police reports mention that the largest procession, which
marched from College Street, consisted of about ten thousand students. 100 Large
numbers of workers affiliated with communist trade unions also joined. The Special
Branch reported strong anti-British feeling. A swadeshi mood also seemed palpable.
Protesters forced the public to discard their hats, ties and coats – as alleged symbols of
western cultural domination. They made them throw away their cigarettes and forced
afternoon. It was a huge gathering – a Special Branch report produced on the day put
the figure at thirty thousand. 102 Another report, compiled about two weeks later,
98
‘The responsibility for the disturbances in Calcutta from 21.11.45 to 23.11.45’, undated,
K.P.M. No. 01687/05, S.B. File No. 868D, P.M. (1945), SBR, CP.
99
Ibid.
100
‘Supplement to Special Branch Daily Notes’, dated 26 November 1945, K.P.M. No.
01687/05, S.B. File No. 868D, P.M. (1945), SBR, CP.
101
Ibid. A bidi is an indigenous, hand-rolled cigarette, often produced by household-based
workshops.
102
Ibid.
76
103
reported of a crowd of twenty thousand. Protesters carried Congress and
Communist flags, along with Muslim League standards, for the first time during the
protest. 104 To all outward appearances, the moment of cross-communal unity seemed
to have arrived at last. It soon descended into anticlimax, however, as the unity
booed RSPI speakers. BPSC and Forward Bloc members accused the RSPI of taking
over and dominating the proceedings. They stalled the meeting and urged their
105
supporters to march to Dalhousie Square instead. Protesters dispersed, and
While the meeting was breaking up in disarray, Sarat Bose at last made a public
marched along Wellington Street at the head of a procession of about five thousand
students and entered the Square. 106 He attempted to give a speech, but nobody
bothered to listen; his voice was rendered inaudible ‘in the midst of tremendous
confusion.’ 107 The Special Branch reporter observed, ‘As far as could be gathered, he
was requesting the students to obey the orders of trusted leaders and to stop being
violent.’ 108 At that moment, news arrived of further police firings on student
protesters in Dharamtalla Street. There was a stampede for the gates of the Square,
and within a few minutes it was empty. Sarat Bose, deprived of an audience, walked
103
‘Calcutta Disturbances in November, 1945’, dated 7 December 1945, K.P.M. No.
01687/05, S.B. File No. 868D, P.M. (1945), SBR, CP.
104
Ibid.
105
Ibid.
106
‘Supplement to Special Branch Daily Notes’, dated 26 November 1945, K.P.M. No.
01687/05, S.B. File No. 868D, P.M. (1945), SBR, CP.
107
Ibid.
108
Ibid.
77
to his car and the police reporter lost sight of him in the midst of the departing
crowd. 109
Police firing on the second day resulted in heavy casualties. Every political party
seemed taken aback at the level of violence. Leaders realized that they were fast
losing control over their followers. They made a second attempt to set up a joint
‘Council of Action’, this time with the express purpose of stopping ‘further acts of
hooliganism’ 110 and ‘rowdyism’. 111 The need for asserting control over ‘mobs’ had
This was not a betrayal by the Congress ‘bourgeois’ leadership alone. Every
political party was anxious to quell ‘leaderless’ mass action. In fact, that was the only
plank upon which leaders of all parties really tried to come together; but even on this
cause, fractious Bengal politics proved incapable of reaching agreement. Both the
BPSF (New) and BPSC were represented in the council. ‘It is vague what actually
took place’, reported one SB agent. 112 But, by the following day, BPSC withdrew its
support from the Council. ‘In effect’, the SB report concluded, ‘the council of action
had hardly been established before it disintegrated, having achieved nothing.’ 113
109
Ibid.
110
‘The responsibility for the disturbances in Calcutta from 21.11.45 to 23.11.45’, undated,
K.P.M. No. 01687/05, S.B. File No. 868D, P.M. (1945), SBR, CP.
111
‘Calcutta Disturbances in November, 1945’, dated 7 December 1945, K.P.M. No.
01687/05, S.B. File No. 868D, P.M. (1945), SBR, CP.
112
‘The responsibility for the disturbances in Calcutta from 21.11.45 to 23.11.45’, undated,
K.P.M. No. 01687/05, S.B. File No. 868D, P.M. (1945), SBR, CP.
113
‘The responsibility for the disturbances in Calcutta from 21.11.45 to 23.11.45’, undated,
K.P.M. No. 01687/05, S.B. File No. 868D, P.M. (1945), SBR, CP.
78
By that time, however, almost all political groupings wanted the agitation to come
to an end. On 23 November, the RSPI formed six ‘peace squads’ and urged people to
remain peaceful. In the meanwhile, the Congress High Command had denounced the
movement in no uncertain terms; the Bengal Congress followed suit. 114 But the
general strike continued unabated. That afternoon, the Congress leaders also sent out
groups of Congress activists to ensure peace, with the active support of the CPI. 115
Vans fitted with loudspeakers and taxis flying both Congress and Communist flags
were visible all over the city, pacifying protesters who still thronged the streets;
observed:
The communist volte-face from the previous day, and also from the same morning, was
very noticeable. Previously party members had been urging workers to go on strike and
demonstrate… and now they were aligning themselves with the Congress and asking
the public to be quiet and to return to work. 116
On the afternoon of 23 November, the government called out the army. 117
Protesters had attacked military trucks since the first day of the uprising. But the
Bengal government had not authorized the army to use force against protesters. Now
it gave them a free hand, and there was hardly a protest from the political
establishment. Congress leaders like Dr. Nalinakshya Sanyal, who was soon to be
purged from the provincial Congress as part of a drive by the High Command to
114
Chattopadhyay, ‘Bengal Students in Revolt against the Raj, 1945-46’; Sarkar, ‘Popular
Movements and National Leadership, 1945-47’.
115
‘Supplement to the Special Branch Daily Notes’, dated 26 November 1945, K.P.M. No.
01687/05, S.B. File No. 868D, P.M. (1945), SBR, CP.
116
Ibid.
117
‘Calcutta Disturbances in November, 1945’, dated 7 December 1945, K.P.M. No.
01687/05, S.B. File No. 868D, P.M. (1945), SBR, CP.
79
cleanse it of ‘dissidents’, 118 were happy to allow the law and order machinery to take
over the city streets. 119 In a conversation with the Deputy Commissioner (DC) of SB
said, ‘…he and other leaders were not heeded by the hooligans and [they] ran the risk
of being assaulted.’ 120 He wanted Congress leaders to make a last ditch attempt to go
into troubled areas to pacify the public, but ‘[t]hereafter, if they fail, they [Congress]
will be quite prepared for the police or other authorities to maintain order.’ 121 He went
on in this vein saying that ‘…police parties should refrain from becoming aroused by
minor irritations and should avoid irritating the crowd with minor actions.’ 122 The DC
appreciated Dr. Sanyal’s concerns but was firm in pointing out, ‘…the one “irritation”
police parties were not prepared to put up with was being bombarded with
brickbats.’ 123
The CPI organized two small meetings on the same day. One was in South
Calcutta at Hazra Park, the other was at Manashatala Bayam Samiti in North
Calcutta. 124 In both meetings communist leaders urged the public to remain peaceful.
The BPSF (New) held the last well-attended public meeting at Sraddhananda Park.
118
See Joya Chatterji, Bengal Divided: Hindu Communalism and Partition, 1932-1947,
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994, p. 128. For an account of the ‘cleansing drive’
undertaken by the Congress High Command to ‘purify’ the Bengal Provincial Congress of
dissidents, see pp. 124-149.
119
S.B. note on conversation between D.C., S.B. and Dr. Nalinakshya Sanyal, dated 23
November 1945, K.P.M. No. 01687/05, S.B. File No. 868D, P.M. (1945), SBR, CP. Also see
‘Calcutta Disturbances in November, 1945’, dated 7 December 45, K.P.M. No. 01687/05
S.B., File No. 868D, P.M. (1945), SBR, CP.
120
S.B. note on conversation between D.C., S.B. and Dr. Nalinakshya Sanyal, dated 23
November 1945, K.P.M. No. 01687/05, S.B. File No. 868D, P.M. (1945), SBR, CP.
121
Ibid.
122
Ibid.
123
Ibid.
124
‘Calcutta Disturbances in November, 1945’, dated 7 December 1945, K.P.M. No.
01687/05, S.B. File No. 868D, P.M. (1945), SBR, CP.
80
According to police estimates, about ten thousand people assembled at the venue. But,
by then, signs of fatigue were unmistakable. 125 There was some mismanagement and
there was no microphone for the speakers to use. By the time one was found, the
crowd had reportedly dwindled to a fraction of its initial size. But participation was
wider and more inclusive; Khaksars, 126 Fazlul Huq’s group 127 as well as some
students from Islamia College were present. Many prominent leaders addressed the
gathering, including Amiya Nath Bose, Sarat Bose’s son, who had, by this stage,
become something like a private secretary to his father. 128 He explained how
Matters came to a head, however, when Badrul Hyder Chaudhuri of RSPI, who
was presiding over the meeting, rose to speak. In a rather tactless remark, he
suggested that Sarat Bose was ‘responsible for the loss of numerous students’
precious lives’ which could have been averted if he had come to the first day’s protest
130
at Dharamtalla Street. He went on to describe Sarat Bose’s actions as
unstatesmanlike, arguing that ‘…such men would have to be eliminated from leading
125
Ibid.
126
Khaksars were members of a Muslim organization which opposed the Muslim League
during this period. For details, see Hira Lal Seth, The Khaksar Movement and its leader,
Delhi: Discover Publishing House, 1985; Amalendu De, History of the Khaksar Movement in
India, 1931-1947, Kolkata: Parul Prakashani, 2009.
127
Fazlul Haq, who was the Premier of Bengal from 1937 to 1943 and had joined the Muslim
League before, was now attempting to distance himself from the League and strike an alliance
with the Congress in the elections. See ‘Secret Report on the Political Situation in Bengal for
the first half of August, 1945’, ‘Secret Report on the Political Situation in Bengal for the
second half of August, 1945’ and ‘Secret Report on the Political Situation in Bengal for the
first half of September, 1945’ in IOR/L/PJ/5/152/1945.
128
See Leonard A. Gordan, Brothers Against the Raj: A Biography of Sarat and Subhas
Chandra Bose, New Delhi: Viking, 1989, p. 555.
129
Ibid.
130
‘Supplement to Special Branch Daily Notes’, dated 26 November 1945, K.P.M. No.
01687/05, S.B. File No. 868D, P.M. (1945), SBR, CP.
81
131
positions’. Utter chaos erupted that instant. Bose loyalists disrupted the
proceedings, declaring that the meeting had been ‘captured’ by the RSPI. In the
pandemonium that ensued, Chaudhuri had to be sneaked out of the meeting to the
BPSF (New) office at 18 Mirzapore Street. 132 The trouble did not end there. Shortly
thereafter, batches of Forward Bloc students attacked the BPSF (New) office at
Mirzapore Street. 133 The road outside it was filled with angry students who attempted
to break into the building. Fearing a riot, BPSF (New) leaders addressed the crowd
with loudspeakers from the balcony, pacifying them by singing praises of the Bose
due course, the situation calmed down and the crowd dispersed. 134
This was not just a manifestation of party-political rivalries. In order to unravel the
full import of the event described above, one has to delve deeper into the murky
waters of Bengal politics and its constantly shifting configurations. It has generally
been argued that political and communal unity was better forged at the barricades than
reveals the impossibility of any neat separation between the two domains. Unity of
purpose did create a façade of concord when observed from a distance. However, any
tiny ripple could easily blow away the entire fabric of political consensus, exposing –
not quite the emperor’s new clothes - but the delicate balance of factional adjustments
that had to be assembled in order to produce the illusion of unity. Influential leaders
131
Ibid.
132
‘Calcutta Disturbances in November, 1945’, dated 7 December 1945, K.P.M. No.
01687/05 S.B., File No. 868D, P.M. (1945), SBR, CP.
133
Ibid.
134
Ibid.
135
This is the essence of a remark by Aruna Asaf Ali that Sumit Sarkar quotes with approval.
See Sarkar, ‘Popular Movements and National Leadership’, p.130.
82
invested in legislative and party-oriented factional politics each had their coterie of
supporters in street agitations; and these supporters, even in moments of street action,
politics since the 1930s along with his brother Subhas Chandra Bose. 136 The Bose
brothers emerged as a powerful faction within the Bengal Congress. Initially their
rival was J.M. Sengupta. But, after his death in 1933, the Bose faction operated in
physician. Around this time, to buttress the influence of their faction, the Bose
The largest revolutionary societies in Bengal were Jugantar and the Anushilan
in British bureaucratic circles, with the result that most of their cadres were rounded
up at the first signs of unrest in the wake of Gandhian mass uprisings in the 1920s and
early 1930s. 138 During the mid 1930s, precisely at the point when the Bengal
136
For details on Sarat Bose, see Gordon, Brothers Against the Raj.
137
Chatterji, Bengal Divided, pp. 44-54. Also see Leonard A. Gordon, Bengal: The
Nationalist Movement, 1876-1940, New York; London: Columbia University Press, 1974;
Tanika Sarkar, Bengal, 1928-1934: The Politics of Protest, New Delhi: Oxford University
Press, 1987; Rajat Kanta Ray, Urban Roots of Indian Nationalism: Pressure Groups and
Conflict of Interests in Calcutta City Politics, 1875-1939, New Delhi: Vikas, 1979.
138
For the Swadeshi Movement in Bengal, see Sumit Sarkar, The Swadeshi Movement in
Bengal, 1903-1908, New Delhi: People’s Publishing House, 1973.
83
return to active politics, many after long periods in jail. 139 The Jugantar cadres mostly
joined the Congress and formed the base of support for the Bose brothers within the
party. The Anushilan Samiti’s members took a somewhat different political trajectory.
The late twenties and the early thirties of the twentieth century was also a
watershed in the history of the Indian left-wing movements. 140 This was the time
when the colonial state was devising elaborate judicial procedures to criminalize
leftist, especially communist, ideas and staged a number of high-profile court trials in
a series of ‘conspiracy cases’. While serving their long jail sentences as political
prisoners, members of the Anushilan Samiti often found themselves in the company
of Marxist leaders and political activists. Tanika Sarkar points out that Anushilan
activists were relatively more open minded and receptive to newer ideas than their
141
Jugantar counterparts. Marxist ideas attracted many of them. So, once the
Anushilan members came out of prisons, many of them joined the Congress Socialist
Party (CSP), the left wing lobby within the official Congress that had adopted
Marxism as their official ideology in 1936. 142 However, they were careful to maintain
their separate identity even within CSP. The Anushilan group had actively supported
Subhas Bose’s candidacy for Presidentship of the Congress Party at the Tripuri
Congress in 1938 – that fateful All India Congress session that led to Subhas Bose’s
139
See Sarkar, The Swadeshi Movement in Bengal.
140
For a discussion on the communist movement in India in the late 1920s and early 1930s,
see Shashi Joshi and Bhagwan Josh, Struggle for Hegemony in India, 1920-1934, vol. I, New
Delhi: Sage, 1992. Also, see Documents of the Communist Movement in India, vol. I-III,
Calcutta: National Book Agency, 1997.
141
Sarkar, The Swadeshi Movement in Bengal, p. 36.
142
Murari Mohan Saha, Documents of the Revolutionary Socialist Party, Volume One: 1938-
1947, Agartala: Lokayate Chetana Bikash Society, 2001, pp. 13-53.
84
Narayan’s leadership, and its ultimate ‘betrayal’ of Bose for the sake of ‘Congress
Subhas Bose formed the Forward Bloc after the Tripuri debacle, as a vehicle to
consolidate left wing support under his leadership. The Anushilan group, despite their
growing discontent against the CSP, was skeptical about joining it, although they did
take part in the Left Consolidation Committee under Bose’s initiative. 144 The latter
initiative fell to pieces very soon, as the Second World War transformed the context
of Indian politics altogether. Anushilan members, still loosely affiliated with CSP,
decided to strike out on their own. In March 1940, they launched their own
Revolutionary Socialist Party by joining hands with some activists of the Hindustan
Socialist Republican Army of the legendary Punjab revolutionary, Bhagat Singh. 145
Unlike the CPI and the Royists, RSP took the line that the best way of fighting
fascism and defending the Soviet Union was to overthrow colonial rule in a civil
war. 146 This was not very different from Subhas Bose’s position, and the RSP
continued supporting the initiatives of the Bose brothers from outside the Congress.
Yet the very same RSP clashed with Bose’s supporters in the evening of 23
November 1945.
It is noteworthy that the nature of affinity between the Bose brothers and the RSP
activists was more in the nature of personal loyalty than ideological attraction. The
latter were at pains to retain their separate identity from both the Bose faction within
143
Ibid.
144
Ibid.
145
Ibid.
146
Ibid.
85
the official Congress as well as the Forward Bloc. Thus, the public fight between RSP
and Bose’s supporters was not a tussle between two rival political outfits with distinct
the same political formation that brought the fragility of the alliances forged in the
In any case, after the public fiasco at Sraddhananda Park and Mirzapore Street, the
November movement largely fizzled out. The situation returned more or less to
normal the next morning. Transport services ran as usual and labourers went back to
work. 147 The only political activity on 24 November involved the funeral processions
of young men, some of them in their early teens – school children – who had died of
gunshot wounds. 148 There was a political gathering of sorts at Muhammad Ali Park,
where Abdus Salam’s body was brought in. Salam was a Khaksar activist and had
heavy-weight Congress leaders like Kiran Sankar Roy, Aurobindo Bose, the Jugantar
Congressite Surendra Mohan Ghosh, Dr. Nalinakshya Sanyal and Bimal Pratibha
Devi. Kiran Sankar Roy congratulated the students on their ‘success’ while
were keen not to waste the symbolic value generated by the November protests. Now
that the movement had come to an end, it was important to salvage whatever could be
of any value for buttressing the credentials of political parties and leaders as
147
K.P.M. No. 01687/05, S.B. File No. 868D, P.M. (1945), SBR, CP.
148
Ibid.
149
Ibid.
86
‘vanguards of anti-colonial resistance’. One way of achieving this was to actively
the struggle of the ‘true’ students and workers had to be celebrated as a groundswell
nation. 150
The major problem in this endeavour was the persistence of a palpable communal
political formations, especially the Muslim League, was a major stumbling block. 151
In this context, Abdus Salam’s death had immense symbolic value; leaders, especially
of the Congress, were keen to harness the symbol in order to sustain the illusion of a
November 1945.
especially those from Islamia College, had attended the mass rallies organized by
BPSC and BPSF (New). But they were immediately ordered by some of the League
150
The police agent present at Muhammad Ali Park recorded: ‘Addressing the gathering,
Kiran Sankar Ray congratulated the students of their success in taking their procession
through Dalhousie Square and condemned hooliganism by mischief-mongers’, ibid. For
reactions of the Congress High Command to the November agitations, see Sarkar, ‘Popular
Movements and National Leadership’, p. 682.
151
See, police report entitled ‘The Muslim League – I.N.A.’, dated 24 November 1947,
K.P.M. No. 01683/05, S.B. File No. 868D, P.M. (1945), SBR, CP.
87
Usman, Secretary of the Calcutta Muslim League, assured the Bengal government
that the Muslim League had absolutely no sympathy for the INA cause because had
Bose’s army ‘succeeded in occupying India they would have ignored the Muslim
League and its demands for Pakistan.’ 152 He confessed that the Muslim League passed
resolutions expressing sympathy with the INA men merely to avoid criticism from
rival political parties across the country. 153 Of course, the Muslim League was as
leaders was at best lukewarm in their support for the November agitations in Calcutta.
In fact, many Muslim League followers were actively hostile to the INA personnel on
trial, especially Shah Nawaz Khan. 154 Despite being a Muslim, he had publicly
expressed his support for the Congress. At a time when Indian Muslims, including
to the Hindus, a ‘nationalist’ Muslim with country-wide popular support was hardly
It seems, therefore, that hailing the Calcutta agitations in November 1945 as the
facto construction. It possibly started as a nationalist folklore, and then found its way
152
Ibid.
153
Ibid.
154
The hostility towards Shah Nawaz Khan among a section of Muslims of Calcutta was
revealed rather dramatically on 25 January 1946 when he went to say his jumma prayers at
the Nakhoda Mosque in Calcutta. He had to be quickly driven off to safety when angry
Muslims began throwing shoes at him. For details of the incident, see the report entitled
‘I.N.A.: Hostile Demonstration against Shah Nawaz’, undated but written sometime in early
January 1947, K.P.M. No. 01689/05, S.B. File No. 868, P.M. (1946), SBR CP. Even the top
leadership of the Muslim League was hostile to Shah Nawaz. The party put up its own
candidate against Shah Nawaz when the Congress proposed fielding him for elections to the
Punjab Legislative Assembly in December 1945. See Peter Ward Fay, The Forgotten Army:
India’s Armed Struggle for Independence, 1942-1945, New Delhi: Rupa, 1994, p. 501.
88
into historiography. The last two sections have made an attempt to open up such
Conclusion
This chapter aimed at refuting two assumptions about the INA agitations in
politics in post-war India. The first assumption is that the colonial government had
arbitrarily and autonomously decided to hold a joint trial of a Muslim, a Sikh and a
Hindu at the Red Fort. The second assumption is that the potent symbols invoked in
the staging of the trial stirred people of all faiths to come together and launch a united
The chapter has suggested that in order to understand how the first Red Fort trial
necessary. The specific decisions on the trial becomes intelligible only when these are
studied alongside debates on other issues that claimed the attention of the post-war
administration in India and the newly elected Labour government in Britain. It shows,
demonstrated how, every argument, every detail of the decisions arrived at through
public domain.
89
The public protests that erupted in Calcutta against the trial of the INA officers at
the Red Fort, this chapter has also suggested, cannot be easily reconciled to any
the way the protests unfolded, the nature of leadership and participation in these
agitations, and the divisions that emerged among the ranks of the protesters, bear
deliberately or otherwise.
90
Chapter 2
Agitations in Calcutta
street agitation in Calcutta in February 1946 against the conviction of Indian National
Army officer Captain Rashid Ali is held as the high watermark of cross-communal
Under suitable leadership, Chattopadhyay holds, this could have saved the people of
This chapter argues for a reassessment of the agitation. It takes a closer look at the
trial of Rashid Ali to reveal how the trial was used as a symbol in the popular protests
that erupted in Calcutta. It suggests that the agitations only strategically invoked the
state oppression. These agitations, this chapter will further argue, must be understood
as the unfolding of a progressive crisis of the late colonial state apparatus, brought
1
Sumit Sarkar, ‘Popular Movements and National Leadership, 1945-47’, Economic and Polit-
ical Weekly, vol. 17, no. 14/16, Annual Number, April, 1982, pp. 677-689; Sohini Majumdar,
‘A Different Calcutta: INA Trials and Hindu-Muslim Solidarity in 1945 and 1946’ in Tanika
Sarkar and Sekhar Bandyopadhyay (eds.), Calcutta: The Stormy Decades, New Delhi: Social
Science Press, 2015, pp. 235-266.
2
Gautam Chattopadhyay, ‘An Almost Revolution: A Case Study of India in February 1946’,
in Barun De (ed.), Essays in Honour of Prof. S.C. Sarkar, New Delhi: People’s Publishing
House, 1976. Also see Gautam Chattopadhyay, ‘Bengal Students in Revolt against the Raj,
1945-46’ in Amit Kumar Gupta (ed.), Myth and Reality: The Struggle for Freedom in India,
1945-46, New Delhi: Manohar, 1987.
91
about by relentless criticism of its justice system, public denunciations of its coercive
The chapter opens with a reassessment of the government’s policy towards the
INA, and the changing disposition of political parties on the INA question, after the
push for further INA trials, Congress leaders also attempted to distance themselves
from the street militancy that the trials had precipitated. Yet, they were also reluctant
to cede the glory that came with championing the INA cause, and all too aware that
Congress’ competitors were eager to appropriate the INA issue for their own benefit.
Congress’ success in setting free the INA officers after the first Red Fort trial raised
the value of the INA to all political parties. Rashid Ali’s turn towards the Muslim
The second section examines how the League championed Rashid Ali’s trial. It
will show how the arguments voiced in favour of Rashid Ali were very different from
the line the defence took during the first Red Fort trial. It will show how, given the
tenor of arguments in court, Rashid Ali’s case cannot be fitted into the pattern of anti-
communal anti-colonialism.
The discomfiting details of the court proceedings in the Rashid Ali case, the next
two sections show, barely found mention during the street agitations in Calcutta in
February 1946. Rashid Ali was invoked merely as a symbol to voice a deeper resent-
92
Changing Attitudes towards the Indian National Army after
Protests in Calcutta against the trial of Shah Nawaz Khan, Gurbaksh Singh Dhillon
and Prem Kumar Sahgal in November 1945 forced colonial officials to rethink their
policy of holding more INA trials. Even before the Calcutta protests, Auchinleck, the
Commander-in-Chief, had expressed doubts about how far the rank and file of the In-
dian Army were hostile towards the INA ‘traitors’. 3 Intelligence reports revealed that
returning prisoners of war were not doing enough to proselytize against the INA in
4
their native villages and towns. After the November agitations in Calcutta,
Auchinleck held a meeting with senior military officers, Home Department officials
tion from several senior officials, Auchinleck decided to limit future INA trials only
to cases that involved acts of brutality or murder. He was now convinced that ‘…there
was a growing feeling of sympathy for the INA’ in the army. 6 He responded to his
critics by asserting that no ‘senior British officer today knows what is the real feeling
among the Indian ranks regarding the INA’. Except for those convicted on grounds of
brutality and murder, Auchinleck’s preference was to release guilty officers if the tri-
3
Wavell to Pethick-Lawrence, 2 November 1945, Nicholas Mansergh (ed.), Transfer of Pow-
er, 1942-7, (Henceforth TP), vol. VI, London: Her Majesty’s Stationery Office, 1976, no.
185, pp. 433-6.
4
Home Department to the Secretary, Political Department, Government of India, India Of-
fice, 20 November 1945. See enclosed report from the Intelligence Bureau, Home Depart-
ment. Ibid., no. 222, pp. 512-5.
5
Auchinleck to Wavell, 24 November 1945, ibid., no. 233, pp. 530-1.
6
Auchinleck to Wavell, 26 November 1945, ibid., no. 241, p. 544.
93
als proved that they had acted in ‘good faith’. 7 If they were held in prison, he feared,
new governments after the elections in the spring of 1946 would release them and
even attempt to reinstate them in the British Indian Army. The Governor of the North
West Frontier Province (an important base for army recruitment) went even further
than Auchinleck. He argued that the Commander-in-Chief, ‘on his own volition and
his own responsibility’, should immediately announce the withdrawal of all future tri-
als against the INA. Although this course of action was ‘repugnant’ to him, he be-
lieved that this was the only solution. The trials, he thought, were increasingly becom-
ing an ‘Indian versus British’ issue and ‘[t]he only way of stopping the rot is by a
Two factors prompted this rethinking. First was the idea that no British army of-
ficer really understood what Indian soldiers felt about the INA; it was possible that
many were sympathetic to the INA cause. Auchinleck referred to the ‘sepoy mutiny’
of 1857 to strengthen this argument. He was not alone: Governor Twynam of the Cen-
tral Provinces and Berar spoke directly about how troops might respond if ordered to
fire on mobs (including violent protests against the INA trials). He went so far as to
compare the present state of affairs with ‘the days of the mutiny’. 9 He had actually
taken the trouble to revisit old files from 1857 and found it ‘extraordinary how Units
which were thought to be perfectly loyal suddenly decided to throw in their lot with
the mutineers’. 10 This confirmed his fears, though he was careful to insist that he did
7
Auchinleck to Wavell, 24 November 1945, ibid., no. 233, pp. 530-1.
8
Sir G. Cunningham to Wavell, 27 November 1945, ibid., no. 243, p. 546.
9
Twynam to Wavell, 26 November 1945, TP, vol. VI, no. 239, p. 542.
10
Ibid., pp. 542-3.
94
not mean to suggest ‘any widespread disposition on these lines’. 11 It was the twitching
of an old wound that had never quite healed. The second factor was worry about the
way Indian politicians were using, and would continue to use, the INA issue for their
‘selfish’ interests.
The November agitations in Calcutta had also made Indian politicians rethink their
stance. Emerging after a period of incarceration, disarray and inactivity, the Congress
championed the INA cause just as the leaders had begun their electoral campaigns in
earnest. The Congress had taken the lead in defending the INA officers in court, and
had made the trials a major election issue. Yet, once the November agitations broke
out in Calcutta, Congress leaders wondered whether they had gone too far in whip-
ping up mass frenzy around the INA cause. The Congress High Command soon began
after Calcutta had calmed down, Sardar Patel condemned the ‘frittering away’ of en-
ergies in ‘trifling quarrels’ with the police. 12 From 7 to 11 December 1945, when the
Congress Working Committee met in Calcutta to draw up its manifesto for provincial
Congress’s attitude towards the INA in a public speech, which proclaimed that while
the INA soldiers deserved to be celebrated for their courage, self-sacrifice and com-
munal unity, members of the INA who wished to join the Congress had to abide by
the Congress creed of non-violence and ‘put their swords back into their scabbard’. 13
11
Ibid., p. 543.
12
Indian Annual Register, July-December 1945. Quoted in Sarkar, ‘Popular Movements and
National Leadership’, p. 682.
13
Hindu, 10 December 1945. Quoted in Peter Ward Fay, The Forgotten Army: India’s Armed
Struggle for Independence, 1942-1945, New Delhi: Rupa, 1994, p. 503.
95
In Bengal, the BPCC’s attitude towards the INA remained somewhat different.
Subhas Bose had by then attained a heroic status in Bengal and the INA enjoyed huge
popular support in the province. Sarat Bose basked in the reflected glory of his broth-
gal during the elections, the High Command had to forget the past and invite Sarat
Early in January 1946, after the tortuous and historic Red Fort Trials, Shah Nawaz,
Sahgal and Dhillon were found guilty on a number of charges. But Auchinleck remit-
ted the sentence of transportation for life and released all three men. Changes in the
attitude of the Congress High Command towards INA agitations notwithstanding, this
was a moment of glory for the party and its INA Defence Committee. It was duly cel-
ebrated with huge fanfare in Delhi. So, when Shah Nawaz came to Calcutta in the lat-
ter half of January 1946, his popularity was at its peak; on his arrival, Major Shah
this stage, receiving invitations from all parts of India to visit. 15 Unsurprisingly, Sarat
Bose was determined to make most of this to recover his reputation, damaged by his
refusal to lead the INA protests in November. He celebrated ‘INA weeks’ and his
brother’s birthday with pomp; and the Working Committee meeting in Calcutta in
December 1945 gave him the opportunity to invite All-India Congress luminaries to
some of these celebrations. The resolutions and public utterances of some of these
leaders, as we have seen, might have dampened the INA spirit somewhat, but Sarat
14
See, for example, letter from Mr. Fazal Karim, Kharagpur to the Secretary, INA Relief
Committee, Calcutta, dated 30 January 1946, K.P.M. No. 01690/05; S.B. File No. 868 II,
P.M. (1946), SBR, CP.
15
See, for example, letter from the Councillor, Corporation of Madras to Sarat Bose, Calcutta,
dated 6 February 1946, ibid.
96
Bose counter-balanced this by persuading Shah Nawaz himself to visit Calcutta and
they could ill-afford to let go of the INA’s glory. If they did, opponents of the Con-
gress could use this powerful political symbol to their benefit. The All India Hindu
Mahasabha (AIHM), for example, was desperate to appropriate the INA and Subhas
Bose’s legacy for all that it was worth. The Bengal Provincial Hindu Mahasabha, for
its part, instructed its supporters to celebrate Subhas Bose’s birthday on 23 January ‘in
a fitting manner in cooperation with all sections of people irrespective of party affilia-
tion’. 16 This was, the circular explained, a directive from the All-India organization,
which was also organizing Bose’s birthday celebrations at an all-India level. Senior
leaders instructed party workers to emphasize how ‘the life work of Netaji Subhas
Chandra as represented through the INA movement is the national corollary of the
policy of militarization pursued by the Mahasabha during the War’. 17 Party propagan-
dists were asked to explain that Netaji stood for India’s integrity, just as the
Mahasabha had always opposed vivisection of the country, against the designs of the
Muslim League. 18 Support also seemed to be forthcoming from INA officers them-
lice reveal, for example, that Major General Bhonsle, the Chief of Staff of the INA,
16
Circular from Hindu Mahasabha, issued by Debendra Nath Mukherjee, General Secretary,
Bengal Provincial Hindu Mahasabha, K.P.M. No. 01689/05; S.B. File No. 868, P.M. (1946),
SBR, CP.
17
Ibid.
18
Ibid.
97
had expressed his inclination to join the Mahasabha rather than the Congress. 19
Bhonsle knew that the Congress would not let him contest elections on its ticket un-
less he agreed to sign the non-violence pledge; the Mahasabha, on the other hand, was
The Hindu Mahasabha was not the Congress’s only opponent. The Forward Bloc
was also determined to claim the achievements of the INA. As long as the fate of the
INA officers on trial remained uncertain, the Forward Bloc’s leaders had maintained a
low profile. But now that the INA officers had become national heroes after their re-
lease, they resented the Congress for monopolizing all the kudos. The Bloc was
Subhas Bose’s party established after he was expelled from the Congress; so Bloc
members felt entitled to the INA legacy. At a Working Committee meeting in Calcut-
ta in January 1946, a Forward Bloc leader asserted that the Congress was ‘exploiting’
Shah Nawaz, Sahghal and Dhillon, ‘for its own electioneering purposes’; 21 no sooner
than the ‘Fascist dictators’ of the Congress feel that ‘they had outlived their utility’
than ‘the same heroes of today will become the condemned individuals [of] tomor-
row’. 22 The proof was that the Congress had given election tickets to few members of
the Forward Bloc, despite the fact that during the Quit India Movement in 1942 it was
their leaders ‘who were shedding their blood in the prisons while Patels, Nehrus and
19
See ‘Hindu Affairs: 25.1.46 – All India Hindu Mahasabha’, ibid. The report is a summary
of a letter dated 21 January 1946 from Ashutosh Lahiri to B. S. Munjee, intercepted on 23
January 1946.
20
See ‘Hindu Affairs: 1.2.46, Hindu Mahasabha – INA’, K.P.M. No. 01690/05, S.B. File No.
868 II, P.M. (1946), SBR CP.
21
Dawn, 27 January 1946.
22
Ibid.
98
Pants were fattening themselves in the Agha Khan Palace’. 23 The Forward Bloc want-
The Muslim League’s growing interest in the INA trials had the most far-reaching
consequences. The League’s disposition towards the INA was lukewarm until they
realized the extent of popular enthusiasm the issue was capable of generating. During
the November INA agitations in Calcutta, the League’s involvement was minimal.
However, once the INA officers were released and the credit for this feat was in dan-
tee, the League took up the issue with greater seriousness. The fact that one of the
three officers was a Muslim made the situation more pressing and embarrassing. The
Central Assembly election results had given the League considerable satisfaction – its
candidates had trounced almost all rival claimants, including the ‘Nationalist Mus-
lims’ of the Congress. 25 Yet there were still the provincial elections to be fought. 26
Shah Nawaz’s support for the Congress might enable it to recover some lost ground
Whatever the realities of communal harmony within the INA, the INA issue had
done little to repair the divisions between the Congress and the Muslim League. This
was proved once again when Shah Nawaz was being considered as a candidate for the
Punjab Legislative Assembly. The idea was floated by the Punjab Provincial Congress
Committee in November 1945 while Shah Nawaz was still under trial. The plan was
23
Ibid.
24
Ibid.
25
Fay, The Forgotten Army, p. 500. Some Congress Muslim candidates did enter the Central
Assembly, such as Asaf Ali who contested from the Delhi open constituency.
26
Ibid., pp. 485-486.
99
to make him stand from a Muslim reserved constituency that encompassed Rawalpin-
di. 27 This proposal was quietly withdrawn by December 1945 once the Congress real-
ized that the League had decided to put up its own candidate to fight Shah Nawaz in
the same constituency. 28 It proved, on the one hand, that the Congress lacked confi-
dence in the ability even of Shah Nawaz, at the height of his popularity, to defeat a
League candidate. On the other, it showed that the League would not play soft-ball
against any Congress-sponsored Muslim, no matter how much Jinnah was keen to
The mood of the League leaders changed when the INA officers walked free in
January 1946. The very fact of his release swelled the popular appeal of Shah Nawaz
even further. The League busied itself with devising a strategy for damage control, to
show that Shah Nawaz was not a ‘confirmed Congressman’. Dawn, the League’s
mouthpiece, published two interviews of Shah Nawaz, both of which claimed that he
was thankful to both the Congress and the League for their joint effort at defending
him in court. These interviews also alleged that Shah Nawaz wanted all parties to ac-
cept the Pakistan demand, if this was the only stumbling block to India’s independ-
ence. 29 Very soon, however, Shah Nawaz was off to Calcutta at the invitation of Sarat
Bose. His association with Sarat Bose, and his public appearances in Calcutta on the
latter’s initiative, during a time when election propaganda was in full swing, linked
him with the Congress in public perception. League leaders felt that their pursuit of
27
Ibid., p. 501.
28
Ibid., pp. 501-502.
29
For the two interviews, see: Dawn, 5 January 1946 and Dawn 19 January 1946.
100
However, the situation soon took an unexpected turn. As new INA trials began to
be staged, events moved fast. First, Captain Burhanuddin, and then Singhara Singh
and Fateh Khan, were brought before a Court Martial. 30 The choice of Red Fort as the
venue of the trials was very soon recognized to be a blunder, and these were shifted to
the Delhi Cantonment at the fringes of the city. 31 The defence was led by the Con-
gress INA Defence Committee. If these trials went well, Congress would be able to
claim credit for defending two more Muslim INA personnel. This was, by no means,
good news for the Muslim League, especially with provincial elections around the
corner. However, Captain Rashid Ali upturned all assumptions by refusing to appoint
the Congress Committee as his counsel and asking Muslim League to take responsi-
Historians have barely studied the trial of Rashid Ali. 32 This can be explained, to
some extent, by the fact that even contemporary newspapers, especially ‘nationalist’
ones, did not give it the same coverage as the first Red Fort Trial. Dawn, the League’s
mouthpiece, was the exception. Drawing upon reports that appeared in the newspaper
during the course of the trial, this section examines the trial in some detail. These de-
tails show how difficult it is to accommodate the Rashid Ali agitations in February
30
Fay, The Forgotten Army, pp. 496-497.
31
Dawn, 1 February 1946.
32
Only Peter Ward Fay has discussed briefly some aspects of the trial. See Fay, The Forgot-
ten Army, pp. 497-498.
101
1946 in Calcutta within the paradigm of ‘anti-communal anti-colonial popular
protests’.
Rashid Ali’s court martial began on 9 January 1946 at Delhi cantonment. He had,
tee. Congress was aware that many of the INA accused were Muslims. To head off,
perhaps, the accusation that its Defence Committee was a caste-Hindu body, it had
chosen Asaf Ali as the convener of the Committee, and defended all Muslim INA per-
sonnel who had already been put up for trial until then. But Rashid insisted on being
defended by the INA Defence Committee set up by the All-India Muslim League. 33
Rashid Ali was accused of three offences: waging war against the King-Emperor,
cruelty, and abetment of cruelty towards Indian Prisoners of War (PoWs) to induce
them to join the INA. Mr. F.R.S. Surita, Counsel for Prosecution, proclaimed in his
opening address that he would put forward ‘overwhelming evidence’ to show that ‘the
accused practiced brutalities, put Indian PoWs into cages, starved them, made them
do fatigues and otherwise ill-treated them if they refused to join the INA.’ 34 Rashid
Ali had supposedly committed or connived at these atrocities in his capacity as the
On 22 January 1945, Rashid Ali read out a written statement in the Court that cre-
ated a sensation across India. He said that he had no doubt that non-Muslims were the
33
Dawn, 10 January 1946.
34
Ibid.
102
‘moving spirit’ in the INA. 35 He was also convinced that if the INA had managed to
occupy India, it would establish non-Muslim rule with the support of the Japanese
Government. In order to safeguard the interests of the Muslims in case the Army’s
aims were successful, he decided to arm himself. He pleaded that he was ‘cut off from
the rest of the world’ and the only news that was available to him were those that
were supplied by the Japanese. Under such ‘unprecedented and peculiar circumstanc-
es’ he had no means of judging whether the Japanese were going to win the War, in
which case he felt obliged to do everything to protect the brethren of his own creed –
just like most other Muslims in the INA had done, he assured the Court. Thus, he in-
sisted, ‘I never waged war against the King. It was never my intention.’ 36 As far as
allegations of atrocities were concerned, he pleaded that these were ‘incorrect’ and
motivated. 37
es of torture at the Bidadari Camp, either at the hands of Rashid Ali himself, or under
his direction and with his knowledge. But, as the Defence Counsel, Mr. Abdul Aziz
Khan, pointed out, the chronology of the incidents recounted by the witnesses excul-
pated Rashid Ali from any role in the torture. Most of the witnesses referred to inci-
dents at a time when Rashid was posted at the General Headquarters as the Deputy
Provost Martial. Although he was technically in charge of the Bidadari Camp, the De-
fence counsel argued, he could not possibly have known what was going on in the
Camp on a day-to-day basis. The defence insisted that Rashid could not be held guilty
for any ill-treatment the witnesses may have suffered in the Camp till March 1943,
35
Dawn, 23 January 1946.
36
Ibid.
37
Ibid.
103
when he was appointed the Officer Commanding of the Bidadari Camp. Except in one
case, Aziz Khan pointed out, none of the accusations of torture pertained to the period
Jamsher Khan was the sole witness who accused Rashid of torturing him to force
him to join the INA after the latter had taken over as the Commander of the Camp.
When he had refused to join the INA, Rashid allegedly ordered a Japanese sergeant to
beat him up, while he ‘stood by and watched’. 38 Aziz Khan objected that Jamsher
Khan had, in course of time, joined the INA. By joining the INA, he had himself
committed treason against the King and therefore was an accomplice. Under the Evi-
dence Act, an accomplice’s evidence could not be taken at face value; it had to be cor-
roborated. As no such corroborative evidence was available, Aziz Khan urged the
As far as the charge of waging war against the King was concerned, Aziz Khan
argued that the accused never intended to do so. He merely wanted to safeguard the
in the country. ‘Intention’, he pointed out, ‘always plays an important part in deciding
a criminal matter.’ 39 Therefore, Rashid Ali could not be held guilty of waging war
Rashid Ali’s defence team had cleverly marshalled their arguments. These moved
in directions quite different from those at the first Red Fort trial. Rather than arguing
38
Dawn, 10 January 1946.
39
Ibid.
104
for a belligerent status for the INA and drawing attention to international law protect-
ing the rights of such armies, Rashid’s defence attempted to dissociate him from the
INA and its objectives. The personal intent of the actor was, for his lawyers, the cen-
tral issue of contention for deciding the charge of treason. On the face of it, this
seemed like a smart move. The first trial had proved that the Court Martial had for-
mally refused to accept the belligerent status of the INA. Therefore, by dissociating
Rashid’s actions from the objectives of the INA, if the Defence Counsel could prove
that Rashid Ali had not committed treason at all, then acts of brutality in themselves
would not constitute a very grave offence. The first trial had set the accused free even
when treason was actually proved. Shah Nawaz, in particular, was found guilty of
abetment of murder as well. Rashid Ali’s offence, even if he was found guilty of cru-
elty or of abetting cruel treatment towards PoWs, could not be more serious than that
of Shah Nawaz. This course of action, Rashid Ali’s defence counsels must have sup-
However, they were in for a surprise. The Prosecution counsel, Mr. Surita, insisted
that many witnesses spoke of torture at Bidadari Camp when Rashid was in over-all
charge of the Camp as the Deputy Provost Martial. In all such cases, Surita insisted,
case of consistent ill-treatment at the hands of the accused, or at his instance, or with
40
Dawn, 26 January 1946.
41
Ibid.
105
As far as waging war against the King was concerned, Surita pointed out that this
charge was proved by the simple fact of Rashid being an INA officer. But even if the
argument was accepted that he joined the INA to safeguard Muslim interests, the
claim was belied by how ‘Muslim after Muslim’ who had been called before the
In the end the Judge-Advocate agreed with the Prosecution counsel. By the very
fact of being an officer of the Indian National Army, he agreed, Rashid Ali had bro-
ken his oath of loyalty to the King. ‘[P]articipation in methods designed to increase
the power of or improve an organization actively assisting an enemy force against the
forces of the Crown was sufficient to prove the charge of treason. 43 As far as the
charge of cruelty was concerned, the judge concluded that even if he dismissed the
Jamsher Khan’s deposition. He insisted that Jamsher Khan’s testimony could not be
rejected simply because he was an accomplice, as that would deprive him the status of
a witness at all.
It became clear that the Court was unlikely to decide in favour of Rashid. Sensing
this, the defence counsel Aziz Khan changed his line of argument at the fag end of the
trial. He now urged the Court to take ‘judicial notice’ of the outcome of Shah Na-
waz’s trial. 44 The latter was found guilty of waging war against the King as well as
abetment of murder, despite which he was set free. On that occasion the Advocate-
General had also declared that the motive of men of the Indian National Army was
42
Ibid.
43
Dawn, 29 January 1946.
44
Dawn, 30 January 1946.
106
‘honourable’. 45 Comparison with the Red Fort Trial, as well as drawing attention of
Ali and his defence team had insisted upon – that the INA was a non-Muslim-
lims upon the success of its mission. This sudden shift in strategy was surely prompt-
ed by the realization that the ‘honourable’ personal intentions of Rashid Ali, which
had allegedly motivated him to infiltrate into the ranks of the INA to safe-guard his
co-religionists, did not impress the Court in the least. On 5 February 1946, Dawn an-
nounced on its front page that in Rashid Ali’s case, the Commander-in-Chief had
ment’. He had also confirmed the sentence of cashiering as well as forfeiture of pay
and allowances. 46
For a few days thereafter, brief reports of popular protests against Rashid Ali’s
did appear in Dawn during this time, but these were confined to brief commentaries,
February 1945, about four days after the sentence had been confirmed, Dawn finally
Muhammad Ali Jinnah’s statement against the Court verdict. He had gone so far as to
demand that the Commander-in-Chief had to ‘explain and give his reasons and
grounds for this discrimination observed by him’. If he refrained from doing so, the
Qaid-e-Azam threatened that the Muslims would not ‘rest content’ and this would
45
Ibid.
46
Dawn, 5 February 1946.
47
See Dawn, 6 and 7 February 1946.
107
lead to a ‘very serious situation’. 48 The latter had called for all the files pertaining to
Rashid Ali’s case as well as those pertaining to the first Red Fort trial. He declared
Jinnah’s personal interest in the case prompted other Leaguers to follow their lead-
er. Sir Firoz Khan Noon speculated that Rashid Ali’s treatment resulted from the fact
that the League had not exploited the case as an ‘election stunt’ as the Congress had
done with the Red Fort trials; or that government was interested in gaining the favour
of the Congress for ‘some reasons’. 50 Malik Barkat Ali insisted that the Commander-
bemoaned how arbitrary discrimination in ‘two identical cases’ had caused ‘the deep-
est resentment in Muslim circles’. 52 Dawn insisted that Rashid Ali’s guilt in the eyes
of the law was at least equal to the accused in the Red Fort trial, if not less, especially
in comparison with Shah Nawaz. It wondered whether Rashid Ali was victimized for
exposing the ‘real non-Muslim character’ of the INA and for declaring that he, like
most other Muslim soldiers, joined the INA to safeguard the interests of his communi-
ty. 53
On the face of it, it does appear true that charges against Shah Nawaz were equal-
ly, if not more, serious than Rashid Ali’s. ‘Gross brutality’, the most serious charge
levelled against Rashid, could not be a greater crime than ‘abetment of murder’. Yet,
on closer scrutiny, there appears to be a significant difference in the two cases, which
48
Dawn, 8 February 1946.
49
Dawn, 9 February 1946.
50
Ibid.
51
Ibid.
52
Ibid.
53
Dawn, 8 February 1946.
108
League propagandists were happy to gloss over. Shah Nawaz, Sahgal and Dhillon
were charged for punishments allegedly given and executed in the course of Court
Martial proceedings against INA soldiers for indiscipline; these proceedings, moreo-
ver, were held in accordance with the procedures the INA adopted from the Indian
Army Act of the British Indian Army. The thrust of the defence in the Red Fort trial
was to argue for the legitimacy of the INA as a legally constituted army of a legiti-
mate government-in-exile. This, its defence counsel had argued, made the INA enti-
law. This also empowered the INA to hold Court Martials, sentence the guilty to death
and execute such death sentences, just like the British Indian Army. This argument
was formally rejected during the trial. During confirmation, however, some scholars
feel that the Commander-in-Chief almost granted the INA a belligerent status by re-
mitting the sentence of transportation for life for all three of the accused. 54
In case of Rashid Ali, however, the charge was substantively different. Accusa-
tions of brutality that the Court Martial took cognizance of, and held to have been
proved in the course of the trial, consisted of extra-judicial torture. These were not
outcomes of Court Martial procedures of the INA, but were apparently aimed at mak-
ing Indian PoWs join the INA. The tortures were directed against those who were yet
54
The previous chapter has highlighted a range of factors that prompted the government to
restrict the scope and scale of the INA trials, and adopt a lenient attitude towards those who
had joined the INA. However, there seems to be no record to ascertain exactly what made the
Commander-in-Chief commute all the sentences passed by the Court Martial against Shah
Nawaz, Dhillon and Sahgal. This was a completely unexpected outcome. Some scholars feel
that Auchinleck’s actions must have been dictated by a concern for the resentment that the
trial had generated among large sections of the public (and also, perhaps. within the rank and
file of the British Indian Army). However, once Auchinleck’s decision was announced, it cre-
ated a public perception that it amounted to a de facto acceptance of belligerent status for the
INA. See, for example, Fay, The Forgotten Army, pp. 490-496. Also see A G Noorani, Indian
Political Trials, 1775-1947, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2005.
109
to be part of the INA and hence fell outside its jurisdiction. The decision of the Com-
mander-in-Chief, therefore, was not completely arbitrary. Yet the Muslim League
propaganda machine insisted that Rashid Ali was unfairly punished because unlike in
Shah Nawaz’s case, the Muslim League INA Defence Committee had represented
him. League propaganda reduced the difference in punishment between the two cases
Thus, the initial expression of outrage against Rashid Ali’s conviction had a clear
To some extent, Nehru’s and Prem Sahgal’s statements of support for Rashid Ali
disliked the way Rashid had maligned the INA, and had no sympathy for acts of cru-
elty against PoWs; yet he thought that the Court should have kept in mind that the
‘circumstances were very special’ and that ‘extraordinary and normal standards’ could
not be applied on any of the INA cases. 55 He concluded that Rashid Ali’s ‘heavy sen-
tence’ ought to be ‘revised’. 56 Sahgal, on the other hand, did not like Rashid Ali per-
sonally and believed that he was ‘a coward and a bully’. 57 He was convinced that Ra-
shid was, in fact, guilty of mistreating PoWs. 58 Yet, he thought that as ‘an officer of
the Azad Hind Fauj’, the army of the ‘Provisional Government of Azad Hind’, no
British Court had the legitimacy to bring him to trial for whatever offence he may
55
Dawn, 11 February 1946
56
Ibid.
57
Fay, The Forgotten Army, p. 106.
58
Ibid.
110
have committed. 59 But however half-hearted Nehru’s and Sahgal’s support for Rashid
Ali may have been, their condemnation of his conviction imparted a ‘non-communal’
the morning of 11 February 1946. The same day, a massive protest broke out in the
tion’. 60 The obvious hyperbole aside, it remains extraordinary that an issue with such
divisive connotations and such ambivalent support at the top managed to produce
such an impressive alliance across political and ideological divides at this fraught
moment. Even in comparison to the November INA agitations, 61 the February move-
ment exhibited much greater ‘unity’ among the participants on the ground.
The following section will examine this in detail, and suggest that this solidarity
across party-political affiliations was forged on grounds that had very little to do with
the issue of Rashid Ali’s conviction. Of course, the apparent injustice meted out to
Rashid Ali and the demand for the withdrawal of the sentence passed against him
were invoked during the course of the agitations. Yet, it remained a very selective and
fuelled the bonds and alliances forged in the course of the street action. In concrete
terms, it manifested in robust opposition to the city police. Rashid Ali’s conviction
was merely a rallying point that facilitated the articulation of a deeper resentment
59
Dawn, 11 February 1946.
60
Gautam Chattopadhyay, ‘The Almost Revolution’.
61
See Chapter 1 of this thesis.
111
The Beginning of the Rashid Ali Agitations in Calcutta
Gautam Chattopadhyay, the historian of the Rashid Ali agitations in Calcutta, was
also one of its organizers. He was then the Secretary of the Calcutta branch of the All
India Students’ Federation (AISF) led by the Communist Party of India (CPI). The
two essays he wrote on these events are based on official archives and notes from a
personal diary.
will be struck by a curious factual error that persists in both essays. Both contend that
Rashid Ali’s trial began on 10 February 1946 at ‘the famous Red Fort’ in Delhi. 62 But
even a cursory glance at the newspapers reveals that Rashid Ali’s trial had begun
more than a month before, on 9 January 1946, and that his sentence was confirmed by
the Commander-in-Chief on 4 February 1946, about a week before the Calcutta agita-
tions began. Moreover, Rashid Ali’s trial commenced not at the ‘famous Red Fort’
In both essays, Chattopadhyay makes this erroneous statement very briefly, before
moving on to a thick description of the street action from 11 February 1946. He had
very little interest in the trial of Rashid Ali itself, but this one quick sentence height-
ened the drama of the agitations that followed, conveying a sense of absolute sponta-
outburst’. This is symptomatic of how the actual trial of Rashid Ali was deployed in
62
Gautam Chattopadhyay, ‘Bengal Students in Revolt against the Raj, 1945-46’, p. 158;
Chattopadhyay, ‘The Almost Revolution’, p. 429.
63
Fay, The Forgotten Army, pp. 496-498.
112
the logic of street action, this section will argue, even when the agitation was in pro-
gress. To many of its participants, Rashid Ali was a vague symbol around which a
This section aims to re-narrate the course of the agitations, starting with 11 Febru-
ary 1946, bringing into focus a range of sources that have hitherto remained unused.
far the richest corpus of contemporary reports gathered while the protests were in
progress. This invaluable material has remained unutilized till now. This section will
weave insights from this body of fresh archival sources with those that are already
known.
Branch of Calcutta Police went to the Writers’ Building, the headquarters of the pro-
vincial government, to run some errands. On his way out, he noticed a procession of
angry students marching towards Wellington Square. 64 Ahsan estimated that the par-
ticipants numbered roughly about one hundred and fifty and appeared to be mostly
Branch, to let them know what he had seen and set about making further enquiries.
Ahsan discovered that around half past noon, two policemen came out of Lal Ba-
zar, the police headquarters in Calcutta, to find a procession of about three hundred
young men marching towards Dalhousie Square. They were protesting against the
64
Confidential Diary entry from Sub-Inspector S. Ahsan of S.B., dated 11 February 1946,
K.P.M. No. 01693, SB.B. File No. 868D/1, P.M. (1946), SBR, CP.
113
conviction of Rashid Ali. Like the November 1945 protests, the procession headed
towards the ‘prohibited area’ to register their grievances. It was a students’ procession
and it was composed mainly of Muslim students, but they were carrying flags of the
Muslim League and the Congress, as well as a plain green flag. As the two officers
tried to talk to the leaders of the procession, some of the younger students ‘filtered
through and started running towards the Writers’ Building’. 65 Vastly outnumbered,
these officers called the Lal Bazar headquarters for help. Meanwhile, the
processionists had already reached the General Post Office adjacent to Dalhousie
Square. The Deputy Commissioner (Southern Division) rushed to the square with a
police force and stopped the procession from proceeding any further.
Upon being thus obstructed, the protesters squatted in the middle of the road, dis-
locating traffic in this busy area. The police asked them to disperse; when they re-
fused, a lathi-charge followed. The police attempted to arrest ‘ring leaders’, which
inevitably led to a scuffle. 66 Finally, they arrested thirteen students and took them to
the lockup at Lal Bazar. Maniklal Roy Chowdhury was the only Hindu among those
arrested. The others were all Muslims. Except for one university student, the rest were
school boys, mostly from Presidency Muslim High School and M.L. Jubilee Institu-
tion. The procession seemed loosely organized. Students had got together in their re-
spective schools, then assembled at College Street and marched towards Dalhousie
Square to protest.
65
Ibid.
66
Ibid.
114
This brief – and none-too-serious – scuffle with the police became the nucleus of
the chain of protests that ensued. As demonstrations intensified, more police lathi-
charges and arrests followed and the more agitated the demonstrators became. Police
brutality slowly emerged as the main plank of popular support for the protests, around
which solidarities were forged, glossing over the murkier details of Rashid Ali’s trial.
Rashid’s mud-slinging against the INA and its intentions in open court, the anti-Hindu
insinuations in his legal defence, the public projection of the case as a ‘Muslim’ issue
both during and after the trail – these less-palatable dimensions of the cause were un-
derplayed and wider alliances built by reifying the image of the police as the brutal
Outraged by the first scuffle, Sub-Inspector Ahsan reported, the students marched
towards Wellington Square to hold a public meeting. 67 It fell upon Assistant Sub-
Inspector Abdul Aziz to cover the proceedings of the meeting on behalf of the Special
Branch. 68 Perhaps due to the short notice, he got to the spot slightly later. Protesters
had already gathered around a wooden podium from which the speakers were to ad-
dress the crowd. This made it difficult for government reporters to position them-
selves at a suitable angle, with the result that none of them could actually see the
speakers on stage. The local police had arrived earlier and had deputed twelve
‘watchers’, but they were of no help. Not only were they hugely outnumbered, the
palpable anti-police temper of the gathering did not permit any negotiation with the
organizers to secure convenient seats for the reporters. 69 Aziz might not have been
67
Telephone Message from S.I. S. Ahsan, ibid.
68
Report of A.S.I. Abdul Aziz on the Rashid Ali Agitation, 11 February 1946 from 1:05 pm
to 2:30 pm, ibid.
69
Ibid.
115
able to see the speakers, but he could not miss the huge poster of a police constable
wearing a red pugree, with the Bengali inscription, ‘police julum bondho koro’ 70
Federation (BPSF) presided over the meeting. It adopted resolutions calling for im-
mediate release of Rashid Ali and other INA prisoners. Speakers denounced British
imperialism and called for Congress-League unity. 71 But this optimistic mood was
soon threatened. Despite criticizing the government for attempting to create a split
between Hindus and Muslims, one speaker, Jamiruddin, did not please everyone when
he declared that Rashid Ali was punished only because he was defended by the Mus-
lim League. 72 This remark opened the doors to further allegations of sabotage: the
Secretary of the City Muslim League, Mushirul Hossain Chaudhuri, accused the
from observing the strike called by Muslim students. 73 This organization was an alter-
native BPSF led by the Congress Socialist Party and the Revolutionary Socialist Party
which had played an important role in the November INA agitations in Calcutta in
1945. Ananda Sankar Bhattacharya, who chaired the meeting, had to step in to pre-
vent it from degenerating into squabbles. He told the audience that the party that de-
fended Rashid Ali in court was not the issue at stake. He wanted to tell the ‘imperial-
ists’ on behalf of everyone in the meeting that ‘they were one when fighting imperial-
70
Pugree is a head-dress. ‘Police Julum Bondho Koro’ can be roughly translated as ‘Stop Po-
lice Atrocities’.
71
Report of A.S.I. Abdul Aziz on the Rashid Ali Agitation, 11 February 1946 from 1:05 pm
to 2:30 p.m., K.P.M. No. 01693, SB.B. File No. 868D/1, P.M. (1946), SBR, CP.
72
Ibid.
73
Ibid.
116
ism, although they quarrelled among themselves’. 74 To further strengthen the sense of
unity among the audience, he began to talk about the police lathi-charge earlier in the
sistant Sub-Inspector Aziz. 75 Bhattacharya raised the temperature even further when
he declared that a lathi-charge was now useless as students were ready for bullets. 76
He was astute enough to know that ‘police atrocity’ was the only battle-cry that could
the Province soon after the elections, he had no intention of repeating Sarat Bose’s
blunder. 77 With the elections around the corner, Surahwardy could not endanger his
popularity, but hoped to act as the safety-valve and control the agitation so that it did
not precipitate violence. He spoke in Bengali, declaring that he had come to the meet-
ing ‘to associate himself with their object’. 78 He admitted to having criticized the
Congress in the past, but now he ‘wanted unity with the Congress for acquiring na-
tional freedom’. He went even further: ‘The day was not far off when the League
would unite with the Congress.’ Then he turned to pacifying the crowd: ‘This move-
ment was made for getting Rashid Ali released. They had come there not for breaking
the law.’ He insisted that the students should protest ‘to prevent which none had a
right’; however, ‘they should do so lawfully’. The students should keep out of Dal-
74
Ibid.
75
Ibid.
76
Ibid.
77
See chapter 1 of this thesis. Also, Chattopadhyay, ‘Bengal Students in Revolt’; Sarkar,
‘Popular Movements and National Leadership, 1945-47’.
78
Report of A.S.I. Abdul Aziz on the Rashid Ali Agitation, 11 February 1946 from 1:05 pm
to 2:30 p.m., K.P.M. No. 01693, SB.B. File No. 868D/1, P.M. (1946), SBR, CP.
117
housie Square as it was a ‘protected place’. 79 The protest would be successful only if
they remained peaceful and broke no law, he told the protesters. A quick negotiation
followed and Ananda Bhattacharya announced that they would take out a procession
he added that they would observe a general strike the following day and register an
After the meeting ended, on his way out, Suhrawardy briefly spoke to A.G. Khan,
a senior Inspector of the Special Branch who had also arrived at the scene by then. He
asked that the police should not interfere with the procession as the students had
promised him that they would not enter Dalhousie Square. 81 However, Khan immedi-
and was intent on marching into the prohibited area. 82 He was experienced enough to
By now, the procession had built up to about five thousand protesters. 83 After me-
andering through different streets of the city, it arrived at Clive Street. As Inspector
Khan predicted, it forced its way towards Dalhousie Square. The local police stopped
seemed like a repeat of the November INA agitations, the crucial difference being that
79
Ibid.
80
Ibid.
81
Confidential Diary entry from Inspector A.G. Khan of S.B., Calcutta, dated 11 February
1946, ibid.
82
Telephone message from A.G. Khan at 2:50 p.m., ibid.
83
Two separate reports give the same figure. See Confidential Diary entry from Inspector
A.G. Khan of S.B., Calcutta, dated 11 February 1946, and Confidential Diary entry from In-
spector A.G. Khan of S.B., Calcutta, dated 11 February 1946, ibid.
84
Confidential Diary entry from Inspector A.G. Khan of S.B., Calcutta, dated 11 February
1946, ibid.
118
top leaders of the Muslim League had arrived at the spot soon after. Muhammad
Usman, the Secretary of the Calcutta District Muslim League addressed the protesters,
assuring them that all their leaders, including Suhrawardy, were with them in their
fight. But the protesters paid him little heed. They got up and ‘made a dash to proceed
further’ when they were met with a brutal lathi-charge. A number of students were
badly hurt. 85
This scattered the procession, as participants ‘took to their heels’ and dispersed in
the adjacent streets and by-lanes. 86 Utter chaos followed. Suhrawardy returned to try
to pacify the crowd. The situation calmed down, briefly, and the police managed to
resume the flow of traffic in the area. No policemen thought this to be the end of the
trouble, however. Inspector Khan perceived an ominous current in the air, warning his
headquarters of possible ‘serious repercussions’ the same night or the following day. 87
The police establishment was keenly aware that breaking up processions by police
action could only aggravate the situation, as the focus of protests would steadily shift
Meanwhile, the crowd, dispersed by the lathi-charge, had spread throughout the
city. Reports of angry mobs stopping traffic and shutting shops poured in from all
parts of Calcutta. The evening witnessed a series of direct attacks on policemen and
85
Ibid.
86
Ibid.
87
Ibid.
88
Ibid.
119
police stations. The ease with which anti-police sentiment could be worked up and
It so happened that Constable Kashi Singh had gone to see his relatives in the
Koilaghat Police Station area. On his way home at around 6 pm, he spotted an
‘externee’ at the junction of Harrison Road and Strand Road, prominent thoroughfares
in the north of the city. 89 As part of the War-time security arrangements, a large num-
ber of ‘bad characters’ and ‘habitual criminals’ had been removed from the Calcutta
area under provisions of the Defence of Indian Rules. 90 Many of these ‘externment’
orders were still in force, and hence the violation of such restrictions still constituted a
criminal offence. Kashi Singh arrested the offender and took the help of another Con-
stable, Ram Naish Pandey, to bring him to the police station. However, as they passed
through Harrison Road, ‘the accused started raising slogan of ‘Jai Hind’’. 91 A crowd
gathered around them immediately. As ‘passersby and local people’ started following
them, the two Constables began to lose their nerve. They met another Constable, Deo
Dutt Misser, at the Harrison Road and Clive Street crossing, and he agreed to accom-
pany the police party. But soon after, they were attacked from behind with brickbats,
89
Confidential Diary entry of Sub-Inspector S. Ahsan of S.B., Calcutta, dated 11 February
1946, ibid. See Appendix D.
90
For the special regulations promulgated during the Second World War, see Indivar
Kamtekar, ‘The End of the Colonial State in India, 1942-47’, Unpublished PhD thesis, Uni-
versity of Cambridge, 1989; Srimanjari, Through War and Famine: Bengal 1939-45, New
Delhi: Orient BlackSwan, 2009; Sanjoy Bhattacharya, Propaganda and Information in East-
ern India 1939-45: A Necessary Weapon of War, Richmond, Surrey: Curzon Press, 2001;
Sanjoy Bhattacharya, ‘An Extremely Troubled Relationship: The British Colonial State and
the Communist Party of India, 1942-44’ in Biswamoy Pati (ed.), Turbulent Times: India
1940-44, Mumbai: Popular Prakashan, 1998. Externment of ‘hooligans’ and ‘goondas’ has a
longer history in Bengal. See Suranjan Das and J.K. Ray, The Goondas: Towards a Recon-
struction of the Calcutta Underworld, Calcutta: Firma K.L.M., 1996; Suranjan Das, ‘Towards
an Understanding of Communal Violence in Twentieth Century Bengal’, Economic and Polit-
ical Weekly, vol. 23, no. 25, 27 August, 1988.
91
Confidential Diary entry of Sub-Inspector S. Ahsan of S.B., Calcutta, dated 11 February
1946, Appendix D, K.P.M. No. 01693, SB.B. File No. 868D/1, P.M. (1946), SBR, CP.
120
soda water bottles and lathis; the angry crowd ‘snatched away the accused and as-
saulted the Constables’. In the course of the tussle, Deo Dutt Misser’s pugree fell
from his head; when he attempted to recover it, the crowd tore it in front of his eyes
Close by, the same evening, Bowbazar Police Station received frantic telephone
calls informing them of military lorries aflame at Chittaranjan Avenue. On its way to
the spot, the police party met with sudden attacks by ‘miscreants and hooligans’. 93
Fearing that they would be encircled by an excited crowd, the policemen beat a hasty
retreat. Returning to their own police station was impossible, but they somehow man-
aged to fight their way to the nearby Hare Street thana. When they took shelter within
the thana premises, a crowd of about seven hundred strong attacked the police station.
The police attempted a lathi-charge, but the situation went beyond control – ‘the
crowd receded… a little only to charge the police with renewed vigour’. 94 Soon the
thana gate gave way and the attackers rushed into the building. The outnumbered po-
licemen were completely overwhelmed, and the Officer-in-Charge opened fire on the
crowd. Eight rounds of gunfire killed one person and injured several others. The
Much to the relief of the city police, there was no attempt to occupy Dalhousie
Square later that night. 96 But the situation was far from calm. Political leaders, espe-
cially of the Muslim League, toured across the city, attempting to persuade angry
92
Ibid.
93
Ibid. See Appendix G.
94
Ibid.
95
Ibid.
96
Ibid.
121
crowds to return home and remain peaceful. Despite their efforts, at least seven mili-
tary trucks were set on fire and the public transport system was hugely damaged. 97
The Central Intelligence Officer (CIO) of Calcutta, reporting directly to the Home
Department in Delhi, spoke of protesters setting fire to at least twenty lorries. The po-
lice made at least twenty-seven arrests, and resorted to firing three or four times in the
In an assessment of the day’s events, a senior Special Branch officer blamed the
politicians for precipitating the crisis. He accused leaders of all political parties of
propagating the false idea that ‘the police were already “cowed” since the last No-
vember riots and that they would not dare to interfere’. 99 Gullible students, he said,
among a certain class of Moslems that not only Hindus but the government itself are
“afraid” of them.’ 100 There was a belief that police would not meddle with a Muslim
League procession with support from the CPI and the Congress. ‘The result’, he la-
mented, ‘is well-known – about fifty injured and one killed.’ 101 He concluded, signifi-
cantly, that only the Muslims of the city were genuinely inspired by a sense of injus-
tice towards Rashid Ali, believing ‘that their honour is at stake’. 102 This sentiment
was being manipulated by the Communists and ‘a certain type’ of Congress leader, as
they saw in this ‘the best chance to make the Moslems and the Government fight each
97
Telephone message dated 11 February 1946 and 12 February 1946 from S.I. K.N. Ghosh
from Section E to A.C., S.B., ibid.
98
CIO Calcutta’s Telephonic Report, dated 12 February 1946, File No. 5/22/46, Home (Polit-
ical), National Archives of India (Henceforth, NAI).
99
Report on 11 February 1946 at 7 pm, K.P.M. No. 01693, SB.B. File No. 868D/1, P.M.
(1946), SBR, CP. Signature illegible, but probably written by Inspector A.G. Khan.
100
Ibid.
101
Ibid.
102
Ibid.
122
other and thereby drawing the Moslems closer to themselves for a united action
This assessment was far too simplistic, as events the following day proved. De-
mand for justice for Rashid Ali was strategically voiced at specific moments by dif-
ferent groups that defied any neat classification between Muslim and non-Muslim,
even League and non-League groups. The unifying rhetoric remained a common op-
12 February 1946 began with a general strike. The police were not taken by sur-
prise. The previous evening, a Special Branch officer had called up the office of
Morning News – the mouthpiece of the Bengal League patronized by Nazimuddin, the
had asked whether the League had called for a strike the following day so that he
could let taxi drivers know. 104 The staff at the office of Morning News confirmed that
the League had indeed called for a strike, with the support of other parties.
British-owned retail outlets opened their stores in central Calcutta, only to become
103
Ibid.
104
Ibid.
123
targets of mob attacks. 105 Indian traders did not require much persuasion to go on
strike. They were already restive about increases in the provincial sales tax. This was
a new war-time tax imposed in 1941. After the War, instead of it being withdrawn or
reduced, the government had enhanced the rate from three quarters of an anna to one
anna in a rupee. 106 Rashid Ali’s cause and the issue of police brutality only added fuel
to the fire. Thus, what historians have presumed to be spontaneous opposition to Ra-
handedness and brutality – all came together to produce solidarities (however fleet-
ton Square. But even before it began, violence broke out in different parts of the city.
Transport had, in any case, come to a standstill since early in the morning. Angry
mobs stoned the few private cars that had dared to appear in the streets, dragging the
occupants out of vehicles and assaulting them. 107 Even the few rickshaws and bicycles
that came out became targets of attack. 108 Thirty-five military vehicles were set on
fire and the main thoroughfares blocked with barricades. 109 Soon, rioting spread to the
105
Consolidated Report regarding Students’ Demonstrations including Four Public Meetings
on 12 February 1946 at Wellington Square, K.P.M. No. 01694/05, S.B. File No. 868 D(2),
P.M. (1946), SBR, CP.
106
Governor of Bengal to the Viceroy, 25 February 1946, File No. 5/22/46-Poll (I), Home
(Political), NAI. An anna was one-sixteenth of an Indian rupee.
107
C.I.O. Calcutta’s telephonic report No. 2, dated 12 February 1946, ibid.
108
Consolidated Report regarding Students’ Demonstrations including Four Public Meetings
on 12 February 1946 at Wellington Square, K.P.M. No. 01694/05, S.B. File No. 868 D(2),
P.M. (1946), SBR, CP.
109
Intelligence Bureau (H.D.), Copy of a Report, dated 12 February 1946, from A/D.M.I.,
G.S. Branch, New Delhi, File No. 5/22/46-Poll (I), Home (Political), NAI. Also see ‘Calcutta
Disturbances’, General Staff Branch (M.O.2), 12 February 1946, ibid.
124
northern parts of the city and mobs harassed the civilian police. 110 Angry crowds
felled trees to block the main roads at Bhawanipore in south Calcutta. 111 The situation
deteriorated to such an extent that the Chief Secretary asked the Eastern Command to
make troops available at short notice to come in aid of civil power. 112 By quarter past
noon, three companies of troops were stationed at three strategic points in the city. 113
Another company was kept standing at Fort William for reinforcement. 114 The Army
was not called out that day, but officers were asked to spend the night at the Eastern
Command headquarters so that they were just a phone-call away. 115 Even before the
Wellington Square meeting began, intelligence officers concluded that the situation
was ‘very ugly’ and ‘worse than that in November 1945’, especially given how quick-
Whatever position the Muslim League had taken on the first day of the agitation,
the Central Intelligence Officer had no doubt that by 12 February, it was actively
sponsoring the agitation. 117 The League was gaining strength and support from other
student groups and political parties, but its main motivation was the Pakistan cause.
Some intelligence officers believed that the Muslim League had taken Rashid Ali’s
sentence as a sign that the Government was trying to side-line its political demands.
The League feared that the Viceroy would form a Central Government with only
110
Situation Report No. 3 – Calcutta, General Staff Branch, ibid.
111
Ibid.
112
‘Calcutta Disturbances’, General Staff Branch (M.O.2), ibid.
113
Ibid.; Intelligence Bureau (H.D.), Copy of a Report, dated 12 February 1946, from
A/D.M.I., G.S. Branch, New Delhi, ibid; Situation Report No. 4 – Calcutta, General Staff
Branch (M.O.2), ibid.
114
Governor of Bengal to Viceroy, dated 13 February 1946, No. 27, ibid.
115
Situation Report No. 3 – Calcutta, General Staff Branch, ibid.
116
Intelligence Bureau (H.D.), Copy of a Report, dated 12 February 1946, from A/D.M.I.,
G.S. Branch, New Delhi, ibid.
117
C.I.O. Calcutta’s telephonic report No. 2, dated 12 February 1946, ibid.
125
Congress representatives as the first step towards forming a single constitution-
making assembly, and dismiss the Pakistan demand. The Muslim League therefore
saw the need to create a ‘strong atmosphere’ with League members ready to court ar-
rests and face repression. 118 To save the Pakistan issue, the League was even prepared
to launch ‘some sort of direct action’. 119 While there may be some substance to such
conjectures, it ignored the other reasons why the League championed the agitation in
Calcutta, the forthcoming provincial elections being the most obvious among them.
occasion: given how difficult it had been to secure a good spot the previous day, the
local thana took no chances. Constable Indrasan Tiwari of Muchipara police station
had placed tables and chairs for reporters long before protesters began to gather at the
park. 120 This was critical, as the anti-police wave that prevailed in the meeting could
have induced the crowd to actively prevent the police reporters from covering it. An
angry crowd ‘jeered at’ the Special Branch officer as he took his seat. They started
pushing and shoving all government reporters and insisted that they removed the
chairs and left the meeting. ‘No notice was however taken of this angry demonstration
and the tension automatically eased…’ 121 But the police were under constant pressure,
shouting slogans, displaying banners and waving the flags of different parties. Some
118
Ibid.
119
Ibid.
120
Consolidated Report regarding Students’ Demonstrations including Four Public Meetings
on 12 February 1946 at Wellington Square, K.P.M. No. 01694/05, S.B. File No. 868 D(2),
P.M. (1946), SBR, CP.
121
Ibid.
126
protesters tied the Congress and the League flags together as a symbol of unity. 122 No-
tably, the proceedings followed an unusual format. Two meetings followed each other
back-to-back: the first was essentially a students’ meeting led by the All Bengal Mus-
lim Students’ League (ABMSL) and the CPI-sponsored BPSF; the second was ad-
dressed mainly by senior leaders of political parties, especially the Muslim League.
Almost all prominent leaders of the League attended the meetings, except
Nazimuddin. 123 Conjectures about audience strength vary drastically. The Governor’s
telegram to the Viceroy in the early hours of 13 February 1946 puts the figure at fifty
thousand. 124 The Special Branch speculated that there were about ten thousand pro-
testers inside the park, with the overflow crowd estimated at another two thousand. 125
The first meeting began with Azizur Rahman of ABMSL in the chair. The most
remarkable feature of this meeting was that the issue of Rashid Ali’s release was bare-
ly addressed. Speakers condemned the injustice of trying INA personnel and holding
them in camps and prisons in general terms. An ABSML speaker insisted that except
for ‘a small section of mercenaries’, no Indian was loyal to the British Government
anymore. It was futile to try the INA soldiers for treason as every Indian was at war
122
Ibid.
123
Only the C.I.O.’s report mentioned Nazimuddin’s presence at the meeting. See C.I.O. Cal-
cutta’s telephonic report No. 2, dated 12 February 1946, File No. 5/22/46-Poll (I), Home (Po-
litical), NAI. No other source, including the very detailed running notes of the Special Branch
reporters, mentions Nazimuddin or his speeches. For details concerning Rashid Ali agitations,
C.I.O.’s reports are less reliable than those of the Special Branch. The former display some
striking factual errors. For example, an initial report on 11 February 1946 about the first Wel-
lington Square meeting mentioned that it was organized by Bengal Provincial Student Federa-
tion (New), which the CIO corrected in a later report. Compare the afore-mentioned report
with the initial ‘C.I.O. Calcutta’s telephonic report, dated 12.2.46’, ibid.
124
Governor of Bengal to Viceroy, 13 February 1946, No. 27, ibid.
125
Consolidated Report regarding Students’ Demonstrations including Four Public Meetings
on 12 February 1946 at Wellington Square, K.P.M. No. 01694/05, S.B. File No. 868 D(2),
P.M. (1946), SBR, CP.
127
against British imperialism. 126 Arabindo Bose of the Congress repeated, ‘every youth
of India was guilty of waging war against the King and wished to be punished for it’.
went on to describe how the INA had ‘answered bullets with bullets in Manipur and
Imphal’, and if the Indian youth had bullets they would have used it against the gov-
ernment. 127 The official discourse on the INA as a mercenary force under Japanese
control was turned on its head. Not just the British Indian Army, but the entire admin-
istrative establishment that enabled the colonial state to function, including the police,
Another student leader pointed directly at the police reporters to declare that the
‘agents and supporters of the Imperialist Government’ should understand that Indians
were not willing to tolerate British rule ‘even for a day’. 128 Despite his celebration of
the INA, he made no specific demand for the withdrawal of the punishment of Rashid
Ali’s sentence. The resolution passed at the meeting made no reference to it. The cen-
tral issue remained police atrocities, lathi-charges, firings and arrests the previous
day.
The other striking feature of this meeting was the vocal demands by student lead-
ers that the political leaders of the main parties chart out a course of action ‘consistent
with the vindication of the prestige and honour of the nation’. 129 It amounted to a dec-
laration that the leaders would be allowed to guide the protesters only on the condition
126
Ibid.
127
Ibid.
128
Ibid.
129
Ibid.
128
that they laid down a programme of action that the followers thought was adequate
and worthy. This was reiterated over and over again by several speakers, threatening
the political leadership that if they failed to meet the expectations of those they pro-
posed to lead, they would be disregarded. One speaker insisted that the students were
ready to follow the directions of the political leaders only if they ‘make clear what
their next move was going to be’; he had no trust in the leadership, as both the Con-
gress and the Muslim League, he said, had betrayed popular expectations ‘on repeated
occasions in the past’. 130 This explicit statement of contractual nature of the relation-
ship between the leader and the led, with the latter setting the terms on which the for-
mer would be allowed to lead, was the most striking feature of the meeting.
Once this meeting came to an end, the next one started at the same venue immedi-
ately after, with Suhrawardy in the chair. Senior leaders of different parties, along
with the presidents of important student bodies, such as the CSP and RSP controlled
BPSF (New) and the Congress-sponsored Bengal Provincial Students’ Congress ad-
dressed it. The Muslim League took a leading part, with all its important leaders, ex-
cept Nazimuddin, explicitly supporting the cause. This meeting, as opposed to the
previous one, spoke of the need to secure Rashid Ali’s release. Maulana Akram Khan,
the President of the Bengal Provincial Muslim League, assured the protesters that ‘de-
spite his old age and indisposition’, he would lead the ‘united campaign’ of Hindus
and Muslims from the ‘forefront’. 131 This enthused the crowd, as he set out the aims
of the protest. The first object, he insisted, was to secure the release of Rashid Ali, the
second was to secure redressal of police brutalities and the third was to remove the
130
Ibid.
131
Ibid.
129
ban on meetings at Dalhousie Square. Abul Hashim, the energetic Secretary of the
Bengal Provincial Muslim League, spoke of how the Congress and the League, who
were fighting each other in the election campaign, stood united against British imperi-
alism. 132
However, it fell upon Suhrawardy, who was on the verge of becoming the Premier
of the province, to provide leadership to the demonstration. The entire tenor of his
speech was geared towards ensuring that the protests remained under his control. It
was the anti-police sentiment that could potentially be the most explosive. If violence
against policemen and police stations the previous day was any proof, playing down
the anti-police agenda was the only way to keep the protesters under control. Atten-
tion could be redirected towards the attainment of distant objectives, such as the re-
lease of Rashid Ali and INA prisoners, which would provide at least temporary insur-
violation of the ban on Dalhousie Square was the most suitable programme of action.
A controlled procession through the prohibited area could give the programme a radi-
cal edge, yet keep violence at bay. Accordingly, he declared his intention of leading a
demonstration, along with Satish Das Gupta of the Congress, through Dalhousie
Square to show the government that ‘Hindus and Muslims could act together in a dis-
ciplined manner’. They would voice their demands for the release of Rashid Ali
through slogans, of course, but League and Congress volunteers were to ‘maintain
order’. He warned the protesters that if they could ‘display discipline’, the govern-
ment would realize that they were a strong ‘disciplined army’. If they failed to do so,
132
Ibid.
130
‘they would be called rabble’. 133 Finally, he assured that the Government had already
accepted their demands of demonstrating at Dalhousie Square and had promised not
to interfere. After this, a long procession of protesters proceeded towards the prohibit-
On the face of it, this description of the protest meetings at Wellington Square fits
neatly into the paradigm of united bottom-up anti-colonial protests: radicalized stu-
dents, cutting across community and political affiliations, acting as the ‘revolutionary
vanguard’, managed to force a radical political agenda upon a somewhat shaky and
reluctant leadership. As shown above, much of this unity was forged on an anti-police
agenda, rather than any ideological opposition to the INA trials themselves. But this
does not destabilize the basic premises of existing left-wing historiography of the INA
ary potential, eventually frustrated by a bourgeois political elite. This body of scholar-
ship celebrates the fact that even the students’ organization affiliated to the Muslim
League went to the extent of challenging its own provincial high command, joining
hands with other students’ organizations which opposed the League. 134 It was as
though the ABMSL pushed a radical agenda knowing well that it was sure to embar-
There is no denying that a degree of unity between different groups with divergent
political affiliations was evident in the way the protests took shape. Yet, just a scratch
on the surface reveals other dynamics at play. The ABSML’s insistence on a pro-
133
Ibid.
134
Chattopadhyay, ‘The Almost Revolution’; Chattopadhyay, ‘Bengal Students in Revolt,
1945-46’; Sarkar, ‘Popular Movements and National Leadership, 1945-47’.
131
gramme of action that was awkward for the League leadership on the eve of provin-
cial elections is a case in point. The shifting contours of alignment within the provin-
cial League, and its relationship with the ABSML can be revealing.
Jinnah had effected a major reorganization of the Muslim League in 1943, insisting
on a separation between party work on the one hand and electoral and governmental
activities on the other. 135 He had announced that no office-bearer of the party was to
within the provincial League organizations. At the annual general meeting of the
Bengal Provincial Muslim League in Calcutta held from 6 to 8 November 1943, fac-
tion fights reached new heights. Suhrawardy resigned from the post of Secretary of
the provincial League, replaced by Abul Hashim. A clear line emerged between two
powerful factions. One group had Nazimuddin, the Premier of the province, control-
ling the electoral arena and aligning with Akram Khan, the President of the party in
Bengal. Suhrawardy and Abul Hashim collaborated, on the other hand, to lead a rival
faction. The first group held sway over the ministerial domain, while the latter came
to dominate the party organization. 137 Through the years of the Second World War,
the party moved from strength to strength, largely as a result of Hashim’s energetic
leadership and Suhrawardy’s influence among Calcutta’s Muslim labourers. 138 By the
135
Shila Sen, Muslim Politics in Bengal, 1937-1947, New Delhi: Impex, 1976, p. 182.
136
Ibid., see f.n. 25.
137
Ibid.
138
For an account of Abul Hashim’s career, see Abul Hashim, In Retrospection, Dacca:
Sabarna Publishers, 1974. For biographical details of Suhrawardy, see Begum Shaista
Suhrawardy Ikramulla, Huseyn Shaheed Suhrawardy: A Biography, Karachi; Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 1991. Also see Suhrawardy’s memoirs: Mohammad H.R. Talukdar (ed.),
Memoirs of Huseyn Shaheed Suhrawardy with a Brief Account of His Life and Work, Dhaka:
University Press, 1987. For Suhrawardy’s involvement in Calcutta’s Muslim labour politics,
see Kenneth McPherson, The Muslim Microcosm: Calcutta, 1918 to 1935, Wiesbaden: Stei-
ner, 1974.
132
time of the provincial elections in 1946, the Suhrawardy-Hashim faction emerged as
the stronger group, making Suhrawardy the obvious Prime Ministerial candidate.
This sharp divide within the Bengal Muslim League had repercussions on student
politics under its banner. In 1944, when elections to the ABSML were held for the last
time before Partition, it came to be dominated by the student group led by Azizur
Rahman. He was an ally of Nazimuddin in the ministry and Akram Khan in the party.
The rival group, aligned with the Suhrawardy-Hashim faction, came into prominence
in the Calcutta District organization of the Students’ League, but remained marginal
By 1946, Hashim had clearly overshadowed Akram Khan within the party. Now,
on the eve of provincial elections, Suhrawardy was clearly on the verge of capturing
the entire Nazimuddin-Akram Khan faction. Internal rivalries within the League or-
ganization were thus at their peak when the Rashid Ali protests unfolded in Calcutta.
Led by Azizur Rahman, who was aligned with the group that seemed defeated, it is
not surprising why the ABSML had no qualms about pushing Suhrawardy into a dif-
ficult and embarrassing position. For the latter, it was a trap laid by his enemies with-
in his own party. He could either court unpopularity by dissociating himself from the
agitation (as Sarat Bose had done during the INA protests of November 1945), a
move he was too shrewd to risk just before the elections. Alternatively, he had to ac-
cept the terms dictated by his followers, at least in part, which would invite further
139
For a detailed discussion of student politics under the aegis of the Muslim League in Ben-
gal, see ibid., pp. 186-190.
133
displeasure from British officialdom (who clearly had a preference for Nazimuddin).
Thus, a story that seems on the surface to be one of pressures from below forcing a
radical agenda onto an unwilling leadership, as the ‘agency’ of the followers dictating
In the event, the procession that emerged from Wellington Square passed through
various streets of the city without major incident. While passing through Dharmatalla
Street, however, the crowd threw brickbats at British-owned shops. They smashed
large glass window panes of fashionable showrooms in this central area of Calcutta,
and then looted them. 140 One Head Constable was stabbed in the back. 141 Eventually,
the procession reached Dalhousie Square, the prohibited area, and staged a demon-
stration without any opposition from the government. It was only when it was going
past the police headquarters at Lal Bazar, on its way back, that the procession ran into
trouble. A police lorry, returning to the headquarters loaded with injured Constables,
emerged from the opposite direction and confronted the procession head on. A panic-
stricken police force, under relentless attack for more than a day, lost its nerve and
fired tear-gas shells on the crowd. 142 Mayhem ensued, with protesters attacking the
police lorry with brickbats. More tear gas was used to disperse the crowd, aggravating
the situation even further. Vehicles parked outside Lal Bazar became objects of
attack.
140
Consolidated Report regarding Students’ Demonstrations including Four Public Meetings
on 12 February 1946 at Wellington Square, K.P.M. No. 01694/05, S.B. File No. 868 D(2),
P.M. (1946), SBR, CP.
141
Bengal Governor to Viceroy, 13 February 1946, File No. 5/22/46-Poll (I), Home (Politi-
cal), NAI.
142
Ibid.
134
Thereafter, a policeman noted a fascinating, and unfamiliar, pattern of crowd be-
haviour in Calcutta:
The crowd appears to have split up into gangs of hooligans spreading over centre of the
town into European residential areas and indulging in looting shops (particularly arms-
dealers) and looting and setting fire to private houses, molesting peaceful citizens
etc. 143
According to this version, trouble spread rapidly, engulfing the whole city within a
few hours and then spreading to its outskirts. It is difficult, of course, to ascertain the
course, overloaded with the prejudices typical of official descriptions of protests that
government found difficult to control. Implicit in this report is the assumption that the
the slightest provocation. This was characteristic of a ‘law and order’-centred perspec-
tive of popular protest that justified repression by depoliticizing collective action and
criminalizing politics itself. This is a theme we will examine in some detail later.
However, the import of this specific description becomes clear in the context of what
took place thereafter. The Governor called an emergency meeting with military offic-
ers, the Commissioner of Police and other senior officers of his government. ‘Being
furnished and on advice that situation was such that it was impossible to restore and
135
Square was achieved, everyone should ‘return to their normal life and activities’.145
This led to some murmurings of protest among the crowd. ‘What about Rashid Ali?’,
some of the protesters wanted to know. 146 One student interrupted Suhrawardy’s
speech and urged everyone to carry on with their protests. Confusion ensued.
Suhrawardy resumed, insisting that no one should pay attention to any suggestion of
not bring ‘freedom’: ‘Police would resort to shooting to stop goondaism and in
these cases they would act as the servants of the public. Everybody had a home, and
family.’ 148
The Governor’s radio broadcast soon thereafter had a similar tone. Informing the
public that the army had been called out, Richard Casey announced:
Within a very short time from the holding of the procession, unruly elements started
looting shops and setting fire to buildings and transport… peaceful citizens are being
molested in many parts of Calcutta. It is impossible to believe that any of the principal
political parties are supporting the present state of affairs. The mob are [sic.] trying to
take charge – and they are not going to be allowed to take charge. 149
He assured that the police and the army would not ‘interfere with any peaceful citi-
zens’, but they would take ‘all necessary steps’ against ‘malefactors’. His advice to
145
Consolidated Report regarding Students’ Demonstrations including Four Public Meetings
on 12 February 1946 at Wellington Square, K.P.M. No. 01694/05, S.B. File No. 868 D(2),
P.M. (1946), SBR, CP.
146
Ibid.
147
Ibid.
148
Ibid.
149
Governor of Bengal to Viceroy, No. 27, 13 February 1946, File No. 5/22/46-Poll (I), Home
(Political), NAI.
136
‘peaceful citizens’ was, ‘Keep off the streets and keep out of trouble.’ 150 However, the
police and the army, he insisted, would not hesitate to ‘use their weapons’ if they
faced any obstruction in the execution of their duties. 151 His concluding remarks are
You will remember that in the course of the last disturbances in late November I was
extremely reluctant to ask for the assistance of the army. I am equally reluctant now but
I believe that army assistance is essential in the public interest and in these circum-
stances I have not hesitated to invoke their aid. The lesson to be learnt – for the second
time within a few months is that political processions however well intentioned prove
nothing. They inevitably lead to public disturbances and casualties. I hope very much
that this second costly experience will have its lessons for those responsible for the
demonstrations in November and now. 152
It was, in short, a reiteration of the theme central to bureaucratic attitudes towards pol-
itics in India. It was seen as essentially disruptive, inevitably leading to chaos. It was
the supposedly neutral arms of the colonial administration – the bureaucracy, the po-
lice and the army – that could alone preserve peace in an intrinsically violent society.
From the evening of 12 February 1946, the government unleashed a reign of re-
pression. There is little in the official record that contradicts Gautam Chattopadhyay’s
description of the ruthlessness with which the army clamped down upon protesters. 153
Given free rein to curb ‘conflagrations’, state actors made few sound judgements
about the objects of repression. Even bystanders and onlookers bore the brunt of the
state’s show of might. Ordinary people, including women and children, lost their lives
to bullets.
150
Ibid.
151
Ibid.
152
Ibid.
153
For vivid descriptions of the indiscriminate violence unleashed on the public of Calcutta
once the army was called in, see Chattopadhyay, ‘The Almost Revolution’; Chattopadhyay,
‘Bengal Students in Revolt against the Raj, 1945-46’.
137
The confrontation between the army and the police on the one hand, and angry
afternoon the Commissioner of Police lamented that there was no improvement in the
especially in Muslim-majority areas, and reported that the mob was displaying ‘great
ferocity’. 154 The government also noted that, since 13 February morning, protesters
had begun to adopt ‘tip and run tactics’. 155 This involved setting up road blocks and
barricades on the main thoroughfares, dispersing on the sight of the police or the army
into the surrounding lanes and by-lanes, and then reassembling and replacing the bar-
Late in the night of 13 February, the Governor issued another radio broadcast,
warning people to stay clear of the streets. This time he informed the public that he
had authorized the police and the army to open fire to bring the situation under con-
trol. 157 This, of course, meant that the whole city was virtually converted into a war
zone. This had the desired effect of a ‘great stimulant to troops and Police’. 158 A mes-
sage from the Headquarters of the Eastern Command the following morning men-
tioned with satisfaction that the Governor’s orders for free use of firearms had raised
police morale by 200 per cent. 159 ‘Firing’, it said, ‘had a steadying effect’ since 13
February night, when the crowd seemed to have had ‘quite enough’. 160 By 14 Febru-
154
CIO Calcutta’s telephone report No. 3 received at 3:30 p.m. on 13 February 1946, File No.
5/22/46-Poll (I), Home (Political), NAI.
155
Governor of Bengal to Viceroy, 13 February 1946, ibid.
156
Ibid. Also Report of G.E.B. Abell, Private Secretary to the Viceroy, 13 February 1946,
ibid.
157
Governor of Bengal to Viceroy, No. 28, 13 February 1946, ibid.
158
MIO Calcutta, Situation Report No. 9, 14 February 1946, ibid.
159
Message from HQ Eastern Command 08:40 hours, 14 February 1946, ibid.
160
Ibid.
138
ary 1946, Calcutta seemed to have calmed down. ‘Crowds have ceased to stand about
and appear to be going about their normal business’, reported the Military Intelligence
Officer. 161
1946, several political parties attempted to pour oil on troubled waters. Some organi-
zations, such as the Revolutionary Communist Party of India (RCPI), tried to prolong
the protests. But these were voices from the fringe. All the main political parties be-
gan campaigns for putting an end to the agitation. By 15 February, the protests had
petered out.
The army was slowly withdrawn. Troops patrolled the city streets till the night of
14 February. Standing military pickets were withdrawn from the streets of Calcutta to
test the waters on 15 February. 162 But they were not yet sent back to the barracks. 163 It
was not until 18 February that troops were fully and finally withdrawn both from Cal-
Conclusion
The INA agitation of February 1946 in Calcutta enlisted participation across politi-
cal and community divides. Despite the reluctance of some of the associated political
parties, such as the Bengal Provincial Students Congress, students affiliated to all ma-
161
Telephone message from HQ Eastern Command at 15:00 hours, 14 February 1946, Gen-
eral Staff Branch, Situation Report No. 11, ibid.
162
Governor of Bengal to Viceroy, No. 32, 15 February 1946, ibid.
163
Also, Situation Report No. 14, telephone report from HQ Eastern Command at 15:45
hours, 15 February 1946, ibid.
164
Governor of Bengal to Viceroy, No. 36, 18/19 February 1946, ibid.
139
jor political organizations succeeded in forging solidarities. This, in some cases, al-
most amounted to open revolt against the party leadership, as seemed to be the case
However, seeing this entirely as pressures from below, radicalizing the political
Stretching this evidence to argue for an alternative political future for South Asia, de-
picting it as an ‘almost revolution’ that could have transformed the history of the sub-
As this chapter demonstrates, much of this apparent revolt against party high
commands, on closer scrutiny, appears far more complex when inter-party rivalries
Also, this chapter emphasizes the need to take the symbols of protests seriously. It
shows how solidarities across party-political affiliations and community divides, al-
ready solidified into communal identities by then, could only be forged when the ac-
tual cause of Rashid Ali, or the divisive tones of the actual arguments made in his de-
fence in Court or by the League propaganda, were relegated to the background. Ra-
shid Ali’s cause became extraneous to the logic of the protests, sometimes invoked
strategically, but for the most part forgotten. To retain a united front, these protests
had to latch on to, and rally around, other symbols, such as government high-
140
This is not to argue, of course, that by invoking symbols other than Rashid Ali’s
also created its own regimes of exclusion, the brunt of which, more often than not, fell
upon the poor and some of the city’s vulnerable minorities. It is perhaps important to
recognize how it was the lowest rung of the police, the Constables and Head Consta-
bles, not very different in socio-economic status from the urban proletariat of Calcut-
ta, who were mostly the recipients of public wrath. While the Commissioners and
Deputy Commissioners went around the city in protected convoys, it is this lowest
South Calcutta, where resistance to the state machinery was the strongest, the 4/3
Gurkha Rifles was deployed by the Eastern Command to bring the area under con-
trol. 165 They proved to be quite successful, and undoubtedly, very ruthless. Some
Gurkha armed policemen were also employed in different parts of the city. This re-
sentment, however, spilled on to the Nepali community of the city as a whole. A small
ethnic minority, mostly a part of the city’s casual labouring poor, Nepalis became tar-
165
Situation Report No. 7 – Calcutta, General Staff Branch, File No. 5/22/46-Poll (I), Home
(Political), NAI.
166
Confidential diary entry from S.I. N.L. Banerji of S.B., Calcutta, 14 February 1946,
K.P.M. No. 01696/05, S.B. File No. 868/46(D)(4), P.M. (1946), CPR, SB.
141
Some Nepali families panicked and left their homes to take shelter in safer places. 167
Many of them became targets of everyday harassment and humiliation. 168 This
essentializing of community identities, holding one responsible for the actions of an-
other merely because both seemed to share a common identity, is the hallmark of
communal stigmatization. The protests, no matter how united, were not immune to
This is not meant to debunk the agitations, but to argue for a less romanticized re-
assessment, and also to argue for a less abrupt ‘plunge’ into communal mayhem from
an apparent mood of absolute solidarity represented by the INA agitations. This chap-
ter argues that the importance of the agitation lies in its a deeper questioning of the
institutions of the state. The anti-police sentiment that pervaded street action during
the February agitations was symptomatic of the state being reduced, in the public im-
how the judicial process of Rashid Ali’s trial, that rarefied, sacred domain where the
state acquires its status as a repository of ultimate justice, was repeatedly questioned
and undermined even by the top leaders of political parties. Muslim League’s debunk-
ing of the trial of Rashid Ali as unfair and biased constituted a crisis of the state’s
public imaginary, which only became acute when such questionings precipitated pop-
ular street action. The Calcutta agitations in February 1946, therefore, need to be situ-
ated in the context of a progressive undermining of state authority that would contin-
167
Special diary from S.I. K.S. Pandit of S.B., Calcutta, 14 February 1946, ibid.
168
‘Zone duty in the jurisdiction of Watgunj Police Station, 15 February 1946, K.P.M. No.
01697/05, S.B. File No. 868/46 D(5), P.M. (1946), CPR, SB.
142
Chapter 3
often chart a long history of the progressive intensification of communal identities and
sentiments. 2 A few historians have traced the origins of communalism back to pre-
colonial times. 3 Others have argued that its genesis was co-terminus with colonial
continent may lie, this strand of scholarship usually projects communal violence that
another across time. 5 On the other hand, analyses of partition violence, which concen-
1
Sumit Sarkar, ‘Popular Movements and National Leadership, 1945-47’, Economic and Polit-
ical Weekly, vol. 17, no. 14/16, Annual Number, April, 1982, pp. 677-689; Suranjan Das,
Communal Riots in Bengal, 1905-1947, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1991.
2
See, for example, Sandria B. Freitag, Collective Action and Community: Public Arenas and
the Emergence of Communalism in North India, Berkeley: University of California Press,
1989; Gyanendra Pandey, Construction of Communalism in Colonial North India, New Delhi:
Oxford University Press, 1992; Das, Communal Riots in Bengal; William Gould, Religion
and Conflict in Modern South Asia, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012.
3
C.A. Bayly, ‘The Pre-History of “Communalism”? Religious Conflict in India, 1700-1860’,
Modern Asian Studies, vol. 19, no. 2, 1985. David N. Lorenzen, ‘Who invented Hinduism?’
Comparative Studies in Society and History, vol. 41, no. 4, Oct., 1999.
4
Pandey, Construction of Communalism.
5
Freitag, Collective Action and Community; Das, Communal Riots in Bengal.
143
trate on the last few years of colonial rule, either study patterns of communal consoli-
dation 6 or move from one instance of communal flare-up to another, across space. 7
ryday inter-community relations, remain scarce. It is this lacuna that this chapter seeks
to address by delving into a rich, though fragmentary, corpus of material that throws
takes the story of communal antagonism in the last days of the Raj beyond the Great
Calcutta Killing. Also known as the August Killing, it has been hailed as the inaugural
moment of partition violence, and hence has received considerable scholarly attention
in recent years. 8 This chapter will demonstrate that instances of major spectacular
communal bloodshed often conceal patterns of ‘routine violence’. 9 While the former
reveals how the state’s authority is visibly challenged, the low-scale subterranean cur-
rents of daily violence throws light on the slower but more sustained processes of the
The chapter begins with a series of cases that show how communal hostility per-
vaded Calcutta’s social fabric during the period when historians have assumed Hindu-
6
Joya Chatterji, Bengal Divided: Hindu Communalism and Partition, 1932-1947, Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1994.
7
Gyanendra Pandey, Remembering Partition: Violence, Nationalism and History in India,
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001.
8
Das, Communal Riots in Bengal; Rakesh Batabyal, Communalism in Bengal: From Famine
to Noakhali, New Delhi, London: Sage, 2005; Anjan Ghosh, ‘Partial Truths: Rumour and
Communal Violence in South Asia, 1946-92’, PhD Thesis, University of Michigan, 1998;
Nariaki Nakazato, ‘Role of Colonial Administration, ‘Riot Systems’ and Local Networks dur-
ing the Calcutta Disturbances of August 1946’ in Tanika Sarkar and Sekhar Bandyopadhyay
(eds.), Calcutta: The Stormy Decades, New Delhi: Social Science Press, 2015.
9
Gyanendra Pandey, Routine Violence: Nations, Fragments, Histories, Stanford, California:
Stanford University Press, 2006
144
Muslim solidarity to be the dominant political mood. It goes further to argue that en-
The second section takes the story to the world of provincial politics. It shows that
even at this relatively higher level of politics, attempts to forge political alliances
across party lines were dictated more by political pragmatism than altruistic motives.
Suhrawardy’s Muslim League Ministry, which assumed office in early 1946, attempt-
ed to form a coalition with the Congress. This section argues that despite its outward
vulnerability to intra-party intrigues. The Great Calcutta Killing, this section argues,
has to be seen in the context of the Suhrawardy government’s fragility, together with
Next, the chapter explores the aftermath of the Great Calcutta Killing. It charts the
constant apprehensions and fears of a communal flare-up both among Hindu and
Muslim groups, fuelled by rumour and propaganda. The fourth section moves back to
the formal political domain. It shows how, despite the persistence of inter-party com-
petition and factional rivalries, groups representing Hindus and Muslims emerged as
antagonistic political formations, speaking with one voice while representing the case
145
The final section outlines broad contours along which everyday economic life was
fear, apprehensions, and loss of faith in the state dislocated economic relations.
posits a clear distinction between religious and communal conflict. The former, ac-
ences’, whereas communal conflict involved the quest for ‘political power and eco-
allegiance to a set of practices and dogmas’, in the hope of ‘rewards from a transcen-
violence in colonial India show, the line between the two was often blurred. Commu-
nal conflict, especially Hindu-Muslim conflict, often revealed the impulse to secure
material benefit, even at the cost of violence, precisely to create or preserve condi-
tions for religious or spiritual endeavour. At least, that is how social groups participat-
ing in communal violence often described the issues at stake, to themselves and to
their co-religionists. Conflicts around sacred space, and the more recent twentieth-
sacred space or on religious occasions, epitomizes this blurring between ‘purely’ reli-
10
Das, Communal Riots in Bengal.
146
gious and ‘purely’ communal conflicts. Religious practices in the subcontinent were
never purely personal affairs, and hence demands over public space and the right to
perform public acts – such as playing music and organizing religious processions on
certain occasions or at certain places – constituted arenas where religious and com-
The months after the end of the Second World War, despite their reputation for
conflict usually associated with communal animosity. The police archives of the peri-
Historians have traced violent conflict between social groups imbued with ‘com-
Dipesh Chakrabarty and Subho Basu differ on the precise nature of the conflict that
gripped Calcutta’s industrial neighbourhoods in the 1890s, they show at least some
nism. 12 Nationalist ideas, too, as they emerged in late nineteenth century Bengal,
showed distinct signs of Hindu chauvinism. 13 In the early twentieth century, when
11
See Freitag, Collective Action and Community.
12
Dipesh Chakrabarty, ‘Communal Riots and Labour: Bengal’s Jute Mill-Hands in the
1890s’, Past and Present, no. 91, May, 1981; Subho Basu, ‘Strikes and ‘Communal Riots’ in
Calcutta in the 1890s: Industrial Workers, Bhadralok Nationalist Leadership and the Colonial
State’, Modern Asian Studies, vol. 32, no. 4, October 1998.
13
The large body of literature on this subject includes Tanika Sarkar, Hindu Wife, Hindu Na-
tion: Community, Religion and Cultural Nationalism, Bloomington: Indiana University Press,
2001; Sumit Sarkar, Writing Social History, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1997; Partha
Chatterjee, Nationalist Thought in the Colonial World: A Derivative Discourse?, Minneap-
olis: University of Minnesota Press, 1986.
147
mobilizing rhetoric and the programme of action had a strong Hindu bias. 14 Simulta-
neously, in the course of the early twentieth century, increasingly conscious of their
ing the late 1930s, Muslim political formations came to dominate provincial politics,
to the deep irritation and growing alarm of the Hindu bhadralok elites. 16 In the course
of the twentieth century, numerous riots had broken out in Calcutta, which showed
communal violence in 1926, some historians argue, 17 had a deep impact on Hindu-
Muslim relations in Calcutta, which was only further accentuated with the increasing
prominence of the Muslim League in Bengal politics from the 1930s and the conse-
quent marginalization of Hindu political elites. 18 In this context, the instances of low-
scale but continuous undercurrent of communal animosity during the last years of the
In August 1945, a small patch under a pipul tree on a pavement beside the
Belliaghata Road in Calcutta became the theatre of intense controversy. 19 Some local
Hindus considered the tree sacred and worshipped a few stones placed under it. Dur-
ing the Id festival, however, Muslims of the locality would gather under the tree to
14
Sumit Sarkar, The Swadeshi Movement in Bengal, 1903-1908, New Delhi: People’s Pub-
lishing House, 1973.
15
Shila Sen, Muslim Politics in Bengal, 1937-1947, New Delhi: Impex, 1976.
16
Chatterji, Bengal Divided.
17
Das, Communal Riots in Bengal; P. K. Dutta, Carving Blocs: Communal Ideology in Early
Twentieth Century Bengal, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1999; Kenneth McPherson,
The Muslim Microcosm: Calcutta, 1918 to 1935, Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner Verlag, 1973.
18
Chatterji, Bengal Divided; Sen, Muslim Politics in Bengal.
19
‘Communal Tension over the Construction of a Temple at or near 8/1, Beliaghata Road on
the Footpath’, K.P.M. No. 01485/05, S.B. File No. 506/45, P.M. (1945), Special Branch Rec-
ords, Calcutta Police (Henceforth SBR, CP).
148
recite prayers. The Imam who conducted these prayers would stand in the tree’s shade
Trouble started when Haranandan Ray, a prominent Hindu of the locality, and
Baccha Tewary, the local priest, erected a small permanent structure at the site to
serve as a Hindu temple. The Muslims resented this and complained to the Calcutta
Tewary, instructing them to demolish the unauthorized structure. Both men ignored
the notice.
The ‘neighbourhood’ controversy gripped the attention of the wider Calcutta pub-
lic when Muhammad Usman, the Calcutta District Secretary of the Muslim League,
intervened on behalf of the Muslims, and filed a police complaint. This escalated ten-
sions, and the issue became a city-wide concern. When the police began their enquir-
ies on 18 August 1945, tension was palpable in the locality. Haranandan and Baccha
fuelled suspicion between the communities in the area. The police reported that ordi-
nary social contact between Hindus and Muslims, previously rather cordial, had,
around a sacred site had erupted a few months before, in November 1944, around a
mosque in Arpuli Lane. After a dispute about a plot of land in the area, Satyendra Lal
Pyne, a lawyer, had obtained a High Court decree giving him possession of the land.
20
Ibid.
149
Trouble began on 7 November 1945 when Pyne, with the help of a High Court official
and the local police, began to build a wall around the plot. 21 A part of the mosque fell
within its precincts, and Pyne’s masons demolished a water reservoir, a urinal and a
pillar belonging to the mosque. 22 This caused consternation in the area and a crowd of
about three hundred Muslims gathered to stage a protest. Tension escalated. Muham-
mad Usman, the Secretary of the Calcutta League, and Nasiruddin Khondkar of the
Khilafat Committee, both arrived to try to pacify the crowd. Eventually Usman wrote
to the Commissioner of Police, urging him to stop the demolition and filed a petition
at the High Court for a stay order on the execution of the decree. The situation eased a
little, only to flare up again a few days later, when Pyne’s men attempted once again
to construct the wall. 23 Despite police protection, the situation got out of hand when a
crowd, composed of local Muslims, demolished the wall soon after it reached barely a
foot above ground. Four members of the Muslim National Guard appeared in full uni-
form, wielding lathis, with about five hundred men following them. The Deputy
In a vain attempt to deal with the conflict, the police kept delaying the construction
of the wall. Each time Pyne attempted to execute the High Court order, crowds gath-
ered within minutes and violence seemed imminent. Rumours were soon afloat that
Pyne planned to demolish the whole mosque, with the result that, as days passed, the
21
‘Trouble over the possession of land adjoining a mosque in Arpuli Lane’, 8 November
1944, K.P.M. No. 01484/05; File No. 506/44, P.M. (1944), CPR, SB.
22
For similar cases in the United Provinces, see Freitag, Collective Action and Community.
23
‘Trouble over the possession of land adjoining a mosque in Arpuli Lane’, 13 November
1944, K.P.M. No. 01484/05; File No. 506/44, P.M. (1944), CPR, SB.
150
size of the protesting crowds swelled, drawing participants from all parts of the city. 24
Now, as the issue began to have city-wide dimensions, both the League and the
Khilafat Committee leaders kept away, fearing that the crowd would not listen to
them. They were aware they could rapidly become unpopular if they tried to prevent
the agitations, and that they would lose their authority if they failed to persuade ‘their’
On 13 November, a mob gathered around Pyne’s house and attempted to break in.
Police tried to prevent this, and one Constable was badly beaten up in the process. 26
The situation calmed down when the High Court issued a stay order on the construc-
tion the following day. 27 Only after this did Asre Jadid and Rozana Hind, both popu-
lar newspapers among Calcutta Muslims, publish articles asking the public to remain
calm. The latter also warned that any breach of peace ‘would be bad for the Muslims
of their community in the Arpuli Lane area’. 28 On 7 December 1944, the High Court
issued an injunction against Pyne, while scheduling the next hearing in February
1945. The Court also directed the ‘Muslims’ to deposit a sum of five hundred rupees
as compensation for the financial loss Pyne had suffered. It also issued a directive to
the Muslims that they were not to rebuild those parts of the mosque that had already
been demolished. 29 The deposit was raised by ‘the Muslims of Arpuli Lane’ 30 through
24
‘Trouble over the possession of land adjoining a mosque in Arpuli Lane’, 14 November
1944, ibid.
25
Ibid.
26
‘Trouble over the possession of land adjoining a mosque in Arpuli Lane’, 15 November
1944, ibid.
27
Ibid.
28
‘Trouble over the possession of land adjoining a mosque in Arpuli Lane’, 16 November
1944, ibid.
29
‘Arpuli Lane Mosque Incident’, 9 December 1946, ibid.
30
Ibid.
151
an organization that called itself the ‘Arpuli Lane Mosque Protection Committee’. 31
By February 1945, when the next Court hearing took place, the issue seemed to have
fizzled out, and no further records are available of what became of the dispute. What
remains significant, however, is not simply that huge crowds could be mobilized so
quickly on such a local issue, but that entire institutional structures resisting assaults
on communal interests could spring up overnight. The ‘Arpuli Lane Mosque Protec-
tion Committee’ was set up in the house of a Muslim resident of Arpuli Lane on 3
December 1944 to organize the protests, collect funds and arrange legal defence to
fight the case in Court. Although constituted at the spur of the moment, it did not lack
Historians have written a great deal about how controversies about ‘music before
mosques’ precipitated communal violence. 33 In Bengal, Das points out, this did not
become a contentious issue till as late as the 1930s. 34 Yet, just days before the agita-
tions against the Red Fort trial broke out in Calcutta – seen as a great moment of Hin-
The Kali Puja festival was often a source of trouble in Bengal. The worship of the
deity usually began late at night and, unlike most Hindu religious festivals, alcohol
31
Asre Jadid, 5 December 1944, quoted in ‘Muslim Affairs – 7.12.44’, ibid.
32
Ibid.
33
Das, Communal Riots in Bengal.
34
Das, Communal Riots in Bengal.
35
‘Short lived communal tension in connection with the immersion ceremony of Goddess
Kali’, Miscellaneous, 7 November 1945, K.P.M. No. 01485/05, S.B. File No. 506/45, P.M.
(1945), SBR, CP.
152
consumption formed a part of the celebrations. Immersion processions of the goddess
frequently led to street brawls. The administration remained watchful against drunken
clashes throughout his period. The procession in question was one such Kali immer-
sion procession, which made a great deal of noise and played drums ‘in the very near
most instantly to challenge those in the procession. Local police had to intervene to
A month later in December 1945, another controversy erupted, this time around a
enough, preparing for Nehru’s speech at the Senate Hall of Calcutta University. 37
Nehru was visiting Calcutta to attend the All India Congress Committee meeting. 38
He had delivered several speeches in praise of the Indian National Army (INA) – the
very issue that had supposedly unified Calcutta’s Hindus and Muslims in a bond of
friendship and cooperation. 39 This time, however, as the procession approached the
Senate Hall, a bunch of students began to recite poetry, using the microphones at-
tached to roadside stalls, on the pretext of testing them for Nehru’s address later that
evening. When members of the Muharram procession protested against this deliberate
disturbance, some students apparently threw brickbats. The local police had to escort
the procession to its destination to prevent further violence. The incident led to inju-
36
Ibid.
37
‘Communal clash in College Street near the Senate House on 11.12.45’, ibid.
38
See Peter Ward Fay, The Forgotten Army: India’s Armed Struggle for Independence, 1942-
1945, p. 503.
39
Sumit Sarkar, ‘Popular Movements and National Leadership’; Gautam Chattopadhyay,
‘Bengal Students in Revolt against the Raj, 1945-46’ in Amit Kumar Gupta (ed.), Myth and
Reality: The Struggle for Freedom in India, New Delhi: Manohar, 1987; Gautam
Chattopadhyay, ‘The Almost Revolution: A Case Study of India in February 1946’ in Barun
De (ed.), Essays in Honour of Prof. S.C. Sarkar, New Delhi: People’s Publishing House,
1976.
153
ries on both sides and some damage to property, including the smashing of a portrait
of Subhas Bose, the INA leader and the icon of Hindu-Muslim unity at this juncture. 40
solidarity, also entailed, on occasion, the enforcement of such so-called ‘unity’ by co-
ercion, by its local champions and self-appointed guardians. For example, Muslim
League flags hoisted at the Post-Graduate Muslim Women’s Hostel in North Calcutta
invited the wrath of a bunch of Hindu boys in the area. 41 One of them, claiming mem-
ing that she pair the League flag with a ‘national flag’. When this did not yield the
desired result, they threatened the hostel darwan that they would enter the hostel by
force and remove the League flag if their demands were not fulfilled.
The hostel soon became the target of brickbat-throwing from neighbourhood build-
ings. This escalated to the point when the beleaguered Hostel Superintendent had to
report the matter to the police, who identified one of the boys, and also the landlord of
the house from where brickbats were thrown, and took them to the local police station
to be ‘warned’. 43 The thana also posted a Constable at the hostel gate to ‘keep [the]
peace’. 44 There the matter rested, but it proved that over enthusiasm for unity was of-
40
‘Communal clash in College Street near the Senate House on 11.12.45’, 7 November 1945,
K.P.M. No. 01485/05, S.B. File No. 506/45, P.M. (1945), SBR, CP.
41
‘Communal tension concerning the hoisting of a Muslim League flag on 11.12.45 on the
roof of the Post Graduate Muslim Women’s Hostel at 26, Vivekananda Road’, 17 December
1945, ibid.
42
A volunteer organization supposedly organized to uphold the ideals and legacy of Subhas
Chandra Bose, the INA leader. Ibid.
43
Ibid.
44
Ibid.
154
Incidents occurring outside Calcutta also affected the city. Calcutta had a vibrant
press culture. Many important newspapers, printed in English and the vernaculars –
whether Urdu, Bangla or Hindi – were published and based in the city. Their prestige
and popularity often extended well beyond Bengal. Letters to the editors of many of
these newspapers poured in not only from the districts but also from the neighbouring
provinces. A letter to the Editor of Morning News, from Abdul Jabbar Khan in Bihar,
for example, spoke of how Muslims of that province looked upon this newspaper ‘as
the champion of their cause’ and urged him to ‘justify their expectations’ by publish-
ing items that spoke of the woes of Muslims in Muslim-minority provinces such as
Bihar. 45 Sometimes these letters spoke of the quotidian oppressions suffered by one
were attacked for their editorial stance. 47 Many such letters were intercepted at the
post offices, but others reached the offices of newspapers. Some of these papers
obliged by publishing such news of communal oppression and were glad to stoke the
fires of controversy and communal hatred. This was evident even in late 1945 and
early 1946. Take, for instance, an article in the Bengali daily, Ananda Bazar Patrika,
Midnapore Central Jail whose profession was government service but whose passion,
Islam, the paper reported, he had forced him to read the Kalma, observe the Ramzan
45
M. Abdul Jabbar Khan, Purnea to the Editor, Morning News, Calcutta, 2 March 1946, ibid.
46
Ibid. Also see Officer-in-Charge, Muslim League Election Office, Malda to the Editor,
Morning News, 27 February 1946, ibid.
47
St. John Smith, Bombay to the Editor, The Statesman, 21 February 1946, ibid. The police
suspected that the writer of this letter had used a pseudonym.
48
Ananda Bazar Patrika, 12 November 1945.
155
fasts and made him consume ‘roza food’ 49 – the last was, of course, an insinuation
The nature of inter-community conflict, as shown above, make the distinction be-
key but pervasive Hindu-Muslim animosity across this period – a period of supposed-
ly cross-communal camaraderie – show that the communal violence that gripped Cal-
cutta in the latter part of 1946 was not a sudden development after all. The Great Cal-
cutta Killing represented a sharp rise in the communal temperature, precipitated when
certain imperatives in the domain of high politics intersected with everyday inter-
Several historians consider the Rashid Ali agitation of February 1946 as the high
was frequently equated with Congress-League unity. The arrival of the Cabinet Mis-
sion in India to discuss the terms of British imperial disentanglement with Indian
leaders brought the divisions in Indian political life back into the limelight. As public
attention shifted to the negotiation chambers of New Delhi and Simla, a new dynamic
49
Ibid.
50
This assumption is most explicitly stated in Sumit Sarkar, ‘Popular Movements and Nation-
al Leadership, 1945-47’, Economic and Political Weekly, vol. 17, no. 14/16, Annual Number,
April, 1982; Gautam Chattopadhyay, ‘The Almost Revolution: A Case Study of India in Feb-
ruary 1946’ in Barun De (ed.), Essays in Honour of Prof. S.C. Sarkar, New Delhi: People’s
Publishing House, 1976. Also see Gautam Chattopadhyay, ‘Bengal Students in Revolt against
the Raj, 1945-46’ in Amit Kumar Gupta (ed.), Myth and Reality: The Struggle for Freedom in
India, New Delhi: Manohar, 1987.
156
emerged in Bengal politics. While F.J. Burrows, the new Governor of the province,
replaced Casey on 19 February 1946, 51 polling for the provincial elections were
scheduled from 17 to 24 March. 52 On the surface, Bengal politics still appeared to ex-
hibit signs of a rapprochement between the Congress and the League. Yet a careful
assessment reveals other, less high-minded, factors behind the drive for inter-party
alliances.
Election results in Bengal confirmed the popular appeal of both the League and the
Congress. Smaller parties managed to secure very few seats. 54 The League registered
the most spectacular victory, winning one hundred and thirteen of the total one hun-
dred and twenty-one Muslim seats, making it the largest single party in the legislature.
The Governor invited Suhrawardy, the leader of the Bengal Muslim League Parlia-
mentary Party, on 2 April 1946 to form a Ministry. 55 Suhrawardy accepted the invita-
tion but said he wanted to negotiate a compromise with the Congress in the hope of
continuation of the spirit of communal unity fostered in street camaraderie during the
INA protests. Unsurprisingly, Suhrawardy’s own public explanation for his move was
couched in terms of lofty idealism: ‘in the interests of stability and for the more effec-
51
Burrows to Wavell, 21 March 1946, L/PJ/5/153, 1946, India Office Records (Henceforth
IOR).
52
Secret Report on the Political Situation in Bengal (Henceforth SRPSB) for the first half of
March 1946, ibid.
53
SRPSB for the second half of March 1946, ibid; SRPSB for the first half of April 1946,
ibid; Burrows to Wavell, 11 April 1946, ibid.
54
For Bengal provincial election results, see L/PJ/8/475, IOR; Indian Annual Register, 1946,
vol. I, January-June. Also see Chatterji, Bengal Divided, pp. 229-230; Sen, Muslim Politics in
Bengal, pp. 197-198; Harun-or-Rashid, The Foreshadowing of Bangladesh: Bengal Muslim
League and Muslim Politics, 1936-1947, Dhaka: Asiatic Society of Bangladesh, 1987.
55
Burrows to Wavell, 11 April 1946, L/PJ/5/153, 1946, IOR.
56
Burrows to Wavell, 23 April 1946, ibid.
157
tive implementing of [p]rovincial policy in matters of such importance to the popula-
Below the surface, however, other dynamics were at play. The League position in
the Assembly, taken as a whole, seemed comfortable and strong. When the intra-party
dynamics of the Bengal League was factored in, however, the Ministry was far more
vulnerable. Leadership battles within the provincial League had created deep fissures
between two rival factions – one led by Suhrawardy and Abul Hashim and the other
by Nazimuddin and Akram Khan. 58 After the elections, the division between the fac-
tions had become too wide to foreclose any realistic possibilities of building bridges.
Ministry by inviting his rivals to join it. Instead, he decided to reward and work only
with his own supporters. Only one among eleven Ministers and one among twelve
Parliamentary Secretaries were chosen from the rival faction. 59 Under these circum-
stances, cultivating new allies outside his party made perfect political sense. Con-
gress, being the largest group in the opposition, was the obvious choice. If such an
alliance were ever possible, this was the time to attempt it. The more provinces in
which Congress was in charge, the stronger its position was going to be in negotia-
tions with the Cabinet Mission. Moreover, political impotence had plagued the Bengal
Congress ever since provincial self-government came into effect in 1937. Deprived of
power by the intransigence of its own High Command on earlier occasions, there was
57
Ibid.
58
See chapter two of this thesis. For detailed discussions, see Sen, Muslim Politics in Bengal,
Harun-or-Rashid, The Foreshadowing of Bangladesh: Bengal Muslim League and Muslim
Politics, 1936-1947, Dhaka: Asiatic Society of Bangladesh, 1987.
59
Among his rival faction, only Muazzamuddin Hossain was retained as Minister and
Nasarulla as Parliamentary Secretary. See Sen, Muslim Politics in Bengal, p. 203.
158
every chance that the provincial Congress leadership would be keen on a new offer. 60
For Suhrawardy, such a power-sharing arrangement could give his Ministry an inclu-
sive complexion while buttressing his position in the legislature, protecting him from
tion between the League and the Congress at an all-India level had often stalled over
the former’s exclusive claim to represent Indian Muslims and the latter’s insistence on
its right to speak for all communities, including Muslims. On this occasion, there were
other reasons for failure. Despite posing as a secular party and claiming the ‘non-
communal’ legacy of the INA, the Congress had no base whatsoever among Bengal’s
Muslims. The Bengal Congress had not a single prominent Muslim candidate whom it
could push for inclusion in the proposed Coalition Ministry. 61 The negotiations,
which dragged on for more than a fortnight, broke down instead on issues to do with
the loaves and fishes of office. The Bengal Congress would not accept Suhrawardy’s
offer of five seats in a Cabinet of twelve members. It wanted six seats in a Cabinet of
ent Hindu as the thirteenth member. When this was denied, the Congress agreed on a
five to seven arrangement, if the League accepted Fazlul Huq, the former Premier of
60
For details on the conflict between Bengal Congress leaders and the High Command, see
Chatterji, Bengal Divided.
61
Burrows to Wavell, 23 April 1946, L/PJ/5/153, 1946, IOR.
159
Congress’ new-found love for Fazlul Huq is difficult to explain, but Huq made it
clear that Congress had proposed his name without consulting him. He went to the
extent of indicating that he would refuse the post even if it was offered to him, for ‘the
office of the Speaker in the present Assembly carries no more honour or dignity than
lum’. 62 The Governor’s conclusion, correct or otherwise, was that Huq’s hyperbole
was ‘in fact a case of “sour grapes” as it has been common property for some time
The other issue was the allocation of government departments, which also revealed
the Bengal Congress’ political inclinations. Retaining the Home Department for him-
self, Suhrawardy had offered the Civil Supplies portfolio to the Congress. The latter,
The choice of ministries reveals the social base of the Congress in Bengal. It claimed
precisely those ministries that could play critical roles in safeguarding bhadralok priv-
ilege. It was this upper caste Hindu landed elite of Bengal, posturing as the custodians
of Bengal’s cultural and educational superiority, who had felt most threatened under
the provincial ministries ever since 1937. The bhadralok had looked upon attempts at
District Boards, Union Boards, Debt Settlement Boards and other institutions of local
62
Ibid.
63
Ibid.
64
Ibid.
65
See Chatterji, Bengal Divided; Sen, Muslim Politics in Bengal.
160
government in small towns and district headquarters, even in areas where the Hindus
could safeguard bhadralok interests most effectively. It also held these demands to be
absolutely non-negotiable. Such attitudes speak volumes about the upper-caste Hindu
went ahead and formed a ministry with only his own supporters. However, a solid
function. 67
stant intrigues by his opponents, he turned towards the League High Command for
support. Jinnah had always sided with Nazimuddin in the Bengal League and had
looked upon Suhrawardy with suspicion. Suhrawardy now wanted to cultivate Jin-
ed. 68 No sooner had some agreement been reached at the negotiations between Indian
political leaders and the Cabinet Mission than it collapsed, primarily due to Congress
intransigence. The League, which had previously approved the Cabinet Mission pro-
66
Chatterji, Bengal Divided, pp. 203-219.
67
See Sen, Muslim Politics in Bengal, p. 203.
68
For details of the Cabinet Mission negotiations and its collapse, see Ayesha Jalal, The Sole
Spokesman: Jinnah, the Muslim League and the Demand for Partition, Cambridge: Cam-
bridge University Press, 1994; Anita Inder Singh, The Origins of the Partition of India, 1936-
1947, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1990.
161
posals, now revised their stance, withdrew from all further negotiations with the Con-
gress and the British government, and adopted ‘Direct Action’ as the method to win
the demand for Pakistan. Jinnah remained vague about what ‘Direct Action’ really
entailed. But in Calcutta this led to an unprecedented communal ‘fury’. About five
The reason why on 16 August 1946 no other part of India except Calcutta erupted
dence. 70 Suhrawardy’s culpability in the riots has now become a tradition. What one
misses, however, in this blame-game is that the Great Calcutta Killing cannot be ex-
tions. The failure of negotiations between the League and the Congress and its rea-
sons, as described above, show the extent to which communal fractures had become
unbridgeable in the domain of high politics. But this was only symptomatic of a deep-
er, more everyday form of inter-community hostility, which came to the forefront on
the streets.
The importance of the Great Calcutta Killing lay in the intensification of Hindu-
Muslim hostility, already been in evidence for a long time. Its aftermath witnessed a
69
Chatterji, Bengal Divided.
70
Sen, Muslim Politics in Bengal.
162
Fear, Rumour, and Propaganda in the Aftermath of the Great Calcutta Killing
rumour and propaganda. This signified a deep crisis of state authority, and a loss of
gust 1946, she described how the curfew imposed on 17 August still remained in
force, how everyone shut themselves up in their homes by nine in the evening, and
how the rampant looting of shops went on after nightfall. The ‘whites’ were safe as
long as the British and their army remained, ‘but when they move out, we must too I
think…’ ‘God knows what will happen’, she wrote in despair, ‘all we can do is hope
Such confidence in the government machinery, needless to say, was not shared by
very large sections of Indian society. To the Hindu bhadralok, the provincial elite that
found themselves excluded from political power, 72 the Bengal government run by the
League ministry exemplified Muslim tyranny. A resident of Dacca, writing to the Edi-
tor of the Amrita Bazar Patrika, spoke of how distressing it was for him to read about
Calcutta Hindus making frantic calls to the police for help during the ominous days of
71
Miss M. Meyer, Calcutta, to Madame G.Weisslitz, Paris, 30 August 1946, K.P.M. No.
01817; S.B. File No. 938 Part I, P.M. (1946).
72
Chatterji, Bengal Divided.
163
‘has developed into a morbid habit’. 73 Now that it was amply clear that Hindus of
Bengal could expect no help from either the police or the military during communal
riots, he thought there were only two options available for his community. The first
was to partition the province and create a ‘national home’ for the Hindus. 74 But, he
argued, ‘a whole history and a glorious tradition’ militated against this vivisection’. 75
The only choice, he insisted, was ‘to galvanize into action a Hindu ‘Risorgimento’ in
the face of a collapsing ‘Pax Britannica’. 76 He located the weakness of Bengali Hin-
dus in the absence amongst them of a ‘bold and healthy’ peasantry, ‘the mainstay of a
community’. 77 While such ‘hardy elements’ of Hindu society had been ‘uprooted’ and
alienated from ‘contact with the soil’, Hindu youth ‘dissipate their energies in party
conflicts’. 78 He hoped that the Great Calcutta Killing had ‘shaken the Hindus out of
[I]n this supreme moment let us all unite to awaken those sentiments of religion and
chivalry, those virtues of patriotism and valour, which had been so much weakened by
the misfortunes of the times, but is essentially necessary to drive back the foul invaders
who are threatening to submerge us in a deluge of slavery. 80
Suspicion of the government machinery and appeal to the traditions of ‘Hindu val-
The letter quoted above, authored by an ordinary provincial Hindu bhadralok, ex-
pressed sentiments that were gaining ground at an all-India level. On 25 August 1946,
73
S.B. Choudhury, Dacca, to the Editor, Amrita Bazar Patrika, Calcutta, 2 September 1946,
K.P.M. No. 01817; S.B. File No. 938 Part I, P.M. (1946), SBR, CP.
74
Ibid.
75
Ibid.
76
Ibid.
77
Ibid.
78
Ibid.
79
Ibid.
80
Ibid.
164
days after Calcutta had begun to calm down, the Hindu Mahasabha held a meeting in
Delhi ‘to consider the situation at Calcutta’. 81 Mahasabha veteran Dr. B.S. Moonje
reminded his audience of ‘the need of organization and solidarity of the Hindus’ and
‘rousing martial spirit’ so that they could defend themselves. 82 Moonje declared that
not only did the Bengal Ministry fail in its duties, the Ministers themselves ‘played a
disgraceful part of abettor and instigator of murder, arson and looting in an organized
manner’. 83 Swami Satyanand, the Founder President of the Hindu Mission of Calcut-
ta, who chaired the meeting, called for Bengal’s administration to be handed over to
‘an impartial agency free from the influence of the Muslim League’, and for the estab-
sion of Inquiry was eventually set up, but it did precious little to restore public faith in
81
Secret Source Report, 25 August 1946, ibid.
82
Ibid.
83
Ibid.
84
Ibid.
85
Once the Bengal government set up the Calcutta Disturbances Commission of Inquiry,
there was widespread propaganda insisting that the Commission would never be able to func-
tion independently. The Calcutta Citizens’ Defence Committee, set up by leaders of both the
Congress and the Hindu Mahasabha, claimed that the independence of the Commission was
compromised from the beginning because the British government, which had set it up in the
first place, would never allow the inquiry to go against the Muslim League. This was because
the British government wanted the Muslim League to remain in power in Bengal. See ‘Bengal
Provincial Hindu Mahasabha – Calcutta Riots’, 25 September 1946, K.P.M. No. 01817; S.B.
File No. 938 Part I, P.M. (1946), SBR, CP. This has been discussed later in the chapter. Press
propaganda also claimed that the Bengal administration was trying to conceal information
from the Commission and interfering with its proceedings. Amrita Bazar Patrika claimed that
senior officers of the Calcutta Police were taking their juniors to task for revealing infor-
mation about the functioning of the police force during the August Killing. See Amrita Bazar
Patrika, 7 March 1947. The report titled ‘Police Official’s Dilemma – Calcutta Riots Enquiry:
Report of Penalization for Giving Evidence’ has been filed by the Special Branch in K.P.M.
No. 01823/05, S.B. File No. 938 (IV), P.M. (1947), SBR, CP. This issue has been discussed
in the next chapter.
165
For its part, Calcutta was in the grip of rumours about Muslims preparing for ‘an-
other attack’ upon the Hindus. 86 These were fuelled by reports of low-key incidents of
stabbing, acid-throwing and arson that poured in from different parts of the city. Such
incidents stirred fresh waves of panic, which cracked the façade of public order. A
few cases of stabbing in the night of 4 September 1946, for example, seemed to
plunge the city once again into chaos. An intelligence agent declared the situation to
be ‘explosive’; and thought the atmosphere was worse than that which prevailed on
15 August 1946, the day before the Great Calcutta Killing. 87 On the morning of 5
September 1946, Hindu and Muslim mobs confronted each other across Calcutta.
Rajabazar, in the north of the city, was the theatre of an open battle between groups
divided along communal lines. According to the police, this violence was prompted
The fear that engulfed Calcutta was evident from frequent calls to police stations
about attacks that turned out to be false. The slightest noise in the streets rang alarm
bells and prompted frantic calls for help. 89 The routine of daily life broke down. Ru-
Although tram services on certain routes continued to operate under military or police
protection, shops remained closed and offices had to be shut for lack of attendance. 91
86
For a detailed discussion in how rumour propels communal violence, see Anjan Ghosh,
‘Partial Truths: Rumour and Communal Violence in South Asia, 1946-92’, PhD Thesis, Uni-
versity of Michigan, 1998.
87
Extract from daily report on the political situation in Bengal dated 5 September 1946: Cal-
cutta Riots, K.P.M. No. 01817; S.B. File No. 938 Part I, P.M. (1946), SBR, CP.
88
Confidential diary entry from Inspector D. Dutt of S.B., Calcutta, 5 September 1946, ibid.
89
Confidential diary entry from S.I. H.M. Bhattacharya, 6 September 1946, ibid.
90
Ibid.
91
‘Panic on 5.9.46 in Calcutta’, 6 September 1946, ibid.
166
actions’ required of the police force in order to prevent a further conflagration. 92 He
advised Inspectors, Sub-Inspectors and Sergeants that they must not hesitate to open
fire and make indiscriminate arrests ‘whenever possible’. Wherever they saw ‘assem-
blies’ – ‘groups of people brought together for a common purpose, such as a proces-
sion or a knot of people standing in the street talking together’ – they should arrest as
many as they could. ‘If they are innocent’, the Commissioner advised, ‘they will be
let off in Court’. 93 The police must not, he ordered, enter into a discussion with the
people they arrested: ‘let them do the discussion with the Magistrate’. 94 Such direc-
tions from the very apex of the police establishment speak volumes about a panic-
stricken civil administration. Once these orders were put into practice, police action
panic. Among the prime vehicles of rumours were leaflets, pamphlets, posters and
take a solemn vow ‘to retaliate the inhuman murder of their mothers and sisters’ by
boycotting Muslims ‘in every possible way’. 95 No soon than the spurt of stabbings
came under some control that fresh rumours emerged in circulation. These spoke of
92
‘Orders for Inspectors and Sergeants’ from D.R. Hardwick, Commissioner of Police, Cal-
cutta, 6 September 1946, ibid.
93
Ibid. For a discussion on extra-judicial methods of punishment that the colonial state rou-
tinely employed, see Taylor C. Sherman, State Violence and Punishment in India, London;
New York: Routledge, 2010.
94
‘Orders for Inspectors and Sergeants’ from D.R. Hardwick, Commissioner of Police, Cal-
cutta, 6 September 1946, K.P.M. No. 01817; S.B. File No. 938 Part I, P.M. (1946), SBR, CP.
95
S.B. Notes, 5 September 1946, ibid.
167
Action meeting. 96 One leaflet spoke of how Muslims had decided to attack southern
parts of Calcutta during the afternoon when young Hindu men would be away from
their homes at work and Hindu residential areas (that is, women and children) would
be defenceless. 97 Similar rumours were afloat even in the Pataldanga Street and
in the business quarters decided to shut down their shops and offices on that day, and
Sometimes leaflets contained rumours of other leaflets. One such leaflet entitled
Mosque urging League goondas to attack Hindu localities on 9 September 1946 from
11 am to 4 pm. With Hindu men gone off to work, the alleged leaflet suggested, this
was a good time to massacre Hindu women and children. Then it apparently instruct-
ed goondas to shift their target to the business quarters so that Hindu men were caught
unawares on their way home from work. 100 Another leaflet found pasted at one of the
city’s busy crossings contained similar references to leaflets being distributed from
the Nakhoda Mosque. It added that the leaflet had been distributed at the express wish
of Suhrawardy, the Premier of Bengal; he was now in agreement with Jinnah, it said,
who had declared that those Muslims who refrained from killing ‘Congress Hindus’
would be declared kafirs. 101 No handbill or leaflet of the kind was found by the police
when they searched the Nakhoda Mosque. But the rumour did, nonetheless, cause
96
‘Calcutta Riots’, 9 September 1946, ibid.
97
Deputy Central Intelligence Officer, Calcutta, Home Department, Government of India to
Deputy Commissioner of Police, Special Branch, Calcutta, 7 September 1946, ibid.
98
Confidential diary entry from A.S.I. Pariman Bhusan Roy, 7 September 1946, ibid.
99
Confidential diary entry from Inspector D. Dutt, 7 September 1946, ibid.
100
‘Bengali Leaflet: Shabdhan’, 9 September 1946, ibid.
101
‘Calcutta Riots’, 11 September 1946.
168
panic. 102 Neither could the police afford to take it lightly. The Special Branch made
arrangements to keep a watch on the Mosque on 9 September, for even if it was just a
rumour, ‘the public’ seemed extremely ‘jittery’. 103 Not much happened on that day,
except for a brief commotion around the Mosque area because of rumours of Hindus
stabbing Muslims in adjacent localities. Police watchers reported how, all of a sudden,
shop-owners started pulling down shutters, Muslim men quickly got off trams and
started running in all directions. Things calmed down after a few hours once the ru-
When 9 September 1946 did not witness any concerted Muslim attack upon Hin-
dus, new posters and handbills announced a new date. These declared that the Mus-
lims were preparing to attack on 12 September instead, when the Opposition in the
Suhrawardy’s ministry. 105 When even this proved incorrect, yet another leaflet
emerged, this time issued by one Randhir Singh who styled himself as ‘Commander-
in-Chief of the Hindu Nation’. 106 It declared that just before the Great Calcutta Kill-
ing, the Bengal Government had issued three hundred licences of fire-arms to the
Muslims of Calcutta. They were in possession of more than three thousand rifles, re-
volvers, guns as well as a few machine guns and hand bombs. In case the Bengal Min-
istry fell on account of the motion, Muslims would immediately launch an attack on
Hindus. However, in the event the Ministry continued in office, they would wait until
102
Ibid.
103
Report to the Commissioner of Police, 9 September 1946, ibid.
104
‘Secret watch duty at Nakhoda Mosque, Zakaria Street and locality in connection with the
communal disturbance and circulation of unauthorized Bengali Leaflet on 9.9.46’, Submitted
by S. Ahsan, S.I., S.B., 9 September 1946.
105
Poster entitled ‘Beware of Muslims’, 11 September 1946, ibid.
106
‘Communal Situation in Calcutta’, 19 September 1946, ibid.
169
the situation became normal. This would enable them to strike at a time when their
opponents were complacent. Like a military commander, the author of the leaflet laid
out the exact routes the Muslims would take to ensure the annihilation of their foes. It
argued that the Muslims had chalked out a fool-proof plan of dividing Hindu localities
into small segments so that they could be easily isolated and surrounded by small
armed mobs. The leaders of the Muslim League, it further claimed, had approved of
maintained communal tension in the city at fever pitch. Hindu fears of Muslim attacks
were reinforced by stray cases of assaults, stabbings and setting fire to houses evacu-
ated by Hindus in Muslim localities during the days of the Killing. 108 Some Hindu
families who had temporarily moved out of Muslim-majority areas to weather the
storm now tended to lose hope of ever returning home. 109 These were, of course, am-
ply reciprocated in Hindu dominated areas where Muslim families found it impossible
to live any longer and decided to move to areas with greater concentration of Mus-
lims. These small local migrations surely started the process of communal ghettoiza-
tion that crystallized in the years after partition, 110 reflected in the division of the city
107
Ibid.
108
See, ‘Confidential Diary’, 11 September 1946, Ibid; Confidential diary entry from S.I.
K.N. Ghosh, S.B., Calcutta, 13 September 1946 and 18 September 1946, ibid.
109
Confidential diary entry from Mr. A.G. Khan of S.B., Calcutta, 12 October 1946, ibid.
110
See Joya Chatterji, ‘Of graveyards and ghettos, Muslims in West Bengal, 1947-67’
in Mushirul Hasan, and Asim Roy (eds.), Living Together Separately: Cultural India in His-
tory and Politics, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2005.
170
By the autumn of 1946, stray cases of assault and stabbing had become a part of
everyday life in Calcutta. This was also the time when Hindu religious festivities
reached their peak in the city. The blurring of religious group performance and com-
munal rivalry made tensions more intense around religious festivals. 111 A leaflet do-
ing the rounds in Hindu neighbourhoods of south Calcutta towards the end of October
1946 accused Muslim ‘beasts’ licking the boots of British officials and abusing the
fashion’. 112 ‘The outraged mothers and sisters must be avenged. The souls of the dead
Hindu brethren remain unsatiated’, it stridently insisted. 113 The leaflet urged Hindu
young men to sacrifice Muslims at the altar of the deity during Kali Puja instead of
buffaloes: ‘The dark Diwali should be coloured with the blood of the Pakistani
Muslims.’ 114
Just as propaganda and rumour fuelled fears among Hindus of an impending attack
by Muslims, similar sentiments kept stoking Muslim animosity against Hindus. Po-
licemen spoke of a deep sense among Muslims of being wronged by Hindus. They
offered an account of Direct Action Day in which the Muslims were victims rather
than aggressors. Contrary to Hindu propaganda, they claimed that Hindus and their
leaders were responsible for the Great Calcutta Killing. All that Muslims had wanted
111
For an account of how religious performances in public arenas slowly fed into communal
ideology, see Sandria B. Freitag, Collective Action and Community: Public Arenas and the
Emergence of Communalism in North India, Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989.
112
Report of Central Intelligence Officer to the Deputy Commissioner of Police, Special
Branch, Calcutta, K.P.M. No. 01818/05; S.B. File No. 938 Part II, P.M. (1946), SBR, CP.
113
Ibid.
114
Ibid.
115
‘Miscellaneous – Calcutta Riots’, 5 September 1946, K.P.M. No. 01817; S.B. File No. 938
Part I, P.M. (1946), SBR, CP. Also see ‘Calcutta Riots’, 7 September 1946, ibid.
171
leaders had called upon everyone in Calcutta to observe a strike. Muslims had joined
Hindus on numerous protests and demonstrations in the past and expected the latter to
Hindu shops open, Muslims attempted to persuade the shopkeepers to refrain from
opposing the strike. But Hindus, they alleged, were bent on making trouble and took
every opportunity to assault them. In many parts of Calcutta, they banded together in
large crowds to attack Muslims. Stones, soda bottles and hot water were thrown on
mosques were desecrated. Even ‘Nationalist Muslims’, with their ‘backbones’ practi-
cally broken by the recent floor-crossing of Fazlul Huq, deeply resented such atroci-
ties. 116 Except for a microscopic minority (that included Syed Nausher Ali and
Humayun Kabir), Muslim leaders of all persuasions, police reports claimed, had
joined hands with the Muslim League to help victims of their community ‘in every
possible way’. 117 According to the report, Muslims claimed that the Bengal Govern-
ment had called a strike on 16 August 1946 to ensure that there were no communal
clashes. Had the Suhrawardy Ministry wanted to create trouble, it would not have
asked ordinary Muslims to attend the meeting at the Ochterlony Monument ‘leaving
their women and children at the mercy of the Hindus’. 118 In fact, some had gone to the
meeting with small children, which they would not have done had they planned to
start the killings. 119 All this was evidence, in the opinion of Muslims, that falsified the
accusation that it was the Muslims who planned the riot. Yet after the Killing, Mus-
lims faced constant vilification. Hindu leaders prepared to table no-confidence mo-
116
‘Miscellaneous – Calcutta Riots’, 5 September 1946, ibid.
117
Ibid.
118
‘Calcutta Riots’, 7 September 1946, ibid.
119
Ibid.
172
tions against the League ministry in the Assembly as well as against the Mayor in the
Calcutta Corporation. 120 Despite being aware that such actions were not likely to be
successful, opposition leaders persisted with these strategies merely to defame Mus-
lims. Such propaganda was designed to present Muslims as aggressors and Hindus as
victims. The League ministry, instead of coming to their rescue, was trying to appease
Hindus. Muslims found themselves at the receiving end of police highhandedness and
abuse. While they were harassed with constant house searches and arbitrary arrests,
the police were reluctant to take action against ‘Hindu hooligans and looters’. 121 One
incident was said to have particularly incensed the ‘Muslim community of Calcutta’;
sometime towards the end of September 1946, armed police or the army (the Special
Branch was unsure which) had fired tear gas at the Nakhoda Mosque while about
eight hundred devotees congregated for prayer. Not only did this infuriate the assem-
bled worshippers, the screen of the mosque had caught fire, although it was extin-
guished soon thereafter. 122 The Muslims therefore felt betrayed not only by the Hin-
dus but also by their own leaders who controlled the provincial administration.
Muslims were also embittered by the constant flow of leaflets, pamphlets, hand-
bills and posters issued by Hindu provocateurs blaming Muslims of planning fresh
attacks on Hindus. 123 The Calcutta District Muslim League complained to the police
on several occasions, warning that circulation of such propaganda could lead to sud-
120
‘Miscellaneous: Communal Situation in Calcutta’, 18 September 1946, ibid.
121
‘Miscellaneous: Calcutta Riots’, 5 September 1946, ibid.
122
See ‘Miscellaneous: Communal Situation’, 26 September 1946, ibid. Also, Confidential
diary entry from A.G. Khan of S.B., Calcutta, 3 October 1946, K.P.M. No. 01487/05; S.B.
File No. 506 IV, P.M. (1946).
123
‘Miscellaneous – Communal Situation in Calcutta’, 19 September 1946, ibid. Also in
K.P.M. No. 01487/05, S.B. File No. 506 IV, P.M. (1946), SBR, CP.
173
den escalations of tension, 124 precipitating small-scale violence on numerous occa-
sions. Not a day passed without reports of stabbings and attacks on helpless vic-
tims. 125 Just as Hindu festivals generated apprehensions among Hindus about Muslim
attacks, Muslim festivals also produced anxieties about Hindu attacks. That these
fears were not wholly unfounded were proved by several attacks on Muharram pro-
cessions in December 1946. 126 There were also rumours of stabbings and attacks cir-
feelings of revenge against Hindus, even when these were proved to be false. One In-
spector toured Muslim neighbourhoods in north Calcutta and concluded that violence
could break out anytime because of rumours of Hindus planning to attack them.127
Another police informer spoke of ‘gossip’ freely shared in restaurants and tea shops at
Wellesley and Park Circus areas about what the next moves of the Hindus were going
to be. 128 Despite efforts of League leaders and various peace committees, anti-Hindu
resulted from wild rumours of Jinnah being arrested 130 or shot, 131 just as there were
rumours among Hindus of a Muslim conspiracy to kill Nehru. 132 Such rumours
124
Secretary, Calcutta District Muslim League to Commissioner of Police, 8 September 1946,
K.P.M. No. 01817; S.B. File No. 938 Part I, P.M. (1946).
125
See daily records of communal clashes in K.P.M. No. 01818/05, S.B. File No. 938 Part II,
P.M. (1946), SBR, CP.
126
See police reports on attacks on Muharram processions on 2 December 1946 and 6 De-
cember 1946, ibid.
127
Confidential diary entry by A.G. Khan of S.B., Calcutta, 19 September 1946, K.P.M. No.
01817; S.B. File No. 938 Part I, P.M. (1946); ‘Miscellaneous: Communal Situation’, 26 Sep-
tember 1946, ibid.
128
‘Extract from a secret agent’s report’, 7 October 1946, K.P.M. No. 01487/05, S.B. File No.
506 IV, P.M. (1946), SBR, CP.
129
Undated report (perhaps towards the end of September 1946), K.P.M. No. 01817; S.B. File
No. 938 Part I, P.M. (1946), SBR, CP.
130
‘Miscellaneous: Communal Situation and tension in Calcutta’, 10 September 1946, Ibid.
131
‘Miscellaneous: Communal Situation in Calcutta’, 20 September 1946, ibid.
132
‘Students: Burrabazar Students’ Congress’, 23 September 1946, ibid.
174
among Hindus and Muslims, each mirroring the other, kept communal tempers on
were reported to have massacred Hindu landlords, 133 even newspapers published re-
ports that the Muslims claimed were nothing but rumours. 134 Reports of forced con-
versions of Hindus to Islam led to serious clashes in Calcutta. A Special Branch of-
ficer reported that various Hindu organizations had set up their camps at the Sealdah
railway station in order to provide relief to Hindu refugees fleeing communal violence
in Noakhali and Tipperah. The situation, in his view, was ‘fraught with considerable
trains from eastern Bengal. 135 Scuffles routinely broke out between passengers and
these volunteers, especially when they found women in burkhas accompanying Mus-
lim men. In such cases, these volunteers harassed the passengers and interrogated
them for hours to determine whether they, especially the women, were victims of
forced conversion to Islam. As expected, Muslim volunteers also set up rival camps to
rescue Muslim passengers from harassment, and this often resulted in an uproar. On
one such occasion, a riot seemed imminent when an armed policeman, fearing that the
situation was going out of control, fired two rounds killing one and injuring another
133
For Noakhali riots, see Rakesh Batabyal, Communalism in Bengal: From Famine to
Noakhali, 1943-47, New Delhi, London: Sage, 2005; Suranjan Das, Communal Riots in Ben-
gal, 1905-1947, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1991; Anwesha Roy, ‘Making Riots,
Making Peace: Communalism, Communal Riots and Anti-Communal Resistance in Bengal,
1941-47’, PhD Thesis, Jawaharlal Nehru University, 2015.
134
S.B. Report, undated but probably on 30 or 31 October 1946, K.P.M. No. 01487/05, S.B.
File No. 506 IV, P.M. (1946), SBR, CP.
135
‘Miscellaneous – Communal Situation in Calcutta’, 23 October 1946, ibid.
136
Ibid.
175
The State and Communal Consolidation
propaganda against the partiality and communal bias of the police. A Bengali news-
paper, Bharat, emerged as the flag-bearer of this crusade. 137 Naming (and shaming)
specific police officers, Bharat described how they encouraged the burning of Hindu
houses and illegal arrests of Bengali bhadraloks. In one article, it claimed that Muslim
of central and north Calcutta, such as Park Circus, Beniapukur and Manicktala, so that
the Hindu families who had run away from their homes could not return. 138 Not only
were the police turning a blind eye to such criminal acts, the paper claimed, they were
actively encouraging arson by influencing the personnel of local fire stations. The
government, it alleged, had transferred efficient firemen posted at these stations over-
night and replaced them with ‘Pakistani soldiers’. 139 What exactly is implied by this
cryptic expression is difficult to ascertain, but it is likely that Bharat was complaining
about the replacement of existing and retiring personnel of these stations with Muslim
General Hardwick Saheb’ of orchestrating these changes. 140 In another article Bharat
badmashes with the help of his obese Sergeant and his Inspector Usuf. 141 This evil
duo, Bharat claimed, had arrested more than a hundred innocent Hindu bhadralok
without a shred of evidence against them so as to prove their allegiance to the Muslim
137
Ibid. See the large collection of newspaper cuttings from Bharat.
138
Bharat, 16 November 1946.
139
Ibid.
140
Ibid.
141
Bharat, 6 November 1946.
176
League. However, it assured its readers that such lawlessness had finally been stopped
with the intervention of the Hindu Assistant Commissioner Robin Gupta. 142 In anoth-
Allauddin, with encouraging miscreants to burn down Hindu houses and shops. The
situation had deteriorated so much, it claimed, that the American news agency, Asso-
ciated Press, had been forced to send out reports to international media informing the
Other popular Bengali newspapers kept up the refrain. They too accused Muslim
many such papers desisted from publishing the exact police station or the names of
police officers involved. Dainik Basumati, for example, reported a case of goondas
breaking into a thana and releasing the arrested members of their gang. 144 The Mus-
lim Officer-in-Charge allegedly entered into negotiation with the miscreants and per-
suaded them to turn the offender back into police custody. Appalled by this incident,
the paper demanded the immediate transfer of the Officer-in-Charge. It accused the
latter of communal bias, as he had reportedly prevented the Hindu constables and oth-
er officers of his thana from firing on goondas. These daily reports, and the relentless
propaganda around stabbing, assault and arson under the active connivance of an al-
general. Such attitudes, images and assumptions have found expression in Bengali
142
Ibid.
143
Bharat, 9 November 1946.
144
Dainik Basumati, 27 October 1946.
177
literature, the detective novel Adim Ripu by Saradindu Bandyopadhaya being only the
tigate the August Riots in Calcutta towards the end of September 1946. 146 Setting
aside party affiliations and ideological differences, political leaders joined hands to
present the case of their respective communities. On the one hand, it contributed to a
further blurring of the differences between the Bengal Congress and the Bengal Hindu
Mahasabha. On the other, Muslim leaders who had hitherto maintained distance from
Towards the end of September 1946, the Congress and the Hindu Mahasabha lead-
ers had come together to form the Calcutta Citizen’s Defence Committee. Chaired by
Nalini Ranjan Sarkar, it counted amongst its members the ‘who’s who’ of Bengal pol-
itics – Surendra Mohan Ghosh, Kiran Sankar Roy, Syama Prasad Mookerjee, Bidhan
Chandra Roy, Nirmal Chandra Chatterjee – and included within its ranks capitalists of
the stature of the Birlas. 147 What unified capitalists, Congressmen and Mahasabhaites,
undoubtedly, was that they were all Hindus. Spearheaded by the Bengal Hindu
Mahasabha, the Committee condemned the Suhrawardy government for the ‘ghastly
145
Saradindu Bandyopadhyay, ‘Adim Ripu’ in Pratulchandra Gupta (ed.), Saradindu Omni-
bus, vol. II, Calcutta: Ananda Publishers, 1980. See Chatterji, Bengal Divided, pp. 227-259.
146
See SRPSB for the first half of September 1946, second half of September 1946 and first
half of October 1946, L/PJ/5/153, 1946, IOR.
147
‘Bengal Provincial Hindu Mahasabha – Calcutta Riots’, 25 September 1946, K.P.M. No.
01817; S.B. File No. 938 Part I, P.M. (1946), SBR, CP.
178
carnage’ and proclaimed the innocence of the Hindus. 148 The Mahasabha insisted that
it had appealed to the Hindus to remain calm, peaceful and non-provocative, even
though it had directed its Ward Presidents and Secretaries to be vigilant and resist co-
ercion of ‘miscreants’. 149 It was only after disturbances broke out on the Direct Action
Day that Mahasabha leaders organized defence parties ‘to save the lives and property
of the Hindus’. 150 But it held that ‘without the active help of the British Governor,
British Chief Secretary, British Police and the British troops’, the Suhrawardy gov-
ernment could not possibly have orchestrated the ‘Nadirshahi mass butchery in the
heart of Calcutta’. 151 The Calcutta Citizen’s Defence Committee called for an imme-
diate transfer of the administrative machinery to the Congress so that British officials
could not join hands with ‘League goondas’ and repeat the ‘bloodbath’ in the city. 152
It also voiced concerns that the Inquiry Commission would not act impartially be-
cause of the ‘deep-rooted conspiracy’ of the British Government to keep the League
give evidence before the Committee to ‘strengthen the suspicion that a conspiracy be-
tween the British bureaucrats and the Leaguers did exist’. The Mahasabha also decid-
ed to publish the speeches of League leaders and editorial comments of League or-
gans with a foreword by Syama Prasad Mookerjee to mobilize public opinion. Apart
from deposing before the Commission, the Citizen’s Defence Committee also took up
the cases of ‘respectable Hindus’ who had been victims of ‘indiscriminate arrests’ up-
148
Ibid.
149
Ibid.
150
Ibid.
151
Ibid. ‘Nadirshahi’ refers to the proverbial plunders of Nader Shah, the eighteenth century
Shah of Persia who invaded India in the last days of the Mughal Empire and ransacked Delhi.
152
Ibid.
179
on false allegations by ‘Muslim complainants instigated to give false evidence by
Bengal Muslim politics saw similar developments in the days after the Calcutta
Killing. It witnessed the further consolidation of the Muslim League, uniting various
elections to the Bengal legislatures earlier in the year had, as mentioned above, given
Muslim leaders had been severely marginalized. Even the Krishak Praja Party had
suffered shocking reverses. Leading Praja leaders including Syed Naushar Ali, the
Speaker of the previous Bengal Legislative Assembly, were crushingly defeated at the
hands of Muslim League candidates. 154 Only the indomitable Fazlul Huq, who con-
Yet, after the Calcutta Riots, even Huq decided to cross over to the League. This
rendered the few remaining non-League Muslim legislators virtually impotent. This
was not the first time that Fazlul Huq changed his political affiliation, of course.
However, according to the Bengal Governor, this time his decision was influenced by
the fate of non-League political leaders during the Killing. In those ominous times,
Syed Nausher Ali, for example, had to take shelter in a police station for days to
‘avoid massacre by the League hooligans’. 156 His floor-crossing, along with that of
three other non-League Muslim legislators, further buttressed the Ministry’s position
153
Ibid.
154
SRPSB, second half of March 1946, L/PJ/5/153, 1946, IOR.
155
Ibid.
156
Burrows to Wavell, 6 September 1946, ibid.
180
in the Assembly. If Suhrawardy could hold onto the support of five Independent
Scheduled Caste members who had supported his Ministry until this point, the Mus-
lim League could now command an absolute majority in the Assembly with 127 sup-
Outside the legislature, the Muslim League was also gaining ground among the
Khaksars, despite the fact that the all-India Khaksar leadership was at loggerheads
with Jinnah. 158 Hindu vigilantes had not spared Khaksars during the August Killing.
Khaksar leaders in Calcutta begged Allama Mashraqi, their all-India leader, to join the
League after Jinnah’s call for all Muslims to unite under the League banner. 159
Mashraqi extended a conditional offer to Jinnah, declaring that the Khakrars would be
willing to join the League only if he worked with Gandhi ‘to achieve the independ-
ence of India and Pakistan’. However, their Bengal leadership insisted that this was an
unreasonable demand, and decided to work with the League in the province without
formally joining the party. 160 Thus, both within and outside the Assembly, the Muslim
The factional divides within the Bengal League remained as sharp as ever, yet
when it came to the defence of ‘Muslim interests’, all sections of the party stood unit-
157
Ibid.
158
For details of the Khaksar movement and its leader, Allama Mashraqi, see Hira Lal Seth,
The Khaksar Movement and Its Leader Allama Mashraqi, Delhi: Discover Publishing House,
1985; Amalendu De, History of the Khaksar Movement in India, 1931-1947, Kolktata: Parul
Prakashani, 2009.
159
‘Muslim Affairs – Khaksar Association’, 12 September 1946, 6 September 1946, K.P.M.
No. 01817, S.B. File No. 938 Part I, P.M. (1946), SBR, CP.
160
‘Muslim Affairs – Khaksar Association and Communal Disturbances in Calcutta’, 30 Oc-
tober 1946, ibid.
181
ed. Ongoing rivalries were now articulated through attacks on the ministry for not do-
ing enough to safeguard and promote the interests of the Muslim community. The as-
sumption, of course, was that all Muslims had the same interests, which were distinct
Thus, a paradoxical posturing characterized League politics in the months after the
Killings. On the one hand, all Muslim leaders (Leaguers as well as those outside it)
joined the chorus claiming a Hindu conspiracy against Muslims, and the Muslim
League ministry. On the other hand, the Suhrawardy ministry was subjected to severe
criticism by many Muslim leaders, who attacked it for betraying the ‘Muslim cause’.
The most remarkable expression of this paradox was the formation of a Central
Relief and Defence Committee in early September 1946 by League leaders opposed to
the ministry. 161 In fact, the Calcutta Citizen’s Defence Committee – constituted later
neered by Suhrawardy’s rivals within his own party. They included almost all promi-
nent Leaguers outside the ruling faction, including Fazlul Huq, Nazimuddin, Azizul
Huq and Ispahani. The Committee accused the Suhrawardy administration of harass-
ing Muslims ‘even for bonafide and honest possession of articles’, making illegal ar-
rests and conducting indiscriminate house searches. 162 It resolved to arrange the legal
defence of Muslims arrested in connection with communal riots, and to record the
statements of all Muslim men and women who had been targets of Hindu and Sikh
violence. With the financial support of most prominent Muslim merchants of Calcut-
161
‘Muslim Affairs – Muslim League – Calcutta Riots’, 6 September 1946, ibid.
162
Ibid.
182
ta, the Committee raised about one hundred and fifty thousand rupees within days of
its formation, and placed the funds in Ispahani’s custody. 163 Besides legal defence, it
provided relief for Muslim riot victims, especially those who had been orphaned or
widowed. Just as Congress and Mahasabha had come together to defend ‘Hindu inter-
ests’ against the alleged onslaught of the Muslim ministry, the Committee under
Suhrawardy’s party rivals sharpened their criticism, threatening to take legal action
against the provincial government for continuing to harass Muslims of the city. 164 Yet
when it came to the no-confidence motion tabled in the Assembly by the Opposition
united behind the ministry. Internal rivalries were articulated through intrigues within
the party to force Suhrawardy to reshuffle his Cabinet, so that his ambitious rivals
ernment. Paradoxically, these newspapers often had declared Muslim League lean-
ings. Yet they carried propaganda alleging discrimination against Muslims by the
ing to depute Muslim police officers to assist in preparing the Police Commissioner’s
report on the August riots. 166 It implied that Suhrawardy was deliberately trying to
tone down the culpability of the Hindus in the police version of the Killing. It further
alleged that a Muslim police officer in north Calcutta was transferred merely because
163
‘Muslim Affairs – Muslim League – Calcutta Riots’, 10 September 1946, ibid.
164
‘Review of Azad India’, 31 October 1946, K.P.M. No. 01818/05, S.B. File No. 938 Part II,
P.M. (1946).
165
‘Muslim Affairs – Muslim League’, 14 September 1946, K.P.M. No. 01817; S.B. File No.
938 Part I, P.M. (1946), SBR, CP.
166
Azad, 23 September 1946.
183
he had conducted searches in Hindu localities. 167 Rozana Hind also accused the minis-
ment among ‘Muslims of Calcutta’. 168 It recounted a story of how a Hindu Inspector
of a thana forcibly entered Muslim households with ‘Bhojpuri Constables’ on the plea
of making searches. Following an incident in which someone had thrown an acid bulb
on a bus, Rozana Hind accused the Hindu Inspector of rescuing only the Hindu victim
and using this excuse to arrest many Muslim men and abuse ‘Muslim pardanashin
women in filthy language’. 169 Those arrested were finally released on the insistence of
the Hindu victim that he did not know whether the culprit was a Hindu or a Mus-
lim. 170 These newspapers propagated the idea that despite the League being at the
helm of affairs in Bengal, ministers acted in ways detrimental to their own constituen-
Newspapers were themselves not immune from public wrath. Anonymous letters,
for example, threatened The Statesman and its staff with dire consequences for its an-
ti-Muslim League stance. One such letter, signed by one ‘Jehadi’, warned its Editor:
‘You will do well to keep your mouth shut… if you do not stop writing against us we
have decided to burn your office completely and butcher you and the white wom-
en.’ 171 The writer bragged that there would be no one to save them ‘as Police is ours’.
It demanded that The Statesman should ask its ‘friends in the Assembly’ (presumably
indicating the European members) to vote for the Ministry, or else they would be
167
Ibid.
168
Rozana Hind, 1 November 1946.
169
Rozana Hind, 23 October 1946.
170
Ibid.
171
The letter had reached The Statesman’s office on 30 September 1946. See ‘Miscellaneous
– Calcutta Riots’, 17 October 1946, K.P.M. No. 01817; S.B. File No. 938 Part I, P.M. (1946),
SBR, CP.
184
doomed. 172 Another letter, which The Statesman received about a week later, threat-
ened: ‘I am very sorry to say that if you ever, from today onwards, interfere with
Muslim matters, or write anything against them, you will be in trouble and The
Statesman House will be blown up, so you better be careful.’ 173 This writer described
himself as ‘Your friendly advisor’ and signed off with ‘Muslim Zindabad’. 174
That both these letters were written in English shows that these were not the work
An Intelligence Officer emphasized this point with some surprise. While passing
through the Park Circus tram depot, he reported, he was alarmed by a Muslim crowd
found out that the crowd was insisting that the hawker, also a Muslim, had refrained
from selling Navayug and The Statesman, because both these papers had adopted an
‘anti-Muslim’ stance. The officer noted, with surprise, that the people in the crowd
‘seemed to be decent looking and literate’. 175 This vignette says as much about police
But there were also instances of physical intimidation of newspaper staff that, the
police believed, were being carried out by ‘hooligans’, probably under the instigation
172
Ibid.
173
This letter had reached The Statesman’s office on 8 October 1946. See ‘Miscellaneous –
Calcutta Riots’, 19 October 1946.
174
Ibid.
175
Copy of an IB Report dated 7 September 1946, ibid.
185
working with The Statesman was stabbed on Grant Street. The reporting policeman
remarked, with some concern, that this was the third time since the August Killing
that peons employed by The Statesman had been attacked. 176 Self-appointed guardians
One of the biggest consequences of the Great Calcutta Killing on the life of the
city was the straining of everyday economic relations between Hindus and Muslims.
Calcutta’s growing importance as a centre for trade and commerce had attracted Mus-
lim migrants from all parts of India since the eighteenth century. It had attracted mer-
chants from northern and western India, most of whom were Urdu speakers. The
Cutchi Memons were among the wealthiest mercantile groups, who had migrated
from Kathiawar in the eighteenth century, and they dominated the trade in hide as
well as exports and imports of indigo and rice. Others included Pathan merchants who
mostly dealt in the leather trade and dominated informal credit networks, Iranian mer-
chants engaged in exports and imports and other traders from Western India partici-
pated in a variety of trades. 177 Apart from merchants, there were the aristocratic Mus-
lim families from Awadh and Mysore, as well as the displaced native Muslim aristoc-
racies who had worked in the army and administration of royal courts of Bengal.178
176
‘Incidents on 1.11.46’, K.P.M. No. 01818/05, S.B. File No. 938 Part II, P.M. (1946), SBR,
CP.
177
McPherson, The Muslim Microcosm, p. 4.
178
Ibid., p. II.
186
These aristocrats had brought with them their retinues and servants, who swelled the
ranks of the urban proletariat. However, from the late nineteenth century, Calcutta had
also begun to attract a large number of poorer Muslim migrants from north India as
labourers in the jute mills in its industrial suburbs. But apart from the mills, a large
number poured into the city to provide various services and participated in a variety of
occupations. 179
There were substantial Muslim settlements in the heart of town, with large en-
claves around the Hogg market – the largest municipal market of the city – as well as
clusters around the Nakhoda Mosque and the indigenous commercial area of
Burrabazar. The latter area was dominated by Marwari merchants and traders. 180 Mus-
lim labourers, living cheek and jowl with the Marwaris, had developed intimate con-
nections with the latter. Many of them, migrants from Bihar and the Punjab, worked
as carters in Burrabazar and provided a variety of services. 181 Clashes and petty
squabbles with Hindu rivals in these areas were not uncommon, but Hindus and Mus-
lims did develop close ties of mutual interdependence. 182 These connections, which
had woven Hindu and Muslim groups into the economic fabric of Calcutta for at least
about a century and a half, began to show signs of strain from the 1920s. 183 But de-
spite growing Hindu-Muslim hostility, these ties remained functional until the 1940s.
179
Ibid., p. 4. Also see Claire Alexander, Joya Chatterji and Annu Jalais, The Bengal Diaspo-
ra: Muslim Migrants in Britain, India and Bangladesh, London: Routledge, 2013.
180
McPherson, The Muslim Microcosm, pp. 5-6.
181
For a discussion of different groups and their politics in Bengal in the 1920s and the 1930s,
see Tanika Sarkar, Bengal, 1928-1934: The Politics of Protest, New Delhi: Oxford University
Press, 1987.
182
Ibid., p. 6.
183
McPherson, The Muslim Microcosm; Das, Communal Riots in Bengal; Dutta, Carving
Blocs.
187
These bonds tended to break down in the aftermath of the August massacre. By
early September 1946, reports of Hindu businesses and shops dismissing their Muslim
employees grew more frequent, as did stories of the economic boycott of Muslims.184
In some bazaars of north Calcutta, Hindu shopkeepers drove away Muslim vegetable
sellers and butchers. 185 Hindu workers of Muslim firms also feared losing their jobs.
The decision by a Muslim firm, Wachel Molla and Sons, to dismiss fifteen Hindu em-
ployees, caused consternation. According to a secret police report, the firm planned to
sack the remaining Hindu employees after the Durga Puja festival. 186
Tension was particularly acute in the commercial areas of north and central Calcut-
ta. In Burrabazar, Amratola and Mullickbazar, Muslim carters had a virtual monopoly
in the business of transporting goods. Carts were used to navigate the intricate net-
work of narrow lanes and bylanes, moving goods, stocking warehouses, loading and
offloading larger vehicles which could not enter these crowded gullies. After the riots,
the relation between Muslim carters and Hindu merchants, often Marwaris, became
acutely strained. The latter began bringing in Hindu carters from ‘outside’. Leading
Hindu merchants of the area actively canvassed for the ending of all commercial rela-
tions with Muslims. 187 This had an immediate and adverse impact on the livelihoods
of Muslim carters and cart-owners. They petitioned the Commissioner of Police and
184
Confidential diary entry of Inspector A.G. Khan of S.B., Calcutta, 5 September 1946,
K.P.M. No. 01818/05, S.B. File No. 938 Part II, P.M. (1946), SBR, CP..
185
Extract from daily report on the political situation in Bengal, 5 September 1946, ibid.
186
Untitled report, 26 September 1946, ibid.
187
‘Unrest among the Muslim carters and Cart Chaudhuries in Amratala’, undated (but likely
to be in late September or early October 1946), ibid.
188
Ibid.
188
Alarmist rumours also disrupted economic interdependence between Hindus and
Muslims. Calcutta Police found a leaflet in Hindi pasted on a pillar at the junction of
Harrison Road and Clive Street. It declared that ‘Muslim Goondas’ were forcing Hin-
goondas allegedly warned that if Hindu owners dared to disobey them, their work-
shops would be looted and burnt down. 189 The author of the leaflet, Randhir Singh,
‘Commander-in-Chief of the Hindu National Guard’, advised his ‘Hindu brethren’ not
to be afraid of such threats. They must prepare to defend every Hindu workshop. If
Hindu owners thought that they would save their workshops by giving in to Muslim
demands, they were mistaken, he argued. This was a Muslim conspiracy to enter the
workshops as employees, kill the Hindu owners, and then take over the business, for
‘there is little that this deceitful community does not do’. 190 The leaflet concluded
thus:
Die or be destroyed, but never accept defeat. If the property is destroyed, let it go; if
lives are lost, let it be so, but do not put a stigma on the prestige of the Hindu nation
over and above your losing everything by submitting to the demands of deceitful
men. 191
The Bengal National Chamber of Labour wrote to the Commissioner of Police com-
plaining about these posters urging Hindus to boycott Muslims economically, in every
possible way, including handbills which pressed Hindus not to buy biris from Muslim
biri makers and other commodities manufactured by Muslims; not to hire rickshaws,
hackneys and taxis driven by Muslims; not to recruit Muslim workers, and to dismiss
189
‘Miscellaneous: Communal Situation in Calcutta’, 20 September 1946, ibid.
190
Ibid.
191
Ibid.
189
those already in their employment. 192 Although the investigating officer found no evi-
dence of such posters or handbills, he observed that a de facto economic boycott did
exist ‘on account of the day to day incidents in the city causing fear of life. 193
Even in those factories where relations between Hindu and Muslim workers re-
mained cordial during the Killing, rumours circulating in its aftermath threatened to
bring production to a standstill. On 15 September 1946, the Manager and the Works
tive rumours at the factory. 194 The whisperers had it that Muslims in neighbouring
areas of Phulbagan, Kalabagan and Kankurgachi were planning to attack the factory
and kill Hindu workers. Accordingly, ‘some outsider Muslims’ had asked the Muslim
employees of the factory to leave once they received their pay. 195 Makleswar
Rahman, a laboratory assistant, overheard this conversation among his colleagues and
reported it to his Sectional Head. 196 The Manager told the police that even on Direct
Action Day, Makleswar had turned up for work. The family quarters of the factory
bordered the eastern banks of a canal. Upon investigation, the police found that Mus-
lim boatmen had easy access to these quarters, and inmates complained about
‘strangers’ entering their private areas and spreading fear and panic, especially among
women. 197
192
Secretary, Bengal National Chamber of Labour to the Commissioner of Police, Calcutta, 2
October 1946, K.P.M. No. 01487/05, S.B. File No. 506 IV, P.M. (1946), SBR, CP.
193
Ibid.
194
Secret report of the Assistant Commissioner of Police, North Suburbs, to the Deputy
Commissioner, 15 September 1946, ibid.
195
Report of investigation by H.M. Bhattacharya, S.B., Calcutta, 26 September 1946, ibid.
196
Ibid.
197
Ibid.
190
The factory management realized that police involvement in this case was only
likely to heighten suspicion. 198 So they arranged their own mechanisms to counter the
‘wild rumours’. They selected twelve trusted workers of the factory – Hindus and
Muslims – to cycle around in the adjoining areas and report to the factory. The facto-
ry, in its turn, published news bulletins –at 12 noon, 2 pm and 4 pm every day – to
supply information to the workers. This, the Manager reported, helped alleviate fears
and improved production considerably. 199 This is yet another instance of the precipi-
tous decline in the legitimacy of the state. Factory workers considered intervention of
The straining of economic relations between Hindus and Muslims among the Cal-
cutta working classes, made political work among the labouring poor extremely diffi-
cult. The Communist Party of India (CPI) had also suffered attacks during the August
riots. Muslim mobs had ransacked two of its CPI Communes at Harrison Road and
Chittaranjan Avenue. Muslim Communist inmates had tried to prevent the angry
crowd, but to no avail. Although the Commune members were eventually rescued,
their belongings were looted, and the buildings were vandalized. 200
In the days after the riots, Muslim CPI members were subjects of slanderous gos-
sip, discrediting them for ‘betraying the Muslim cause’. 201 Party work suffered since,
due to the communally-charged atmosphere, Hindu party activists could not visit
Muslim areas, while Muslim comrades found it impossible to work in Hindu domi-
198
Confidential diary entry by H.M. Bhattacharya of S.B., Calcutta, 9 October 1946, ibid.
199
Report of investigation by H.M. Bhattacharya, S.B., Calcutta, 26 September 1946, ibid.
200
‘Miscellaneous – Communal Riots – CPI’, 27 September 1946, K.P.M. No. 01817; S.B.
File No. 938 Part I, P.M. (1946).
201
Intercepted letter from G. Adhikari to Bhowani Sen, dated 29 August 1946, Ibid.
191
nated areas. The financial position of the Bengal and Calcutta Committees were ren-
these subscriptions accounted for a substantial proportion of party funds. All District
Committees devoted their few resources to preventing yet another riot and promoting
goodwill among the communities. 202 But for smaller parties such as the Revolutionary
Socialist Party (RSP), organizational activities among labour came to a standstill after
the riots. 203 Party leaders made an attempt to resume work from mid-September 1946.
The North Calcutta District Committee of the RSP, for example, called on members
of its Labour Front to devote at least four hours each week for party work. 204 The
leadership directed them to make both Hindu and Muslim workers realise that com-
munal riots were harmful for everyone and that these were instigated by the leaders of
Despite such directives, RSP workers reported after just a week that work among la-
bourers was impossible because of communal tension; they found workers, especially
Muslims, in parts of north Calcutta to be ‘unresponsive’. 206 They told the leaders that
work could not be resumed ‘until the situation became normal’. 207 Similarly, leaders
of the Forward Bloc concluded at a meeting in Calcutta in early September 1946 that
‘the working class movement has received a serious set-back and the revolutionary
fervour… had faded away’. 208 In September 1946, the Bengal Provincial Congress
Committee also discussed how ‘labour organizational work had been altogether sus-
pended… in view of the high communal tension resulting from the recent riots in Cal-
202
‘Socialism and Communism: Communist Party of India’, 14 October 1946, ibid.
203
‘Terrorist Groups: RSPI’, 4 September 1946, ibid.
204
‘Terrorist Groups: RSPI’, 19 September 1946, ibid.
205
Ibid.
206
‘Terrorist Groups: RSPI’, 26 September 1946.
207
Ibid.
208
‘Forward Bloc – All India Azad Hind Volunteer Corps – Madaripur, Jugantar’, 6 Septem-
ber 1946, ibid.
192
cutta’. 209 Leaders of even smaller organizations, such as the Hindusthan Mazdur
Sevak Sangha, went so far as to advise its organizers ‘not to risk their lives by visiting
the bustee areas’, especially slums of Muslim workers, ‘but only to maintain their
nization. Independence brought in its wake, as the next chapter will show, a thorough
ple in Calcutta. This had profound consequences for commerce as well. ‘Normalcy’
returned only after Muslims had been totally cowed, after partition, as the next chap-
Conclusion
This chapter provides insights into how Calcutta’s inter-communal relations grad-
ually collapsed. This process began before the August riots of 1946, reflected in eve-
ryday conflicts around use of sacred spaces and access to public resources. The mas-
sacre that the city witnessed during the Great Calcutta Killing was not altogether sur-
prising, though its scale perhaps was. After the Killing, instances of stabbings and ar-
son against rival communities became a part of everyday life. These were accompa-
nied by a steady stream of rumours and vicious propaganda that kept both Hindus and
Muslims in a state of constant fear for their lives. This had disastrous consequences
209
‘Congress – BPCC’, 10 September 1946, ibid.
210
‘Hindusthan Mazdur Sevak Sangha’, 10 September 1946, ibid.
193
What emerges, therefore, is a picture of a grave crisis of state authority. The pro-
vincial government, now under control of Muslim League ministers, came to be seen
as corrupt and partial – a perception promoted by its political rivals, both Hindus and
Muslims. Moreover, pervasive violence, both quotidian and spectacular, eroded pub-
lic faith in the state’s coercive apparatus. While Hindu propagandists exhorted their
co-religionists not to rely on the police for protection, Muslim political rivals attempt-
will show.
194
Chapter 4
As the future of British India and the ‘Pakistan question’ came to dominate all-
India politics by early 1947, Hindu-Muslim conflict in Calcutta took a distinct turn.
The Cabinet declaration of 20 February 1947, which fixed a time-frame for British
withdrawal from the subcontinent, changed the complexion of the debate on India’s
future. 1 It hinted at the possibility that the British government could well agree to di-
vide British India into two successor states, conceding the Muslim League demand for
a sovereign Pakistan. A large section of Bengali leaders championing the Hindu cause
now turned the two-nation theory to their advantage. They argued that if, according to
the Muslim League, Hindus and Muslims were two irreconcilable nations, and if it
were impossible for the Muslim minority to live together in harmony with the Hindu
majority in a united India, then, by the same logic, the Hindu minority of Bengal
could not be expected to live under a polity dominated by the province’s Muslim ma-
jority. Thus, they demanded that if British India were divided into India and Pakistan,
Bengal must also be divided into two parts – a western Bengal with Hindu-majority
areas and an eastern Bengal with Muslim-majority areas. While Pakistan could claim
eastern Bengal, western Bengal had to be made a part of independent India. While a
small section of the Bengal Muslim League leadership found the demand acceptable,
1
For the high-politics of India’s Partition and the significance of the Cabinet announcement
on 20 February 1947, see, among others, Ayesha Jalal, The Sole Spokesman: Jinnah, the Mus-
lims League and the Demand for Partition, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994;
Anita Inder Singh, The Origins of the Partition of India, 1936-1947, Delhi: Oxford University
Press, 1990.
195
there were other leaders, both Hindu and Muslim, who opposed the division of the
province on communal lines. The latter group demanded a sovereign united Bengal,
separate from both India and Pakistan. Calcutta, the nerve centre of Bengal’s political
life, became the theatre for this contest – between those who demanded Bengal’s par-
tition and those who wanted a sovereign nation-state of united Bengal. This chapter
will study this conflict and argue that this period generated new symbols through
This phase represented a grave crisis for the state. The figure of the Punjabi Mus-
lim armed police emerged as the symbol around which communal tensions and the
demand for Bengal’s partition, coalesced and intertwined. In order to satisfy critics
within his own party, Suhrawardy, the Premier, recruited a troop of Muslim police-
men from the Punjab for the armed constabulary of the Calcutta Police. Congress and
Mahasabha leaders launched a campaign to protest against this move and argued that
if the whole of Bengal was allowed to pass into the hands of Pakistan, it would un-
leash a regime of unmitigated misery for Hindus. A crime allegedly involving newly
recruited Punjabi Muslim policemen facilitated this campaign, which helped Hindu
leaders mobilize support for Bengal’s partition on the ground that Hindus could no
longer expect any justice from the present regime, or any future government dominat-
ed by the Muslim League. Their argument was that not only had the day-to-day ad-
ministration, in the hands of Muslim policemen and the ‘corrupt’ ministers, crumbled,
but that no institution of the state remained functional to which ordinary Hindus could
appeal for redressal of the wrongs they suffered everyday in the hands of the provin-
cial government. Therefore, the only redemption available for the Hindus, they
196
claimed, lay in a radical restructuring of state power, including the vivisection of the
The campaign for the partition of Bengal unfolded alongside the ‘United Bengal’
movement. It was the joint campaign of a few prominent provincial leaders of both
the Muslim League and the Congress. The first section of the chapter delineates the
contours of high politics in Bengal that laid the ground for the United Bengal cam-
paign. It will show that the campaign cannot be explained exclusively by the altruistic
Historians have usually portrayed the demand for a united sovereign Bengal in
of a region deeply tied together with a common culture and a shared way of life. 2 Of-
ten their analyses have tended to become teleological, with historians like Harun-or-
Rashid and Bidyut Chakrabarty attempting to draw a direct link connecting the United
1971. Despite Joya Chatterji’s critique of the campaign as nothing more than a mere
‘pipe dream’, 3 even she seems to agree that whatever the chances of its feasibility
might have been, the objectives that drove the campaign were laudable. The second
2
See Shila Sen, Muslim Politics in Bengal, 1937-1947, New Delhi: Impex India, 1973, pp.
223-245; Harun-or-Rashid, The Foreshadowing of Bangladesh: Bengal Muslim League and
Muslim Politics, 1936-1947, Dhaka: Asiatic Society of Bangladesh, 1987, pp. 244-248; Leon-
ard A. Gordon, Brothers Against the Raj: A Biography of Sarat and Subhas Chandra Bose,
New Delhi: Viking, 1989, pp. 576-585; Bidyut Chakrabarty, The Partition of Bengal and As-
sam, 1932-1947, London, New York: RoutledgeCurzon, 2004, pp. 132-150.
3
Joya Chatterji, Bengal Divided: Hindu Communalism and Partition, 1932-1947, Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1994, p. 260.
197
The next section reveals how those leaders campaigning against the United Bengal
show how the figure of the Punjabi Muslim armed police emerged as the focal point
The chapter then moves to an examination of the 100 Harrison Road Case – a sen-
Hindu woman. It analyzes the street mobilizations for a strike on the issue and how it
was harnessed to the cause of the campaign for Bengal’s partition. Finally, the chapter
concludes by exploring the aftermath of the protests around the 100 Harrison Road
Case and how the tempo of the partition campaign was maintained until the 3 June
announcement, which conceded the demand for the partition of Bengal and rejected
After the Great Calcutta Killing in August 1946, Huseyn Suhrawardy, the Bengal
Premier, tried to come to an understanding with the Congress and form a coalition
government in the province. Shila Sen has suggested that Suhrawardy was brought to
his senses by the calamity, which gave him ‘second thoughts’. 4 She believes that
Suhrawardy had ‘changed his mind and sincerely wanted to restore confidence among
5
Hindus’. However, her optimism is neither substantiated nor persuasive.
4
Sen, Muslim Politics in Bengal, p. 209.
5
Ibid.
198
Suhrawardy’s move can be explained better as a continuation of his old strategy of
The previous chapter has described how the provincial elections of 1946 resulted
in an overwhelming victory for the Muslim League in Bengal. Defeating rivals within
his own party, Suhrawardy had emerged as the new Premier. Rather than appeasing
his opponents, he had decided to reward his supporters with most of the important po-
sitions in the ministry. This strategy prompted him to seek an alliance with the Con-
gress opposition. With Congress help, he hoped to maintain his sway over his enemies
within his party. The alliance did not materialize, primarily due to the intransigence of
After the Great Calcutta Killing in August 1946, Suhrawardy’s position became
even more fragile. As Premier and the minister responsible for law and order, large
sections of the public saw the Killing as proof of his incompetence. 6 Of course, the
Muslim League maintained that the Hindus were equally, if not principally, responsi-
ble for the violence. But this did not prevent the rival Nazimuddin-Akram Khan fac-
tion from demanding a reshuffle of the ministry. 7 If those in the opposition within the
Bengal legislatures accused him of anti-Hindu bias, opponents within his own party
accused him of not doing enough for his co-religionists. The danger from his party
6
For an account of how even Muslim Leaguers held Suhrawardy responsible for the Great
Calcutta Killing, see Begum Shaista Suhrawardy Ikramulla, Huseyn Shaheed Suhrawardy: A
Biography, Karachi; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991. Also see Suhrawardy’s mem-
oirs: Mohammad H.R. Talukdar (ed.), Memoirs of Huseyn Shaheed Suhrawardy with a Brief
Account of His Life and Work, Dhaka: University Press, 1987.
7
For an account of intra-party intrigues against Suhrawardy, see Ikramulla, Huseyn Shaheed
Suhrawardy.
199
rivals to his dominance was greater than the danger from the opposition benches in
the legislatures. Thus, Sen’s contention that opposition demands in the Bengal legisla-
tures for the removal of the ministry forced Suhrawardy to make another attempt at
enlisting Congress support is untenable. 8 The opposition was not strong enough to
overthrow the ministry so long as it maintained its existing support in the legislatures.
This support, Suhrawardy knew, would still be forthcoming, as Leaguers did not want
to topple the ministry altogether. Opponents within his party only wanted a rear-
rangement of power within the ministry – to get a bigger share of ministerial posts or,
better still, to remove Suhrawardy and replace him with a leader of their own faction,
preferably Nazimuddin. The latter could count on the support of Muslim big business,
the Bengal Governor, the Viceroy, as well as Jinnah. 9 Intra-party intrigue was thus a
much bigger threat to Suhrawardy’s position than the opposition in the legislatures.
strong. The popularity of League-Congress unity slogans had faded away long ago. In
April 1946, when Suhrawardy had attempted his first rapprochement with the Con-
gress, the scenario had been very different. Yet it was not hopeless: the Bengal Con-
gress leadership had for long resented its exclusion from all-India Congress politics. 10
The High Command had, time and again, refused to allow its Bengal leaders to come
to any agreement with either the Krishak Praja Party or the Muslim League, 11 which
8
Ibid., p. 220.
9
For the support base of the Akram Khan-Nazimuddin faction, see Shila Sen, Muslim Politics
in Bengal; Harun-or-Rashid, The Foreshadowing of Bangladesh.
10
See Chatterji, Bengal Divided.
11
For accounts of failure of the negotiations between Congress and Krishak Praja Party or the
Muslim League, see Sen, Muslim Politics in Bengal; Srimanjari, Through War and Famine:
Bengal, 1939-45, New Delhi: Orient BlackSwan, 2009; Chatterji, Bengal Divided; Gordon,
Brothers against the Raj; Gordon, Bengal: The Nationalist Movement, 1876-1940 New York;
200
did not increase the popularity of the central leadership in the eyes of many provincial
leaders. Neither did the latter gain from the increasing prominence of the Congress on
the all-India stage. When Congress formed the Interim Government towards the end
of August 1946, Sarat Bose was the only leader from Bengal who was admitted into
it. 12 This had done little to improve the standing of the Bengal Congress leaders in all-
India politics. Thus, if somehow Suhrawardy could persuade the High Commands of
both the League and the Congress to allow a provincial alliance between the two par-
ties in Bengal, the leaders of the Bengal Congress might have been persuaded to see
Suhrawardy’s efforts at securing the consent of the High Commands of the League
and the Congress failed; 13 Jinnah refused to allow Suhrawardy to forge a provincial-
level alliance with Congress until a ‘satisfactory coalition at the Centre’ had been
stage. After meeting the Viceroy, he issued a statement from Delhi urging the Con-
gress, which had already formed an Interim Government, to take a ‘bold leap’ and
come to a compromise with Jinnah before the ‘chasm yawned too wide to be
bridged’. 15 It is doubtful if Suhrawardy would have made such a forceful appeal to the
Congress without securing prior consent from Jinnah and Wavell. 16 By some ac-
counts, Wavell was determined to bring the League into the Interim Government
London: Columbia University press, 1974; Chakrabarty, The Partition of Bengal and Assam;
Harun-or-Rashid The Foreshadowing of Bangladesh.
12
Gordon, Brothers against the Raj, pp. 548-588.
13
Sen, Muslim Politics in Bengal, pp. 219-220.
14
Penderel Moon (ed.), Wavell: The Viceroy’s Journal, London: Oxford University Press,
1973, p. 348. Also, V.P. Menon, Transfer of Power in India, Calcutta: Orient Longmans,
1957, p. 301.
15
The Statesman, 10 September 1946. Also, Sen, Muslim Politics in Bengal, p. 221, f.n. 62.
16
Ibid.
201
since his Calcutta visit in the aftermath of the Great Calcutta Killing. 17 When Wavell
had arrived in the city on 26 August 1946, he was apparently shaken by black-flag
demonstrations by the supporters of the League and the Muslim National Guard, who
held him responsible for the carnage and for sabotaging Muslim interests by pander-
ing to Congress demands. 18 Whatever Wavell’s motivation may have been, following
Suhrawardy’s Delhi tour, he met Jinnah on 16 September 1946. Parleys between the
two lasted from 12 to 15 October, which culminated in the League joining the Interim
Jinnah, however, decided not to nominate any Bengal League leader to the Interim
tion, instead. Jinnah’s decision was aimed at making a point vis-à-vis the Congress. If
the Congress had refused the League monopoly over Muslim nominees in the Interim
Government, Jinnah wanted to show that the Congress could not claim to represent all
Hindus either. At best, Congress represented the upper-caste Hindus. But it is argua-
ble that Jinnah could well have accommodated a Scheduled Caste representative in
one of the four seats allocated to North Indian Muslims. 19 In any case, the decision
not to include any Bengal Leaguer, not even from his preferred Nazimuddin-Akram
Khan-Ispahani faction, was deeply unsettling for the provincial leadership. 20 If Jinnah
cared so little even for his loyal followers in Bengal, the Suhrawardy-Abul Hashim
faction could hope for very little. The Bengal leaders had felt unrecognized by Jinnah
17
Ibid., p. 220.
18
Star of India, 26 August 1946; Azad, 27 August 1946; Menon, Transfer of Power in India,
p. 301.
19
Sen, Muslim Politics in Bengal, p. 222.
20
Ibid., pp. 221-222.
202
for a long time. 21 But this development made them feel insulted. 22 This was the con-
text in which the United Bengal campaign emerged towards the beginning of 1947.
On 20 February 1947, British Prime Minister Clement Attlee announced the ‘defi-
nite intention’ of Britain of withdrawing from India by June 1948, transferring power,
nent in Attlee’s declaration, the Hindu Mahasabha changed its demand from Akhand
(United) Hindustan to a call for the partition of Punjab and Bengal. If the League be-
lieved that Hindus and Muslims were, indeed, two different nations with irreconcila-
ble interests, Mahasabha leaders argued, then the large Hindu and Sikh minorities of
the Punjab and Bengal could not be expected to live under perpetual Muslim domina-
tion in Pakistan. 24 In a similar vein, on 8 March 1947, the Working Committee of the
All India Congress passed a resolution calling for the division of the Punjab in the
event that India was to be partitioned. 25 Acharya Kripalani, the Congress President,
confirmed in a press interview that the same principle would apply to Bengal as
well. 26 Less than a month later, on 4 April 1947, the Bengal Provincial Congress
21
Harun-or-Rashid, The Foreshadowing of Bangladesh, pp. 244-248.
22
Sen, Muslim Politics in Bengal, p. 222.
23
Nicholas Mansergh and Penderel Moon (eds.), The Transfer of Power, 1942-47: Constitu-
tional Relations between Britain and India, (Hereafter TP), London: Her Majesty’s Stationery
Office, 1980, vol. IX, no. 438, pp. 773-775.
24
Harun-or-Rashid, The Foreshadowing of Bangladesh, p. 274; Sen, Muslim Politics in Ben-
gal, p. 225.
25
TP, vol. IX, no. 51, pp. 899-901.
26
Fortnightly Report, Government of Bengal, (Hereafter, FR, GOB), 1st half, March 1947,
L/PJ/5/154, India Office Records (Hereafter, IOR); Star of India, 11 March 1947; TP, vol. X,
no. 168, pp. 308-309.
203
Committee also declared its support for the partition of Bengal. 27 This was followed
tive body for Hindu legislators of Bengal and to set up two Regional Ministries – one
for Muslim-majority eastern Bengal and the other for Hindu-majority western Bengal.
As is well known, the demand for a separate province of West Bengal carved out of
Hindu-majority areas of the province gained support from Calcutta’s Hindu big busi-
ness houses, including the Birlas and the Goenkas. 29 Influential newspapers such as
Amrita Bazar Patrika, Ananda Bazar Patrika and Hindusthan Standard initiated a
vigorous press campaign for the partition of Bengal. 30 Yet, in April 1947, a section of
just to keep the province united, but to create a sovereign United Bengal independent
of both India and Pakistan. They argued that Bengal’s distinct cultural and linguistic
identity had to take precedence over religious considerations in determining the future
Historians have presented the demand for an independent United Bengal in either
sentimental or teleological terms. Shila Sen, for example, sees this demand as a genu-
ine expression of a sentimental desire to keep Bengal united, at least on the part of
27
Harun-or-Rashid, The Foreshadowing of Bangladesh, p. 275.
28
TP, vol. X, no. 127, p. 203.
29
The Statesman, 1 May 1947; Harun-or-Rashid, The Foreshadowing of Bangladesh, p. 276.
30
Ibid.
204
some Hindu and Muslim leaders. 31 According to her, ‘both Suhrawardy and Abul
Hashim made a sincere and earnest effort to make Bengal independent and sover-
eign’. 32 Apart from the intransigence of many Congress and League leaders, Sen ar-
gues that the effort failed mainly due to time constraints. Under the charged circum-
June 1947, when the British government decided to finalize the modus operandi of
Bose brothers, agrees with Sen about limitations of time that eventually led to the
failure of the United Bengal scheme. Among other factors, he emphasizes how Sarat
Bose restricted his discussions on the United Bengal proposal only to top League and
Congress leaders, and did not reach out to the public, partly due to his bad health. But
also holds the Congress High Command responsible, especially Nehru and Patel, for
pushing Mountbatten to partition India instead of ‘balkanizing’ it. 34 Sarat Bose was
subsequently blacked out of the Congress press, says Gordon. 35 Faced with Nehru and
Patel’s ‘veto’ against the scheme, and Shyama Prasad Mookerjee’s ‘pro-partition coa-
Rashid, on the other hand, places this episode in a longer and linear teleology of Ben-
gal’s demand for autonomy, which finally culminated in the creation of Bangladesh in
1971. 37 Bidyut Chakrabarty also draws a direct connection between the United Bengal
movement and the 1952 ‘Language Movement’ in East Pakistan and, eventually, the
31
Sen, Muslim Politics in Bengal, pp. 223-245.
32
Ibid., p. 230.
33
Ibid., p. 241.
34
Gordon, pp. 579-580.
35
Ibid., p. 581.
36
Ibid., p. 582.
37
Harun-or-Rashid, The Foreshadowing of Bangladesh, pp. 273-340.
205
self-determination movement for Bangladesh in 1971. 38 Only Joya Chatterji has ex-
pressed some scepticism about the campaign. 39 Even so, almost all historians hail the
that characterized the demand for the partition of India and Bengal. Even if one grant-
its leadership remains too obvious to miss. Yet, these concerns have hitherto been
overlooked. This is not to reduce the movement to the self-seeking impulses of lead-
ers; however, a discussion of these dimensions can help in preventing its uncritical
Sarat Bose and Abul Hashim conceived of the idea of a sovereign United Bengal
for the first time in a series of meetings in January 1947. This predated the 20 Febru-
ary Cabinet declaration, lending some credence to the claim that it was not a mere
Even at the risk of some reductive analysis, it is possible to explain Hashim’s en-
thusiasm for a sovereign United Bengal by his position within the Muslim League and
his roots in western Bengal. If Jinnah’s nomination to the interim government was any
indicator, Suhrawardy-Hashim faction of the Bengal League had little hope of gaining
any rewards from the League High Command. If Bengal was divided, there was little
doubt that League Central leadership in a future Pakistan would prefer the rival
Nazimuddin-Akram Khan faction. The latter had a stronger base of support in eastern
Bengal and backing from Muslim big business. But, perhaps even more important for
38
Chakrabarty, The Partition of Bengal and Assam, pp. 132-150.
39
Chatterji, Bengal Divided, p. 260.
206
Hashim was his personal attachment to western Bengal. Despite being trained in Ara-
bic and Islamic theology since childhood, Hashim’s background reveals a somewhat
in western Bengal, Hashim was born into a family of government servants who were,
at the same time, ‘landlords in their own village’. 40 His family had taken to western
education at least since his grandfather’s times; he seems proud, indeed, that his
grandfather was a ‘class fellow’ of Bankimchandra Chattopadhyay, and that his father
was a loyal follower of Sir Surendranath Banerjea. 41 Again, not unlike Nirad C.
Chaudhuri, 42 Hashim talks about the importance that his family attached to their an-
cestral home in the village. Members of his family thought that cities were ‘good for
working and earning’, but ‘not for living’, he says; for everyone in his extended
household, holidays had to be spent in the village, no matter where they worked.
Hashim also had deep professional base in Burdwan. He was called to the Distract
Bar at Burdwan and had practiced for five years as a successful lawyer, before joining
politics. 43 He had been elected to the provincial assembly also from the Burdwan
Bengal, therefore, was apparent. He shared very little in common with the landed aris-
tocracy that was sure to dominate the politics of eastern Bengal in case the province
was partitioned. Given these factors, Hashim’s enthusiasm for a United Bengal be-
comes quite understandable. Right to the very end, he insisted that the demand for a
sovereign United Bengal was in conformity with the Lahore Resolution, which had
40
Abul Hashim, In Retrospection, Dacca: Sabarna Publishers, 1974.
41
For a description of Hashim’s family background, see ibid., pp. 1-5.
42
See Nirad C. Chaudhuri, The Autobiography of an Unknown Indian, London: Hogarth,
1987, pp. 48-50. Also see Chatterji, Bengal Divided, pp. 6-7.
43
Hashim, In Retrospection, pp. 11-16.
44
Ibid., p. 16.
207
formed the basis for the League’s Pakistan demand. There was nothing in the Resolu-
On the Congress benches, meanwhile, by the time negotiation for United Bengal
began, Sarat Bose was profoundly disgruntled. After his release from jail in Septem-
ber 1945, he had a brief period of rapprochement within the Congress High Com-
December 1945, he was elected to the Central Assembly. He became the leader of the
opposition when the Congress Parliamentary Party elected him as their leader in the
However, once the Muslim League decided to enter the Interim Government on 26
October 1946, he was made to step down. This also marked his estrangement from the
Congress High Command. Soon, he publicly fell out with important all-India leaders
of the Congress. On 6 January 1947 he resigned from the Congress Working Commit-
tee. 47 Thus, when he entered into discussions with Abul Hashim about the possibility
of keeping Bengal united and separate from both India and Pakistan, he had already
lost his battle for a place on the all-India stage. For him, alliance with the Muslim
The other prominent Congress leader who supported Bose’s endeavours was Kiran
Sankar Roy. On the surface of it, Roy’s attitude may seem somewhat puzzling, given
45
Sen, Muslim Politics in Bengal, p. 232; Harun-or-Rashid, The Foreshadowing of Bangla-
desh, p. 299.
46
See Sen, Muslim Politics in Bengal, p. 224, f.n. 67, for a brief outline of Sarat Bose’s polit-
ical trajectory since his release from prison in 1945.
47
Ibid. Also see Gordon, Brothers against the Raj, pp. 548-588.
208
that he had almost always remained loyal to the Congress High Command. 48 But his
willingness to join the United Bengal campaign can, at least partly, be explained by
his extensive landed interests in the eastern Bengal countryside. Of course, he was an
established Calcutta politician. But his identity as the zamindar of Teota was no less
important. In this respect, he was typical of the bhadralok elites of Calcutta to whom
their landed connection was as important to their identity and prosperity as their ur-
bane lifestyles. 49 There is some evidence in the police records that point to troubles in
his zamindari after the Great Calcutta Killing. A panicky letter from one of his estate
managers warned Roy of the growing hostility among Muslim peasants towards Hin-
du landowners in eastern Bengal. 50 From the Naib to the humble peon, many of Roy’s
zamindary cutcheries were run almost entirely by Muslim personnel, besides being
surrounded by Muslim villages on all sides. The manager warned him that any flicker
of communal violence would make his estate the first target of Muslim attack. 51 Roy’s
reactions are not known, but the importance he attached to his landed possessions is
proved by his eventual migration to East Bengal after Partition and his decision to join
48
Chatterji, Bengal Divided.
49
For a discussion of the way the Bengali bhadralok has been described in historiography, see
ibid., pp. 3-17. The early contributors to the debate include: J.H. Broomfield, Elite Conflict in
a Plural Society: Twentieth-Century Bengal, Berkeley: University of California Press, 1968;
Gordon Johnson, ‘Partition, Agitation and Congress: Bengal, 1904-1908’, Modern Asian
Studies, vol. 7, no. 3, 1973. Some have argued in favour of rejecting bhadralok and replacing
it with ‘middle class’: Himani Banerji, ‘The Mirror of Class: Class Subjectivity and Politics in
19th Century Bengal’, Economic and Political Weekly, vol. 24; no. 13, May 1989; Bidyut
Chakrabarty, Subhas Chandra Bose and Middle-Class Radicalism: A Study in Indian Nation-
alism, 1928-1950, London: London School of Economics and Political Science with Tauris,
1990. Studies that have emphasized the landed connection of the bhadralok include: Chatterji,
Bengal Divided; John McGuire, The Making of a Colonial Mind: A Quantitative Study of the
Bhadralok in Calcutta, 1857-1885, Canberra: Australian National University, 1983; S.N.
Mukherjee, ‘Caste, Class and Politics in Calcutta’ in his Calcutta: Myths and History, Calcut-
ta: Subarnarekha, 1977; Sumit Sarkar, The Swadeshi Movement in Bengal, 1903-1908, New
Delhi: People’s Publishing House, 1973; Sumit Sarkar, Writing Social History, Delhi: Oxford
University Press, 1997.
50
Gopal Hari Basu to Kiran Sankar [Roy], 7 September 1946, K.P.M. No. 01486/05; S.B.
File No. 506, P.M. (1946), SBR, CP.
51
Ibid.
209
its legislatures as the leader of the opposition. 52 He was willing to take the risk, de-
spite the fact that his stature as one of the leading Congress personalities of Bengal
could have easily secured for him a senior ministerial post in the government of West
Bengal, or even in Delhi. This is exactly what happened when he finally lost all hope
of carving out a political future within Pakistan, and moved back to West Bengal as
its Home Minister. Given this evidence and his personal trajectory, it is not surprising
that in early 1947 Roy threw his weight behind the United Bengal movement.
The official inauguration of the United Bengal movement began, however, with
Suhrawardy, the Premier of Bengal, was a thorough-bred Calcutta man. Despite the
fact that the poor Muslim peasantry of eastern Bengal formed much of the social base
of support for the Muslim League in the province, Suhrawardy’s political base was
urbane, rooted in the drawing rooms and working class neighbourhoods of the city.
He had cut his teeth in Calcutta’s trade union politics. 54 For him, Calcutta was his po-
litical life-line. If Bengal was divided, it was clear that Calcutta, as a Hindu-majority
city, would become a part of West Bengal and remain with India. It was also clear that
in such circumstances League politics would have no future in India or in the new
province of West Bengal. Exiled from Calcutta, Suhrawardy would become a ‘politi-
52
Joya Chatterji, The Spoils of Partition: Bengal and India, 1947-1967, Cambridge: Cam-
bridge University Press, 2007, pp. 72, 114.
53
The Statesman, 28 April 1947; Star of India, 28 April 1947.
54
Kenneth McPherson, The Muslim Microcosm: Calcutta, 1918 to 1935, Wiesbaden: Steiner,
1974; Also see Ikramulla, Huseyn Shaheed Suhrawardy; Talukdar (ed.), Memoirs of Huseyn
Shaheed Suhrawardy.
55
Harun-or-Rashid, The Foreshadowing of Bangladesh, p. 331.
210
Ultimately, the fate of Calcutta became the focal point around which the demands
declared in his press statement in Delhi that ‘in the end the tussle will rage around
Calcutta’. 56 During negotiations with the Cabinet Mission, Jinnah had declared, ‘Paki-
stan without Calcutta would be like asking a man to live without his heart’. 57 In fact,
the United Bengal movement initially had Jinnah’s approval as he preferred a viable
liability for the new Muslim nation rather than an asset. He seemed to have changed
his mind later when he feared that the proposed state of United Bengal may not ally
itself with Pakistan. 58 The British Indian administration was also concerned about the
fate of Calcutta. Frederick Burrows, the Governor of Bengal, also held that East Ben-
gal without Calcutta would become a ‘rural slum’. 59 If the thriving port of Calcutta
had to survive, he felt that Calcutta had to be made a ‘free city’. 60 The Viceroy, Lord
Mountbatten, saw Burrows’ point, 61 but was convinced that the Congress would never
accept such a proposal. 62 The Congress was also adamant to retain Calcutta within
India because, as Nehru explained, ‘Calcutta was the port for the whole of Northern
India’. 63
56
Ibid., p. 285.
57
TP, vol. VII, no. 48, p. 124. See Jalal, Sole Spokesman, p. 179.
58
For Jinnah’s attitude to United Bengal, see Harun-or-Rashid, The Foreshadowing of Bang-
ladesh, pp. 287-295.
59
Minutes of Viceroy’s Ninth Miscellaneous Meeting, TP, vol. X, no. 264, pp. 507-513.
60
Ibid.
61
Ibid.
62
Mountbatten to Burrows, TP, vol. X, no. 242, pp. 471-472.
63
Minutes of Viceroy’s Fourteenth Miscellaneous Meeting, TP, vol. X, no. 405, pp. 762-764.
211
Conversely, despite a brief initial flirtation with the United Bengal scheme, the
Nazimuddin-Akram Khan faction decided to settle for partition if the whole of Bengal
could not be retained as an integral part of Pakistan. In fact, getting rid of Calcutta, for
them, was a politically tempting idea, despite its possible adverse economic conse-
quences. Without Calcutta, Dacca would emerge as the new centre of power in a di-
vided eastern Bengal. With their political base firmly planted in Ahsan Manzil, the
palace of the Nawab of Dacca, the Nazimuddin-Akram Khan faction of the Bengal
League would easily prevail over their rivals. According to some observers, this
‘Dacca group’, therefore was ‘so anxious to desert Calcutta’ that they ‘outdid’ Syama
This ‘Dacca group’ unleashed relentless propaganda against the Bengal Ministry
for not doing enough to promote Muslim interests. They took advantage of popular
ernment. Hindu merchants usually controlled food grains, coal and other fuels in the
Calcutta market; and as economic relations between communities fell apart following
communal riots, Muslim families found procuring such necessities increasingly diffi-
cult. 65 Many Muslim shopkeepers found themselves ousted from markets in Hindu-
majority areas. A great number of those driven out of Koley Market, Lansdowne
Market, as well as markets in Stand Road, Clive Street and Manicktolla had to earn
Muslim students also found it difficult to access educational institutions. Schools, col-
64
Harun-or-Rashid, The Foreshadowing of Bangladesh, p. 327, f.n. 313. Also see Abul Man-
sur Ahmed, Amar Dyakha Rajnitir Panchash Bachar, Dacca: Naoroj Kitabistan, 1975, pp.
260-262.
65
‘Miscellaneous: Communal Situation in Calcutta’, 30 September 1946, K.P.M. No.
01817/05; S.B. File No. 938 Part I; P.M. (1946), SBR, CP.
66
Ibid.
212
leges and universities tended to be in Hindu-dominated areas, or required Muslim stu-
shuffling the ministry. They blamed Suhrawardy’s ministry for not doing enough to
open more shops and educational institutions in Muslim areas and for failing to pro-
tect lives and livelihood of ordinary Muslims of the city. Rival factions within the
Bengal branch and the Calcutta District branch of the Muslim League, as well as sev-
eral ‘relief committees’ it had set up in the aftermath of the riots, put pressure on the
Ministry to ensure that at least fifty per cent of appointments in all departments of the
Pressed upon from all sides by the rival faction, and unable to garner support from
the Congress opposition, Suhrawardy needed to do something that would make a bold
statement, proving his sincerity in promoting ‘Muslim interests’. This was the context
in which the Suhrawardy Ministry recruited about five hundred personnel to the
Armed Police of Calcutta from the Punjab. Classified as a ‘martial race’, the presence
of such policemen in the city’s streets, Suhrawardy seemed to believe, would visibly
the Punjabi Armed Police emerged, thereafter, as the symbol around which communal
67
Ibid.
68
‘Communal Situation and the Muslims’, 31 October 1946, ibid.
69
Sir Francis Tuker, While Memory Serves, London: Cassell, 1950, pp. 233-236. Tuker de-
scribes the blatant favouritism with which the Suhrawardy government treated the newly-
recruited Punjabi armed policemen, generating resentment among other sections of the armed
police forces of Calcutta, especially the Gurkha armed policemen. That this new recruitment
drive did boost some support for Suhrawardy among some sections of Calcutta’s Muslims is
suggested by how strongly the recruitment was defended by powerful sections of the Muslim
League Press. See, Azad, 8 April 1947, in K.P.M. No. 01821/05, File No. 938/47 II (C), P.M.
(1947), SBR CP. The article, published in a newspaper not known for being favourable to
Suhrawardy, demanded more of such recruitments.
213
animosity found articulation in Calcutta; it structured public debates on the demand
for partition of Bengal in the event that a Muslim state was to be carved out of British
India.
The Deterioration of ‘Law and Order’ and Rebellion in the Calcutta Police
This attracted virulent criticism. In a letter to the editor of Amrita Bazar Patrika, a
retired police officer held changes in the policing system of Calcutta responsible for
the breakdown of order. 70 According to him, in the aftermath of the communal riots of
1926, 71 a ‘Harrison Road Safety Scheme’ had been set up by Sir Charles Tegart, then
Commissioner of the Calcutta Police. This entailed posting police pickets at strategic
points across the city and dedicating forces to accompany even the smallest of proces-
through their jurisdiction. Accordingly, concerned thanas posted pickets all along the
tails of the scheme, along with a map of Calcutta, was distributed to all officers. The
scheme was so successful, the writer claimed, that even during the difficult days of
the Civil Disobedience agitation in the 1930s, Calcutta remained peaceful. However,
since November 1945, Tegart’s scheme had been abandoned and replaced by the
‘Control Room System’. According to this new policing structure, every occurrence
70
‘Calcutta Police and Riots’, Letters to the Editor, Amrita Bazar Patrika, 26 November
1946.
71
For accounts of the 1926 riots in Calcutta see Suranjan Das, Communal Riots in Bengal,
1905-1947, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1991, pp. 59-102; Pradip Kumar Dutta,
Carving Blocs: Communal Ideology in Early Twentieth-Centure Bengal, New Delhi: Oxford
University Press, 1999, pp. 238-296; Kenneth McPherson, The Muslim Microcosm.
214
of trouble had to be reported directly to the Control Room of the Calcutta police
headquarters at Lal Bazar, which sent out mobile police squads to the area in which
violence had broken out. The problem with this method was that, in most cases, police
squads reached the spot too late, when ‘mobs’ had already committed the ‘mischief’
and disappeared at the sight of police lorries. 72 Such mobile squads were ‘like so
many birds of passages which harmlessly flew over troubled areas, riotous mobs melt-
ing away at their sight to form again after they have passed’. 73 Even if it produced
‘some spectacular effect’, as a riot control scheme ‘it proved very innocuous’. 74 ‘Or-
der’ was only restored, the ex-officer opined, when the army took over and employed
a version of the old scheme. The author, claiming some experience ‘of the inner work-
ings of the city police force’, believed that the breakdown of police administration
during the August Killing was not due to ‘inefficiency’ but a ‘deliberate conspiracy at
the top’. 75
Whatever legitimacy remained of the police force as an impartial state agency was
severely compromised in the aftermath of the August carnage. Losing trust in the po-
lice to protect lives and property, wealthy residents of the city had come to rely in-
considerations, the private security labour market of Calcutta became more and more
concern at the possibility of clashes between the private guards of different communi-
ties. Hindu merchants of Burrabazar were reportedly employing only Sikh and Nepali
72
‘Calcutta Police and Riots’, Letters to the Editor, Amrita Bazar Patrika, 26 November
1946.
73
Ibid.
74
Ibid.
75
Ibid.
215
security guards to protect their houses and business establishments. Similarly, Muslim
merchants of Amratolla Street were employing only ‘Pathans’ and ‘other able bodied
Allegations that the police force was partial were not without foundation. On 15
October 1946, for example, an informant reported to the Criminal Investigation De-
partment that Muslim police officers made no secret of their pro-Muslim League sen-
timents. Hindu organizations, on the other hand, were attempting to ‘enlist the sympa-
thy of Hindu officers and men’, 77 in which they seemed to be successful. By early
1947, high-ranking European police officers would refer to the communal biases of
localized violence in some pockets of South Calcutta on 16 March 1947 led the local
Bazaar and Oriya Para to ‘safe zones’, virtually conceding the incapacity of the local
police to protect minorities. 78 During religious processions and festivities, only those
policemen belonging to the concerned religion were deployed as watchers, with the
assumption that policemen of the ‘other’ religion, if posted on such occasions, would
that low-ranking personnel should report against communal propaganda carried out by
76
‘Miscellaneous: Communal Situation in Calcutta’, 18 September 1946, K.P.M. 01817/05,
S.B. File No. 938 Part I, P.M. (1946), SBR, CP.
77
‘Secret Information, Intelligence Branch, CID, 13 Lord Sinha Road, Calcutta’, 15 October
1946, ibid.
78
Confidential Diary entry from Sub-Inspector A.C. Bhattacharya of SB, Calcutta, 21 March
1947, K.P.M. No. 01824/05, S.B. File No. 938 V, P.M. (1947), SBR, CP.
79
Order issued by K.H. Reza, Additional Deputy Commissioner, Special Branch, Calcutta,
undated (but issued sometime before 23 March 1947, ibid.
216
their own community that they found it necessary to felicitate such heroes with mone-
tary rewards. 80
Yet the elitist condescension of superior officers towards their rank and file appear
hollow given how the integrity of higher officials of the police force was compro-
mised. Following the Great Calcutta Killing, government had appointed a Calcutta
tion, the Chairman of the Commission, Sir Patrick Spens interviewed officers of the
Calcutta Police. By March 1947, reported Amrita Bazar Patrika, complaints were be-
ing lodged that ‘higher authorities’ were forcing junior police officers to withhold in-
formation from the Commission. 81 Superiors within Calcutta Police were allegedly
taking their juniors to task for divulging details of the working of the police force dur-
ing the ‘disturbances’ in course of their depositions. Despite protests from Spens, it is
doubtful if any action was taken to even investigate these allegations. Thus, by early
1947, whatever credibility such ‘independent’ agencies of the state had retained until
With the legitimacy of the police force thus compromised, the army began to be
government had delayed its request for military assistance during the August Killing,
for which it had faced public approbation. Once the army was brought in, however, it
could not be withdrawn fully even months after the worst was over. Sir Francis Tuker,
80
Confidential diary entry by A.S.I. Monomohon Bhattacharjee of SB, Calcutta, 10 May
1947, K.P.M. No. 01822/05, S.B. File No. 938 III, P.M. (1947), SBR, CP.
81
Amrita Bazar Patrika, 7 March 1947. The report titled ‘Police Official’s Dilemma – Cal-
cutta Riots Enquiry: Report of Penalization for Giving Evidence’ has been filed by the Special
Branch in K.P.M. No. 01823/05, S.B. File No. 938 (IV), P.M. (1947), SBR, CP.
217
the Officer Commanding of the Eastern Command, remembered soldiers patrolling
Calcutta on ‘pure police work’ in early 1947, with the difference that, unlike the po-
lice, they did not have the powers of search and arrest. 82 Army technical staff was al-
ways kept on standby to take over Calcutta’s essential services – electricity and water
supply, sanitary services and suchlike – in case of strikes or rioting that repeatedly
Tuker’s unabashedly imperialist account of the last days of the Raj positions the
always a tight rope walk for the army during civilian duties, as its personnel received
no thanks for their services but ran the risk of ‘false accusations of cruelty, house-
breaking and rape’. 84 However, his descriptions of everyday violence in the city are
revealing. Official figures for casualties resulting from communal violence for the
week ending 1 April 1947 numbered over seven hundred in Calcutta alone; yet, Tuker
confesses, it was impossible to point towards specific incidents. ‘Little crowds, little
affairs in little streets; leaving behind them on the ground two or three dead with a
few injured… In the end casualties climb into the thousands.’ 85 Police and the army
strove to restore and maintain a new kind of ‘peace’: ‘a chronic situation in which in-
dividual goondas took their toll on isolated and unprotected members of the other
community but in which mobs found little opportunity to battle with each other’. 86
82
Tuker, While Memory Serves, p. 221.
83
Ibid.
84
Ibid., p. 223.
85
Ibid., p. 230.
86
Ibid.
218
Spectacular displays of state power had some effect in controlling the violence.
The All India Pakistan Day, celebrated by the Muslim League in Calcutta on 23
March 1947, according to the police, had every possibility of precipitating a fresh
wave of violence. The police prevented this by issuing orders of blanket arrests, ban-
Code. Curfew in the evenings became routine. 87 The police seized all loudspeakers
installed for public speeches intended to raise enthusiasm for Pakistan. 88 Official cir-
culars emphasized the need for ‘nipping trouble in the bud’. 89 Even such drastic ac-
tion did not prevent low-key violence. Tuker remembers that firing by police and
troops had become a regular and ordinary affair, ‘as did stabbing, assaults and bomb
Matters came to a head in early April 1947 when Calcutta witnessed a major police
rebellion. On the night of 1 April 1947, a Gurkha armed constable killed a Muslim
taxi driver near the Museum in Central Calcutta. 91 What exactly led to the clash re-
mains obscure, but it created a sensation as the incident came to be projected in terms
of Hindu attack upon a Muslim. The offending policeman was arrested and charged
with murder. This led to a rebellion of Gurkha armed constables within Calcutta Po-
lice. They refused to carry out orders, prevented their superior officer from leaving his
87
Order issued by K.H. Reza, Additional Deputy Commissioner, Special Branch, Calcutta,
undated (but issued sometime before 23 March 1947, K.P.M. No. 01824/05, S.B. File No. 938
V, P.M. (1947), SBR, CP.
88
Tuker, While Memory Serves, pp. 228-229.
89
Order issued by K.H. Reza, Additional Deputy Commissioner, Special Branch, Calcutta,
undated (but issued sometime before 23 March 1947, K.P.M. No. 01824/05, S.B. File No. 938
V, P.M. (1947), SBR, CP. For a discussion of the colonial state’s ‘coercive network’, the rep-
ertoire of violence the colonial state used throughout the twentieth century, see Taylor C.
Sherman, State Violence and Punishment in India, New York; London: Routledge, 2010.
90
Tuker, While Memory Serves, p. 229.
91
For an account of the police rebellion, see ibid., pp. 234-237.
219
barracks and demanded that the Police Commissioner should come to them and hear
their grievances. 92 When the Commissioner did so, it became clear that the objectives
of the protesters were not confined to the arrest and murder charge against their col-
league. Their main complaint was about discriminatory treatment by the Bengal Gov-
ernment, which, in their view, favoured the newly recruited Muslim armed police bat-
talion from the Punjab. Recruited in a hurry, no immediate accommodation was avail-
able to house them. As a result, Ispahani, the Muslim businessman and Muslim
League stalwart, had offered them his Calcutta mansion as barracks. Thus, it was ru-
moured, they rolled in luxury. The Gurkha armed police, on the other hand, lived in
‘wretched barracks, little more than huts’, and suffered mistreatment by the govern-
ment. 93 The Commissioner immediately released the arrested Gurkha constable and
promised an enquiry into their living conditions and charges of discrimination. How-
ever, soon after this agreement, another enquiry was held into the 1 April firings and
the police rearrested the accused constable once again, only to release him and with-
draw all charges a few days later. This official mishandling of the case, Tuker re-
members, had grave consequences. ‘[T]he next time the Gurkha went out on patrol
they used their rifles without provocation.’ 94 Numerous fights broke out on the fol-
lowing days between Gurkha armed policemen and the Muslim population of the
city. 95
92
Ibid., p. 234.
93
Tuker, While Memory Serves, p. 234. For living conditions in police barracks and police
protest in Bengal, see Partha Pratim Shil, ‘Police Labour and State Formation in Bengal,
c.1860 – c.1950’, PhD Thesis, University of Cambridge, 2017, pp. 97-102. Also see Sumanta
Banerjee, The Wicked City: Crime and Punishment in Colonial Calcutta, Delhi: Orient
Blackswan, 2009, pp. 548-460.
94
Tuker, While Memory Serves, p. 235.
95
Ibid.
220
The term ‘Gurkha’, says Lionel Caplan, has to be understood as a ‘fiction’, not in
the sense that it was a mere ‘fabrication’ but as an identity that came to be ‘fash-
ioned’. 96 It was used in a variety of ways in British colonial writings. In military my-
thology, colonial writers portrayed them as descendants of the ruling dynasty of Nepal
who had conquered the land in the eighteenth century. But the term was used in a va-
riety of senses. It sometimes referred to the whole population of Nepal; but, more fre-
quently, it was a catch-all term that collapsed several ethnic and tribal communities
Tuker, were ‘‘domiciled’ Gurkhas’. 98 They were at least the second generation among
migrants from Nepal, many of them being ‘half-caste’ (in Tuker’s racist terminology),
as they frequently had ‘Indian mother[s]’. 99 Given their martial race stereotypes, the
military authorities did not believe that they were ‘of the same steady material straight
from Nepal’. Therefore, they usually found lesser employment as clerks and bands-
men in Gurkha regiments of the Indian Army. 100 In police work, however, the Gurkha
armed constabulary was ‘the one reliable police force that Calcutta possessed’, which
had ‘taken the government safely through all disturbances of the past two years’. 101
They were hated by Hindus and Muslims alike, yet they constituted, in Tuker’s opin-
96
Lionel Caplan, Warrior Gentlemen: “Gurkhas” in the Western Imagination, Providence;
Oxford: Berghahn Books, 1995, pp. 10-13; Also see David N. Gellner, Joanna Pfaff-
Czarnecka and John Whelpton (eds.), Nationalism and Ethnicity in a Hindu Kingdom: The
Politics of Culture in Contemporary Nepal, Amsterdam: Hardwood Academic Publishers,
1997.
97
Tuker, While Memory Serves, p. 235.
98
Ibid., p. 233.
99
Ibid.
100
Ibid., pp. 234-235.
101
Ibid., p. 234.
221
ion, the only section of Calcutta’s police force ‘that could be depended upon to stand
on the burning streets when all but they of the police had fled’. 102 During the Calcutta
protests surrounding the trials of the Indian National Army personnel, the protesters,
Hindu and Muslim alike, saw Gurkha police as traitors. By 1947, however, Gurkha
phere of the city, the Hindus of Calcutta saw Gurkhas as their protectors against Pun-
jabi Muslim policemen, ‘The Pakistan Occupation Army of Bengal’ as they also came
to be called. 103
In the last months of British rule, the Punjabi Muslim police contingent became the
focal point of attacks against the Suhrawardy ministry. The Hindu Mahasabha, with
the support of the Bengal Congress, emerged as the champion of Hindu grievances
against Punjabi Muslim police oppression. Such protests crystallized around the sen-
sational 100 Harrison Road Case, an incident which remained at the centre of Hindu
propaganda for the partition of Bengal during the last days of colonial rule.
On the night of 14 April 1947, a bomb exploded on Harrison Road. 104 Explosions
of this sort had, by this time, become commonplace in Calcutta. Yet what happened as
102
Ibid., p. 236.
103
Ibid., p. 234.
104
Hindusthan Standard, 20 May 1947.
222
a consequence of this incident had a profound impact on the politics of partition in
Bengal.
posted at a nearby police picket went into the house at 100 Harrison Road, apparently
to investigate the matter. It was a four-storied building. The two policemen climbed
the stairs all the way to the top floor, broke into an apartment and, allegedly, raped a
Hindu woman. As news of the incident spread, the Deputy Commissioner of North
Division, Mr. Hafizuddin Ahmad, went to the house next morning, only to find that
the family had fled. On returning to the Jorasanko Police Station, he found that the
woman and her husband had come to the thana to register a complaint. An identifica-
tion parade was conducted. The victim identified one Muhammad Ali as the police-
man who had raped her, while her husband identified the accomplice, Golam
Hossain. 105 The police arrested the accused policemen and brought them to the court
By this time, however, the incident had already assumed centre-stage in the Hindu
campaign for the partition of Bengal. On 17 April 1947, the Bengal Provincial Hindu
Mahasabha held a meeting at their Calcutta office presided over by Mahasabha veter-
an Nirmal Chandra Chatterjee. Condemning the 100 Harrison Road incident, the
all-out campaign for the removal of the Punjabi policemen’. 107 This meeting also de-
105
Ibid.
106
Hindusthan Standard, 23 April 1947.
107
‘Bengal Provincial Hindu Mahasabha’, undated, K.P.M. No. 01820/05; S.B. File No. 938
II, P.M. (1947), SBR, CP.
223
clared that this strike should be regarded ‘as one of the first steps towards the partition
movement’. 108 Warning that the Muslim League government could take ‘drastic ac-
tion to suppress this agitation’, the Mahasabha advised Hindus to prepare for ‘self-
defence to meet any contingency’. 109 In the communally charged atmosphere, this
sity Institute Hall, once more presided over by N.C. Chatterjee. The audience num-
bered over two thousand. 110 Chatterjee condemned the ‘uniformed men’ who had re-
cently been ‘imported from the Punjab and let loose on the citizens of Calcutta’. 111 ‘In
any civilized country’, he asserted, ‘the Minister in charge of law and order would
have been thrown out of office within twenty-four hours’. 112 However, the Govern-
ment and other legislators, he lamented, had become ‘pathetic spectators of the dis-
In a discursive twist, Chatterjee insisted that the issue was not communal at all.
The Bengali Hindus were even ready to accept the League government’s decision,
police force in a predominantly Hindu city. 114 But, ‘for Heaven’s sake’, he urged the
government, ‘do not import Punjabis or Pathans’. ‘Their presence pollutes the atmos-
phere’, and it was unfair that Bengali tax-payers, ‘whether Hindu or Muslim’, should
108
Ibid.
109
Ibid.
110
‘Repercussions to the incident at 100 Harrison Road’, undated, ibid.
111
Amrita Bazar Patrika, 21 April 1947.
112
Ibid.
113
Ibid.
114
Ibid.
224
be forced to pay for ‘non-Bengali upcountrymen… recruited from the scum of socie-
ty’. 115 There were ‘no dearth of capable Bengalis’, many of whom were ‘unemployed’
and ‘starving’. Recruiting Bengali policemen would put a stop to this ‘licensed barba-
rism’ as, unlike the polluting Punjabi Muslim, every Bengali ‘whatever be his politi-
cal creed and religious faith, will hang down his head in shame when he finds that his
As far as the charge of rape was concerned in the 100 Harrison Road case,
Chatterjee insisted that no official enquiries were necessary at all; in fact the public
had lost all confidence in such measures ‘which cost the poor tax-payers a lot of mon-
ey and ultimately add to their misery’. 117 This was a direct challenge to the ‘sublime’
dimensions of the state. 118 Not only was Mahasabha propaganda attacking the police,
the state’s ‘profane’ dimension; it was delegitimizing the very instruments through
which the modern state maintains its public legitimacy by resurrecting its ‘sublime’
argued, was self-evident. She was examined by ‘the foremost gynaecologist available
human character’. 119 He had testified that the woman was, indeed, molested. But even
if this was not proof enough, anyone who would care to interrogate the victim, ‘unso-
phisticated and simple girl that she is’, would be convinced of her story. In any case,
it was unbelievable that ‘a Hindu married girl would concoct a story of her own dis-
115
Ibid.
116
Ibid.
117
Ibid.
118
Thomas Blom Hansen, ‘Governance and Myths of State in Mumbai’ in Fuller and Benei
(eds.), The Everyday State and Society in Modern India; Also see Thomas Blom Hansen, Vio-
lence in Urban India: Identity Politics, Mumbai and the Post-Colonial City, Delhi; Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 1998.
119
Amrita Bazar Patrika, 21 April 1947.
225
honour’. Any suggestion that the victim may be lying, in Chatterjee’s opinion, was
Dr. Bamandas Mukherjee, the doctor who had examined the victim five days after
the incident, was also present in the meeting. He urged the Hindus to participate in the
23 April strike for a separate Hindu province as the ‘rulers’ of Bengal, he declared,
had ‘turned into oppressors’. 121 The meeting passed a resolution demanding that the
will be compelled to take this menace as a declaration of hostility against them’. 122 In
these circumstances, Hindus would have ‘no alternative but to come to the conclusion
that this is a force which has been manufactured for the purpose of oppression, intim-
idation and torture’. 123 If this demand was not met, the resolution demanded that Hin-
du members of the Bengal Legislatures should resign and refuse to cooperate. For co-
operation in any form could only mean ‘alliance with the powers of evil’. 124 The
meeting also urged the Viceroy and the Interim Government to intervene and dismiss
the ministry. It asserted that ‘Partition or Zonal Ministries’ could alone end the torture
of Bengali Hindus. 125 Finally, the resolution called upon ‘all peace-loving citizens of
Calcutta who have any respect for the honour of women and for civil rights’ to ob-
120
Ibid.
121
‘Repercussions to the incident at 100 Harrison Road’, undated, K.P.M. No. 01820/05; S.B.
File No. 938 II, P.M. (1947), SBR, CP.
122
Amrita Bazar Patrika, 21 April 1947.
123
Ibid.
124
Ibid.
125
Ibid.
126
Ibid.
226
There were elements of misrepresentation in Chatterjee’s speech, especially the
claim that no investigating officer had met either the lady in question or her husband.
Court that he had, in fact, met the couple and arranged for an identification parade at
the Jorasanko Police Station. 127 But newspapers openly questioned Ahmad’s creden-
criminal cases were usually conducted by the Officer-in-Charge (OC) of the police
station which had jurisdiction over the crime scene. 100 Harrison Road fell within
Jorasanko police station. Hence, the OC of this thana should have initiated the inves-
tigations. The fact that it was entrusted to some other officer was in itself a procedural
lapse. Because the OC of Jorasanko was a Hindu, the newspaper report alleged that
communal considerations were behind the deliberate violation of due process; the
government simply wanted to ensure that a Muslim police officer investigated the
crime, so that out of communal prejudice he would side with the Punjabi Muslim po-
licemen. It also charged the investigating police officer with corruption, bribery and
malpractice, including that he was once caught ‘in a place of infamy dancing in com-
pany with women of ill-fame’. 128 Whatever may have been the truth in these allega-
tions, such propaganda went uncontested. The Mahasabha leaders tried to convince
the Hindu public that the government wanted to sabotage the investigation and protect
the culprits.
The strike campaign for 23 April 1947 was supported and generously funded by a
127
Hindusthan Standard, 20 May 1947.
128
Hindusthan Standard, 21 April 1947.
227
meeting at the Maheswari Bhawan in Burrabazar, the business area of the city domi-
nated by Marwaris, to discuss how to defend Hindus from the ‘new menace’. 129 It
proposed that a Hindu volunteer corps should be raised to fight the Punjabi Muslim
police force. They promised a sum of rupees twenty-five lakhs to fund this campaign.
police sources, declared that ‘Gandhian philosophy must be shelved for the mo-
ment’. 130 The meeting also decided to sponsor a social campaign for removing the
practice of purdah among Hindu women, especially in Marwari families. In fact, they
agreed that every Hindu woman had to be ‘trained in the use of dagger’ for protecting
herself. 131 Finally, it sought the help of all parties, especially left-wing parties, to take
The left parties were not slow in responding to the call of these Marwari business-
men. The Forward Bloc took the initiative in organizing a secret meeting of left-wing
atives of the North Calcutta Forward Bloc, the Socialist Party of India (SPI) and the
Revolutionary Socialist Party of India (RSPI) met on 20 April 1947. 132 Referring to
the 100 Harrison Road incident, Sohan Lal Misra of the Forward Bloc declared that
Calcutta Hindus were helpless and their lives and property were insecure because of
raise a secret and underground ‘militant organization’; only the name of the ‘General
129
Special Branch report dated 20 April 1947, K.P.M. No. 01820/05; S.B. File No. 938 II,
P.M. (1947), SBR, CP.
130
Ibid.
131
Ibid.
132
Ibid.
228
Officer Commanding’ would be announced ‘for the purpose of issuing the necessary
This was primarily a Forward Bloc proposal; SPI and RSPI did not commit to the
programme. This was not because they were against Hindu communal volunteer or-
ganizations in principle; they had to seek permission from their respective party lead-
erships before planning joint action with other (rival) left parties. What happened of
the proposals is difficult to tell, but police reports confirmed left-wing initiatives in
setting up volunteer organizations in Calcutta for protection of Hindus. 134 The For-
ward Bloc was the most enthusiastic in this regard. A police note dated 17 April 1947
spoke of Forward Bloc activists visiting riot-prone areas of Calcutta on the pretext of
peace missions to organize Hindus to fight Muslims. In Tangra, for example, Forward
Bloc party workers allegedly began to collect subscriptions from Hindu residents to
raise a Hindu volunteer militia. 135 The Special Branch reported that they had also ap-
proached the Bengal Provincial Hindu Mahasabha for funds. They were allegedly
working in cooperation with Madaripur Jugantar Party activists to procure bombs and
Other police reports also spoke of a nexus between Hindu communal organizations
and the Forward Bloc. The Hindu Seva Sangha, for example, had allegedly employed
Sohan Lal Misra of the Forward Bloc on a monthly salary of five hundred rupees,
133
Ibid.
134
For an account of the connections between Hindu communal politics and socialist groups
in the United Provinces in the late colonial period, see William Gould, Hindu Nationalism
and the Language of Politics in Late Colonial India, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
2004.
135
Special Branch Note dated 17 April 1947, K.P.M. No. 01820/05; S.B. File No. 938 II,
P.M. (1947), SBR, CP.
136
Ibid.
229
provided him with a car, and instructed him to visit communally sensitive areas of
Calcutta to collect evidence on Punjabi Muslim police atrocities. 137 Another Hindu
organization, the Kashi Visvanath Seva Samiti, was reportedly assisting him in his
work. 138 The Burrabazar Branch of SPI had also set up a Volunteer Corps, a police
report claimed. A similar ambiguity marked the ‘fiery speech’ of Ram Manohar
Lohia, the Congress Socialist Party (CSP) stalwart, at yet another meeting hosted by
bi Muslim policemen and the 100 Harrison Road Case), Lohia suggested that ‘we
should jump upon the goondas with a vow either to die or to kill them’ rather than
‘send wire to the Governor or Viceroy asking for remedy’. 139 Making appeals to gov-
meetings – all these were ‘meaningless’ and sign of a ‘weak mentality’. 140 ‘Either kill
or be killed’, for there was ‘no worse cowardice’ than ‘witnessing ravages on wom-
en’; there was ‘no better opportunity’ for embracing ‘glorious death’. 141 Of course, he
insisted, it was not ‘a strife between Hindus and Muslims’. However, he warned that
under no circumstances was anyone to flee any part of Calcutta, for ‘[t]o evacuate is
to cooperate with Jinnah’. 142 He instructed Hindus to refrain from killing Muslims, as
this would also help Jinnah. He further added, ‘if the Indian Hindus work in the polit-
ical field as residents of Hindustan, the problems of Hindustan will be solved, even
137
‘Miscellaneous: Communal Situation’, 8 April 1947, K.P.M. No. 01823/05; S.B. File No.
938 IV, P.M. (1947), SBR, CP.
138
Ibid.
139
Daily Krishak, 23 April 1947; English translation of the article can be found in K.P.M. No.
01821/05, S.B. File No. 938 II (C), P.M. (1947), SBR, CP.
140
Ibid.
141
Ibid.
142
Ibid.
230
without the cooperation of the Muslims’. 143 Thus, despite being cloaked in a non-
communal rhetoric, Lohia’s speech was ultimately directed against Muslims. The
‘goondas’ he referred to, who were allegedly outraging women of Calcutta, read con-
textually, invariably referred to Muslim goondas. Delivered one day before the 23
April strike, from a platform sponsored by Marwari financiers of the agitation led by
the Mahasabha, one is hardly left with any doubt about the anti-Muslim insinuations
Considerable trade union support was forthcoming for the 23 April strike as well.
This was, at least in part, because the husband of the victim in the Harrison Road in-
cident was an employee of the telephone department. As a result, the All India Tele-
graph Union, which represented both telephone and telegraph workers, came out in
support of the proposed Hindu Mahasabha hartal. On 17 April 1947, the general sec-
retary of the All India Telegraph Union issued a press statement condemning the ‘das-
tardly crime’ at 100 Harrison Road and threatened a general suspension of work ‘till
conditions were such that they [workers] could feel secure and go about their lawful
avocations freely’. 144 Members of the union met on 19 April 1947 with Mrinal Kanti
Bose of the All India Trade Union Congress (AITUC) as president. 145 The meeting
100 Harrison Road by the guardians of law and order’. 146 Other unions soon joined
Association resolved that Corporation workers, other than those in departments deal-
143
Ibid.
144
The Statesman, 18 April 1947.
145
Amrita Bazar Patrika, 21 April 1947.
146
Ibid.
231
ing with ambulance, maternity homes, dispensaries, water works, pumping stations,
burning ghats and burial grounds, would observe a one-day strike on 23 April
1947. 147 The same day, the Executive Committee of the Calcutta Chemists’ and
Druggists’ Association came out in support of the strike and resolved to close down
medicine markets. With the exception of prescription drugs, members of the Associa-
tion resolved not to sell medicines on that day. 148 The General Council of the Bengal
Provincial Trade Union Congress also adopted a resolution on 19 April 1947 con-
demning ‘excesses’ of Pathan and Punjabi police. They decided to postpone a jute
workers’ strike as it was ‘unsafe to launch a general strike in the middle of communal
disturbances’. 149 The Central Intelligence Officer of Calcutta also confirmed that bus
and taxi drivers had decided to suspend work for the day. 150 Thus, the 23 April strike,
sponsored by the Hindu Mahasabha, garnered wide support from labour organizations
The agitation also gained support from Sikh organizations in Calcutta. The Hindu-
Sikh Minority Protection Committee, one of the many anti-Muslim volunteer organi-
zations that sprang up in the aftermath of the Calcutta Killing, promised support of the
Sikhs for the 23 April strike. 151 A meeting of Sikh leaders held at the Jagat Sudhar
Gurdwara on 20 April 1947 adopted a similar resolution. 152 The general secretary of
the Sri Guru Singh Sabha released a press statement the same day appealing to the
147
Amrita Bazar Patrika, 22 April 1947.
148
Ibid.
149
Special Branch report titled ‘BPTUC’, date illegible, K.P.M. No. 01820/05; S.B. File No.
938 II, P.M. (1947), SBR, CP.
150
Special Branch Report, 22 April 1947, ibid.
151
Report entitled ‘Bengal Provincial Hindu Mahasabha’, undated, ibid.
152
Report entitled ‘Singh Sabha’, undated, ibid.
232
Sikhs of Calcutta ‘to join all sane elements in condemning goondaism’. 153 He urged
them to organize a ‘non-violent protest’ until Muslim goondas had left Bengal. 154 Of
course, many Sikhs had allied with Hindus even during the Calcutta Killing. But in
this agitation against Punjabi Muslim policemen, the stakes of the Sikhs of Calcutta
were higher. They were at pains to leave no doubt in the minds of the Hindus that de-
spite being Punjabis themselves, they had no sympathy for Punjabi Muslims. In view
anti-non-Bengali rhetoric (as evident from N.C. Chatterjee’s speech discussed above),
it is unsurprising that the Sikhs were keen to prevent an anti-Punjabi Muslim agitation
The response of the Congress to the call for a strike on 23 April remains the most
remarkable. The Hindu Mahasabha had made it clear from the very outset that the fi-
nal decision about the proposed hartal was subject to ratification by the Executive
Council of the Bengal Provincial Congress Committee (BPCC). 155 It took the Con-
gress days to finally come out with a statement. When it did, it turned out to be dubi-
ous, aimed only at sitting on the fence. The BPCC passed a resolution on 21 April as-
suring the public that the Executive Committee was aware of ‘the intensity of feeling’
generated in Calcutta as a result of the ‘collapse of law and order’. 156 It said that the
Congress had also ‘noted’ the proposal for the strike. However, the BPCC had previ-
the Direct Action Day) and believed that this could ‘complicate the already critical
153
Hindusthan Standard, 21 April 1947.
154
Ibid.
155
Report entitled ‘Bengal Provincial Hindu Mahasabha’, undated, K.P.M. No. 01820/05;
S.B. File No. 938 II, P.M. (1947), SBR, CP.
156
Hindusthan Standard, 22 April 1947.
233
communal situation’. 157 The resolution declared that it appreciated the degree of pub-
lic resentment against the ‘general lawlessness’ in view of which ‘such moves are
natural to be initiated’. Thus ‘whatever is done in any quarter’, the Executive Com-
mittee called upon Congress activists and the public at large to preserve peace ‘even
in the face of grave provocation’. 158 The BPCC was aware, the resolution explained,
that ‘anti-revolutionary and reactionary forces’ were keen to ‘put obstacles at the time
of peaceful and undivided transference of power’. Thus the Congress felt its obliga-
tion to ‘organize mass support… to meet every contingency in this critical time’ and
authorised BPCC President Surendra Mohan Ghosh to ‘set up the requisite machinery
such as a Council of Action’. 159 This convoluted resolution ensured that the Congress
could claim credit for the campaign, project itself as the champion of the ‘sufferings
of the law abiding and the toiling masses’, 160 yet keep its options open for distancing
Joya Chatterji has argued that during the last months of the Raj, it was the Con-
gress that championed the Hindu cause in Bengal, while the Mahasabha provided the
161
backing. But evidence suggests that the overall complexion of Congress-
Mahasabha relation was more symbiotic. While the Congress took the lead in defend-
ing Hindu communal interests in the legislative sphere, it largely left the dirty work of
Even if it is true that the Congress, on its own, held the majority of public meetings to
157
Ibid.
158
Ibid.
159
Ibid.
160
Ibid.
161
Chatterji, Bengal Divided, pp. 251-252.
234
gain public support for Bengal’s partition, 162 Mahasabha’s anti-Muslim hate cam-
paign on the streets took the issue to a different level altogether. On the one hand, it
seems, Congress’s agenda was to pose as the cool-headed negotiator; its leaders main-
ly wanted to generate public support for the legislative part of the partition campaign.
The Mahasabha, on the other hand, was allowed to play the role of the rabble-rouser.
Both could take credit for whatever this lethal cocktail of communal combination
managed to achieve.
The strike on 23 April 1947 was a considerable success, especially in Hindu domi-
nated areas. 163 Shops, markets, cinemas and educational institutions remained shut.
Employees of banks and mercantile offices stayed away from their workplaces, while
remained closed and workers in Ordnance Depots and the Corporation in North Cal-
cutta refused to work. Taxis, rickshaws and carts did not come out onto the streets,
while buses operated on very few routes. Although trams ran on some routes in the
morning, these were soon withdrawn due to ‘public interference’. 164 At some places,
large crowds took to the streets. Instances of brickbat-throwing took place on a large
scale. A bomb exploded on Vivekananda Road. The police made a few arrests and
fired tear gas shells, injuring some protesters. It was business as usual, however, in
Muslim-majority areas of the city, hampered only by the scarcity of transport. 165
162
Ibid., p. 251.
163
‘Miscellaneous: Hartal on 23 April 1947’, 24 April 1947, ibid.
164
Ibid.
165
SRPSB, second half of April 1947, L/PJ/5/154, IOR.
235
In this campaign, justice for the woman whom the policemen had allegedly raped
took a back seat. This issue became a mere pawn in the larger Hindu campaign for
Bengal’s partition. The fallout was a widening of the communal fissure in Calcutta
even further. It hammered the last nail in the coffin of whatever public enthusiasm the
United Bengal scheme had managed to generate. Whatever little balm it may have
been able to administer to the communal wound in Bengal, the anti-Muslim propa-
ganda that accompanied the partition campaign successfully washed it away. The
Punjabi Muslim police – now the symbol of Muslim oppression – became the locus
around which this communal discourse in Bengal came to be framed. In this dis-
course, partition of the province on communal lines came to be projected as the only
escape the Hindus had from physical annihilation under Muslim rule. It remained so
until 3 June 1947, when the British government announced its decision to partition
Bengal.
Propaganda against Punjabi Muslim policemen never died out after the 23 April
strike. The issue was kept alive by recurrent reports of Punjabi policemen allegedly
raping Hindu women. On 7 May 1947, for example, the Hindusthan Standard report-
ed that two armed Punjabi Muslim policemen had ‘criminally trespassed’ into a house
on Canal Circular Road, confined the residents into a balcony at gunpoint and raped a
thirty-year-old widow. 166 Even when the culprits were caught, newspaper reports al-
leged that the guilty policemen were simply confined to their barracks without ar-
166
Hindusthan Standard, 9 May 1947; Hindusthan Standard, 21 May 1947.
236
rest. 167 The Hindu Mahasabha claimed that Punjabi Muslim policemen were hand in
glove with League activists who had orders from its High Command to kill Hindus.
licemen were kidnapping Hindus from the streets and handing over to Muslim Na-
tional Guard volunteers and Muslim League relief workers. They were then taken to a
that Muslim League relief workers roamed around in communally mixed neighbour-
hoods, threw bombs and crackers themselves and implicated Hindu residents by giv-
ing false evidence to the police. 169 In a similar vein, a leaflet claiming to solve the
‘Mystery of Disappearance of Arrested Persons in Calcutta’ 170 declared that the Pun-
jabi policemen randomly arrested Hindus on the plea of violating curfew orders,
handed them over to ‘murder gangs’ in slaughter houses, where the unfortunate vic-
tims were butchered, chopped into small pieces, packed in wooden crates and sent
outside the city ‘for an unknown destination’. 171 The author of the leaflet advised
Hindus that the best way to deal with Punjabi Muslim policemen when they came to
make an arrest was to kill them at once. If that was not possible, they should run
away. If they felt trapped, they should immediately raise an alarm and seek assistance
167
Confidential diary entry by Sub-Inspector Pramatha Chakraborty, 9 May 1947, K.P.M. No.
01821/05; File No. 938/47 II (C), P.M. (1947), SBR, CP.
168
‘Bengal Provincial Hindu Mahasabha’, 20 April 1947, K.P.M. No. 01820/05; S.B. File No.
938 II, P.M. (1947), SBR, CP.
169
Ibid.
170
Anonymous leaflet, title illegible, undated, K.P.M. No. 01823/05; S.B. File No. 938 IV,
P.M. (1947), SBR, CP.
171
Ibid.
172
Ibid.
237
By the middle of May 1947, Syama Prasad Mookerjee was directly addressing the
press warning Hindus of the Bengal ministry’s attempts at recruiting more Muslims
from the Punjab into Calcutta’s armed police. Despite posing as a ‘believer in the sol-
idarity of the Hindu race and in the need for a sovereign and united Bengal’,
Mookerjee warned, Suhrawardy had dispatched recruiting parties to the Punjab coun-
tryside, and had already enlisted two hundred more of such Punjabi Muslims for Cal-
cutta Police. 173 He hoped that this would finally open the eyes of those Hindus who
were still ‘fraternizing with the Muslim League and Mr. Suhrawardy’ and attempting
to ‘purchase peace for Bengali Hindus’ by indulging in ‘unholy pacts and negotia-
tions’ – referring, of course, to the supporters of the United Bengal movement. 174 On
20 May 1947, Mookerjee issued another press statement. He asserted that the Hindu
Mahasabha had now received confirmation not only that the Bengal ministry was re-
cruiting more Punjabi Muslims for the armed police of both Bengal and Calcutta, but
that the ministry had instructed recruiters to ensure that the new men were brought to
the province by 2 June 1947, the expected date for the British government’s an-
nouncement on India’s future. 175 Thus, in case the British Government agreed to par-
tition Bengal, a massive riot would follow. Mookerjee asked the Viceroy, the Home
Member and the Governor to ‘intervene immediately’ and ‘prevent further complica-
tions’. 176
The Muslim League and the various organizations under its umbrella, as well as
the League-leaning press, remained defensive all through the campaign. Until the 100
173
Amrita Bazar Patrika, 17 May 1947.
174
Ibid.
175
Amrita Bazar Patrika, 20 May 1947.
176
Ibid.
238
Harrison Road Case came to light, some League newspapers expressed open support
for Suhrawardy’s police recruitment policy. An article published in early April 1947
in Azad, for example, asserted that the newly-recruited Punjabi Muslim policemen
were, in fact, completely non-partisan and non-communal; the Hindus hated them as
they feared that their neutrality would frustrate the Hindu conspiracy to exterminate
the Muslims of Calcutta – the city where the Muslims were a minority. It declared that
the handful of Punjabi Muslims already serving in Calcutta Police was thoroughly in-
adequate and demanded that at least a few thousand more of such policemen be
brought in to tackle the increasing difficulty of administering ‘the Great City of the
East’. 177 With time, as the Hindu campaign against the Punjabi Muslim police became
louder, open defence of such policemen became difficult. League propaganda increas-
Hindu policemen, especially the Gurkha armed police. In a localized outbreak of vio-
lence in Beliaghata in early April 1947, for example, local Muslims blamed the ‘al-
leged partiality of the Gurkha Armed police picket’ for the murder of an Imam, dese-
cration of a mosque and destruction of the tomb of a pir. 179 They demanded that
the name of Anjuman-e-Mufidul Islam sprang up, again in early April, to register
Muslim complaints against ‘police excesses’. 181 While a section of the Muslim
League blamed Suhrawardy for ‘Hindu appeasement’ and failing to protect Mus-
177
Azad, 8 April 1947.
178
See ‘Miscellaneous: Communal Situation in Calcutta’, 5 April 1947, K.P.M. No.
01820/05; S.B. File No. 938 II, P.M. (1947), SBR, CP.
179
Communal Situation in Calcutta, 9 April 1947, ibid.
180
Ibid.
181
Azad, 9 April 1947; Report of Inspector A.G. Khan, 25 April 1947, K.P.M. No. 01820/05;
S.B. File No. 938 II, P.M. (1947), SBR, CP. Confidential diary entry from Inspector A.G.
Khan, 25 April 1947; K.P.M. No. 01821/05; File No. 938/47 II (C), P.M. (1947), SBR, CP.
239
lims, 182 others blamed Hindus and their organizations for keeping the tension high
in order to discredit the ministry and strengthen their campaign for the partition of
Bengal. 183
By the end of May 1947, Calcutta was rife with rumours of communal trouble on 2
June 1947. On the eve of Mountbatten’s declaration of 3 June 1947, stipulating the
future shape of India and Bengal after British withdrawal, both Hindus and Muslims
Muslim-majority areas of the city that Hindu Mahasabha was collecting arms and
planning a concerted attack on Muslims if the demand for Bengal’s partition was not
conceded. However, if Bengal was partitioned, officers of the Calcutta Police predict-
ed a bout of anti-Hindu violence. They were convinced that Muslims would not ‘con-
cede Calcutta to the Hindus without a fight’. 185 Police informers reported that Muslim
families in Calcutta were stocking up food for at least a fortnight, and that secret
meetings were being held in all Muslim dominated areas ‘almost everyday for defence
Yet, the campaign for Bengal Partition championed by the Mahasabha and the
Bengal Congress was so systematic and vigorous, both in the realms of formal politics
as well as in the domain of street agitations, that for many weeks before the 3 June
182
Special Branch Notes, undated, K.P.M. No. 01820/05; S.B. File No. 938 II, P.M. (1947),
SBR, CP; ‘Communal Situation in Calcutta’, 15 April 1947, ibid.
183
Statement of a Special Branch Secret Agent: ‘Communal Situation in the City’, 21 May
1947, K.P.M. No. 01823/05; S.B. File No. 938 IV, P.M. (1947), SBR, CP.
184
Ibid. Also see ‘D.C. North’s information regarding a Muslim outburst before 2 June 1947,
ibid; Syamaprasad Mookerjee’s press statement in Amrita Bazar Patrika, 20 May 1947.
185
Ibid.
186
‘Muslim Affairs: Apprehension of Trouble on 2 June 1947’, K.M.P. No. 01824/05, S.B.
File No. 938V, P.M. (1947), SBR, CP.
240
announcement the partition of the province seemed like a foregone conclusion. De-
spite all the rumours of preparation for protesting the loss of Calcutta with violence,
Muslims of the city seemed to have lost heart and were reconciled to the success of
the Hindu campaign. Of course, there were Muslim League leaders who, despite ini-
tial protests about losing dominance over Calcutta, were not particularly unhappy
about letting it go, such as those who wanted Dacca to be the centre of Bengal politics
in Pakistan. But for many Muslim families of Calcutta, the partition of Bengal and
They had to renegotiate their position within a new political environment that would
certainly be hostile to those Muslims who would choose to remain in the city. They
knew that in the new scheme of things, they would certainly have to negotiate their
place in the city from a position of weakness rather than of strength. As the events of
the following years confirmed, their apprehensions did not prove to be unfounded.
Conclusion
This chapter intended to illuminate the nature of popular mobilization for Bengal’s
partition in Calcutta. Control over Calcutta had shaped the Pakistan demand even at
the all-India level. The Muslim League claimed it as an intrinsic part of Pakistan. On
the other hand, many Hindus saw Calcutta as the centre of their culture and politics
tics. Therefore, they claimed a historical right over the city and argued for its sever-
ance from the Muslim-majority areas of Bengal. Agitation in the city’s streets, there-
fore, constituted a major part of the partition campaign in Bengal. The figure of the
newly recruited Punjabi Muslim policemen provided a symbol around which the
241
campaign consolidated itself. The 100 Harrison Road Case gave the pro-Partition
sented the regime under Suhrawardy as a foretaste of ‘Muslim tyranny’ 187 to which
Hindus would be subjected if the whole of Bengal was allowed to pass into the hands
of Pakistan.
The United Bengal movement, which many historians have celebrated as a non-
communal alternative to India’s Partition, failed to carry the day when faced with this
vigorous campaign for Bengal’s partition. Yet, a part of the blame must lie with the
intrinsic lack of legitimacy of leaders of the campaign. It became too easy for the Par-
tition campaign to project the United Bengal movement as the last attempt of failed
‘Thus [United Bengal] plan has two authors – one has no past, Shaheed Suhrawardy,
the other has no future, Sarat Chandra Bose. Their commodity has, therefore, no mar-
ket.’ 188
But more than anything else, the street campaigns during this period, represented
an acute crisis of state power. In the perception of large numbers of Bengali Hindus,
not only had the everyday state degenerated into a machine of ‘Hindu oppression’, but
those institutions which could intervene to protect them and deliver justice had also
187
Chatterji, Bengal Divided.
188
P S Mathur, ‘Sovereign Bengal’, Hindusthan Standard, 2 and 3 August 1945. Quoted in
Gordon, Brothers Against the Raj, p. 578. The statement was made by Altaf Hussain, whom
Mathur quoted in his article.
242
their behalf. Even Calcutta’s Muslims seemed to have given up the battle for protect-
ing their socio-economic and political position in the city even before the British gov-
ernment finally announced the decision to partition Bengal. This exemplified the pe-
243
Chapter 5
1947, British India was destined to be partitioned into two sovereign nation-states –
India and Pakistan. The announcement also settled the fate of Calcutta. It was to
become the provincial capital of a Hindu-majority West Bengal and join the Indian
Union.
But rather than resist, the Muslims seemed to have reconciled themselves to their des-
tiny. They either left for Pakistan or accepted a life of a religious minority. While
most rich and influential Muslims left for Pakistan, a large number of poorer Muslims
stayed behind. Deprived of patronage and protection from their powerful co-
religionists, the latter were reduced to a position of acute vulnerability. This chapter
vulnerable, not just to the tyranny of their Hindu rivals, but also to the state machinery
1
For the announcement on 3 June 1947 see ‘Statement by His Majesty’s Government, dated
the 3rd June 1947’, Partition Proceedings (6 vols.), New Delhi: Government of India Press,
1949, vol. I, p. 2. See Joya Chatterji, The Spoils of Partition: Bengal and India, 1947-1967,
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007, p. 20.
2
Statement of a Special Branch Secret Agent: ‘Communal Situation in the City’, 21 May
1947, K.P.M. No. 01823/05; S.B. File No. 938 IV, P.M. (1947), Special Branch Records,
Calcutta Police (henceforth, SBR, CP).
244
Earlier chapters have argued that decolonization in the subcontinent needs to be
understood as a crisis in the way the late colonial state came to be imagined in quotid-
ian life. These have tried to show that despite attempts by the government to sustain a
sublime image of the colonial state, popular politics and everyday encounters with
agencies of the local state repeatedly reduced it only to its profane dimensions. 3 After
3 June, the new leaders preparing to take over the reins of administration realised that
if the institutions of the post-colonial state had to command authority, they needed to
resurrect the state’s sublime imaginary – those dimensions of state power they had
themselves delegitimized in the past by mobilizing their followers against the gov-
ernment. But this was no easy task. They had to be careful not to compromise their
dominance in their effort at reinstating the idea of an impartial, benevolent and just
state. This required an immediate readjustment of social relations, which, in turn, re-
quired the subordination of ‘internal enemies’. Muslims who stayed back became the
rather late in the day. Beginning in the 1990s, against the backdrop of a resurgence of
3
For a discussion on the distinction between ‘sublime’ and ‘profane’ dimensions of the state,
see Thomas Blom Hansen, ‘Governance and Myths of State in Mumbai’ in C.J. Fuller and
Véronique Bénéï (eds.), The Everyday State and Society in Modern India, London: Hurst,
2001, pp. 31-67; also see Thomas Blom Hansen, Violence in Urban India: Identity Politics,
Mumbai and the Post-Colonial City, Delhi; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998.
4
For a discussion of how Indian Muslims emerged as ‘internal enemies’ par excellence after
partition, see Gyanendra Pandey, ‘Can a Muslim be an Indian?’, Comparative Studies in Soci-
ety and History, vol. 41, no. 4, October 1999, pp. 608-29. For a discussion on the contradic-
tion posed between ‘Bengali’ and ‘Muslim’ identities in Bengal, see Joya Chatterji, ‘The
Bengali Muslim: A Contradiction in Terms? An Overview of the Debate on Bengali Muslim
Identity’, Comparative Studies in South Asia, Africa and the Middle East, vol. 16, no. 2, 1996,
pp. 16-24.
245
communal violence, this scholarship was dominated, with a few notable exceptions,5
But these works paid little attention to the period of transition between the last days of
the Raj and the immediate aftermath of partition. This period, this chapter will argue,
was crucial to the making of the post-colonial Indian state as well as to the position of
5
One of the most influential historical studies of the 1990s on the fate of Muslim minorities
after Partition was by Mushirul Hasan, Legacy of a Divided Nation: India’s Muslims since
Independence, London: Hurst & Company, 1997.
6
Some of the most influential works on communal violence in independent India since the
1990s include Thomas Blom Hansen, Wages of Violence: Naming and Identity in Postcoloni-
al Bombay, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2001; Veena Das (ed.), Mirrors of Vio-
lence: Communities, Riots and Survivors in South Asia, Delhi; Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 1992; Paul R. Brass, Theft of an Idol: Text and Context in the Representation of Collec-
tive Violence, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1997; Paul R. Brass, The Production of
Hindu-Muslim Violence in Contemporary India, London: University of Washington Press,
2003; Paul R. Brass, Forms of Collective Violence: Riots, Pogroms and Genocide in Modern
India, New Delhi: Three Essays Collective, 2006; Asghar Ali Engineer, Communal Riots af-
ter Independence: A Comprehensive Account, Delhi: Shipra, 2004; Ashutosh Varshney, Eth-
nic Conflict and Civic Life: Hindus and Muslims in India, New Haven: Yale University Press,
2002; Ornit Shani, Communalism, Caste and Hindu Nationalism: The Violence in Gujarat,
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007.
7
Thomas Blom Hansen and Christophe Jaffrelot (eds.), The BJP and the Compulsions of
Politics in India, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1998; Christophe Jaffrelot, The Hindu Na-
tionalist Movement and Indian Politics, 1925 to the 1990s: Strategies of State Building, Im-
plantation and Mobilization (With Specific Reference to Central India), London: Hurst &
Company, 1993; Peter Van der Veer, Religious Nationalisms: Hindus and Muslims in India,
Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994; Ornit Shani, ‘The Rise of Hindu Nationalism
in India: The Case Study of Ahmedabad in the 1980s’, Modern Asian Studies, vol. 39, no. 4,
2005, pp. 681-96.
8
Perhaps the most influential collection of essays on secularism in the 1990s was Rajeev
Bhargava (ed.), Secularism and its Critics, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1998; Other
influential studies on Indian secularism include William Gould, ‘Contesting “Secularism” in
Colonial and Postcolonial North India between the 1930s and 1950s’, Contemporary South
Asia, vol. 14, no. 4, 2005, pp. 481-94; Achin Vanaik, The Furies of Indian Communalism:
Religion, Modernity and Secularization, London: Verso, 1997; Rochana Bajpai, Debating
Difference: Group Rights and Liberal Democracy in India, New Delhi: Oxford University
Press, 2011; Taylor C. Sherman, Muslim Belonging in Secular India: Negotiating Citizenship
in Postcolonial Hyderabad, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015. Also see the re-
cent collection of essays: Humeira Iqtidar and Tanika Sarkar (eds.), ‘Revisiting Secularisa-
tion’ Economic and Political Weekly, Special Issue, vol. 48, no. 50, 14 December 2013.
246
Since the early 2000s, historians have begun studying the transition from the colo-
chapter hopes to engage in a dialogue with this body of scholarship, with a shared
concern about how the everyday state shaped the quotidian experience of citizenship
for marginalized groups. However, it focuses more narrowly on the period of inter-
regnum when ideas of both subjecthood and citizenship were in a state of flux. After
the 3 June announcement, the status of Indians as colonial subjects began to give way
to an anticipation of national citizenship. Yet these would-be citizens only had a faint
idea about what precisely Indian citizenship would look like. Their position can best
be described as a state of being ‘neither subject nor citizen’. This chapter will argue
that this was a decisive moment when the relationship between the state and its future
9
Chatterji, Spoils of Partition; Gyanesh Kudaisya, Region, Nation, “Heartland”: Uttar Pra-
desh in India’s Body Politic, New Delhi: Sage Publications, 2006; Sekhar Bandyopadhyay,
Decolonization in South Asia: Meanings of Freedom in Post-Independence West Bengal,
1947-52, London; New York: Routledge, 2009; Taylor C. Sherman, ‘The Integration of the
Princely State of Hyderabad and the Making of Postcolonial India, 1948-56’, Indian Econom-
ic and Social History Review, vol. 44, no. 4, 2007, pp. 1358-88; Taylor C. Sherman, State
Violence and Punishment in India, London: Routledge, 2010; Sarah Ansari, Life After Parti-
tion: Migration, Community and Strife in Sindh, 1947-1962, Karachi; Oxford: Oxford Uni-
versity Press, 2005; William Gould, Bureaucracy, Community and Influence: Society and the
State in India, 1930-1960s, London: Routledge, 2011; William Gould, Religion and Conflict
in Modern South Asia, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012.
10
Taylor C. Sherman, William Gould, and Sarah Ansari (eds.), From Subjects to Citizens:
Society and the Everyday State in India and Pakistan, 1947-1970, Delhi; Cambridge: Cam-
bridge University Press, 2014; William Gould, Taylor C. Sherman, and Sarah Ansari, ‘The
Flux of the Matter: Loyalty, Corruption and the “Everyday State” in Post-Partition Govern-
ment Services of India and Pakistan’, Past and Present, vol. 291, no. 1, May 2013, pp. 247-
53. There is also a growing literature on citizenship in India. See Joya Chatterji, ‘South Asian
Histories of Citizenship, 1947-1970’, The Historical Journal, vol. 55, no. 4, 2012, pp. 1049-
71; Ornit Shani, ‘Conceptions of Citizenship in India and the “Muslim Question”’, Modern
Asian Studies, vol. 44, no. 1, January 2010, pp. 145-173.
247
The fate of Muslims who stayed back in Calcutta is potentially a richly productive
site for this investigation. But unfortunately the subject has not received adequate at-
tention from scholars. Among the small corpus of literature that exists, Joya
Chatterji’s work stands out as the most important and detailed exposition on the sub-
lel concern with refugees. Thus, Muslims who ‘stayed on’ in West Bengal stand in
contrast to the Hindu refugees who ‘moved’. The underlying conceptual framing of
the theme, therefore, reflects her ongoing concerns with migration (or ‘staying on’)
and mobility (or immobility). This framing also structures the way in which the pro-
space, with Hindus (especially Hindu refugees) grabbing the space (both physical and
cultural) that Muslims had occupied in the days before partition. The state makes an
This chapter, on the other hand, puts the local state apparatus at the centre stage in
cannot be understood without taking the priorities and intervention of state agencies
seriously.
This chapter will begin with an account of the way Hindu ‘goonda’ gangs were
dealt with by the new state-in-the-making. The next section will discuss the tropes
through which Hindu groups and their media articulated their anti-Muslim prejudice
11
Chatterji, Spoils of Partition, pp. 159-208. Joya Chatterji, ‘Of Graveyards and Ghettos:
Muslims in Partitioned West Bengal, 1947-1967’ in Mushirul Hasan and Asim Roy (eds.),
Living Together Separately: Cultural India in History and Politics, New Delhi; Oxford: Ox-
ford University Press, 2005, pp. 222-49.
248
in the days after partition, justifying, indeed pushing for, the subordination of the
Muslim minority under the new regime. The last section will describe how the new
state machinery dealt with Muslim minorities and the changes this brought about in
Communal fractures within Bengal’s high politics had deepened since the Com-
munal Award and the Government of India Act of the 1930s. By the time tensions be-
came acute after the Cabinet Mission Plan in July 1946, hostilities had opened up be-
tween the Hindu and Muslim masses in their respective neighbourhoods in Calcutta.
interests. Gang leaders frequently had close ties with important public figures in the
world of formal politics. After 1947, if the restructured machinery of the new nation-
state was to take root in the city, both Hindu and Muslim gangs of the Calcutta un-
derworld had to be controlled. But this had different implications for Hindu and Mus-
12
India and Burma Committee – Indian Political Situation: Memorandum by the Secretary of
State for India, 15 August 1945, Nicholas Mansergh and Penderel Moon (eds.), The Transfer
of Power, 1942-47: Constitutional Relations between Britain and India, vol. VI, London: Her
Majesty’s Stationery Office, 1976, no. 28, pp. 70-71. Also see Suranjan Das and J.K. Ray,
The Goondas: Towards a Reconstruction of the Calcutta Underworld, Calcutta: Firma
K.L.M., 1996; Suranjan Das, ‘The “Goondas”: Towards a Reconstruction of the Calcutta Un-
derworld through Police Records’, Economic and Political Weekly, vol. 29, no. 44, 29 Octo-
ber 1994, pp. 2877-2883.
249
Independence and partition involved a radical restructuring of power relations in
Bengal. Muslim politicians now had to pack up, bag and baggage; or they had to try to
reinvent themselves. Most leaders chose to leave Calcutta. Those who stayed behind
had to function in very difficult circumstances and refashion their politics as per the
needs of the hour. They had to prioritise reconciliation with the new, largely ‘Hindu’,
was, in a sense, a defeated leadership which had to vacate and hand over effective
power to the leaders of the Hindus. At a stroke, Calcutta’s Muslims lost the position
goonda gangs not only lost their patrons but also their strength as the muscle-power of
the politically dominant community. Excluded from patronage and protection, the
Muslim underclass was left vulnerable to the depredations of the law-enforcing ma-
Even more ominously, these gangs were now exposed to the wrath of various Hin-
du gangs who saw opportunities in the changed circumstances to settle old scores.
This involved teaching ‘lessons’ to those goonda gangs who had acted as protectors
of Muslims in 1946. In these ‘pedagogic’ acts of violence, Hindu gangs expected the
For the government, however, this meant trouble. As leaders of the opposition,
they had used the Calcutta underworld to their advantage when it suited them. Now
that their objective of securing a territory over which they could rule had been
achieved, outlaws previously under their protection had to be made to mutate into
law-abiding citizens. The point is not that they were particularly concerned with the
250
fate of Muslims who decided to embrace Indian citizenship. But outbreaks of com-
munal violence could now delegitimize their claim to govern the new province. They
had to act as impartial guardians of a secular nation-state, or at least create the impres-
sion of so doing.
The task of demobilizing this subterranean world of crime was difficult and dan-
gerous. There was the obvious danger of the Hindu goondas turning against them.
The law and order machinery was not ready to cope with challenges of this sort, par-
ticularly since it, too, was in the process of being divided. Peace could best be accom-
Remarkably, it was Mahatma Gandhi, the champion of the politics of moral per-
suasion, who stepped in to fulfil this mission. Hindu politicians from Bengal who had
previously used Hindu goondas for their vested interests in the past did not have the
moral authority to perform this delicate task. The few Muslim leaders who remained
hailed the Mahatma’s intervention. 13 It was their last hope of securing some protec-
tion for the lives and properties of Muslims in the city. If it went well, Muslim leaders
could even hope to improve their public standing in the new order by huddling under
Gandhi’s relationship with Bengal was a troubled one. Since the days of the
Swadeshi movement, Bengal had been the nerve-centre of extremist politics, a herit-
13
Manubehn Gandhi, The Miracle of Calcutta (tr. Gopalrao Kulkarni), Ahmedabad:
Navajivan Publishing House, 1959, pp. 19-20.
251
age widely cherished by its people. 14 Gandhian ideals of non-violence had far less
popular appeal here than in many other parts of India. In the domain of Congress poli-
tics, moreover, Gandhi had always faced stiff resistance from Bengal. 15 In the 1920s,
Chittaranjan Das had led the Swarajist opposition to his leadership of the Congress,
together with Motilal Nehru. 16 In the 1930s, as the prevailing mood within the Bengal
Congress became more inward-looking, Gandhi, as the central figure of the Congress
High Command, became the object of opposition for a range of powerful leaders
when in 1939, at the annual session of the Indian National Congress at Tripuri, he
forced Subhas Bose to resign from the position of Congress President. 18 Gandhi’s op-
position to Bose was seen as proof of the High Command’s disregard for Bengal’s
interests. In the following years, the central Congress leadership attempted to weed
out opposition from within the Bengal Provincial Congress, 19 but it did not help im-
prove their public standing in the province. Gandhi, however, decided to make Ben-
gal, which had never really embraced him, the theatre of his experiments in commu-
nal harmony. In October 1946, when Noakhali in eastern Bengal went up in flames,
14
Sumit Sarkar, The Swadeshi Movement in Bengal, 1903-1908, New Delhi: People’s Pub-
lishing House, 1973.
15
Chatterji, Bengal Divided.
16
Rajat Kanta Ray, Urban Roots of Indian Nationalism: Pressure Groups and Conflict of In-
terest in Calcutta City Politics, 1875-1939, New Delhi: Vikas, 1979; Rajat Kanta Ray, Social
Conflict and Political Unrest in Bengal, 1875-1927, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1984;
Tanika Sarkar, Bengal, 1928-1934: The Politics of Protest, Delhi; Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 1987; Gitasree Bandyopadhyay, Constraints in Bengal Politics, 1921-41: Gandhian
Leadership, Calcutta: Sarat Book House, 1984.
17
Joya Chatterji, Bengal Divided: Hindu Communalism and Partition, 1932-1947, Cam-
bridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994; Leonard Gordon, Bengal: The Nationalist Move-
ment, 1876-1940, New York; London: Columbia University Press, 1974.
18
Leonard Gordon, Brothers against the Raj: A Biography of Indian Nationalists Sarat and
Subhas Chandra Bose, New York: Columbia University Press, 1990; Sugata Bose, His Maj-
esty’s Opponent: Subhas Chandra Bose and India’s Struggle against Empire, Cambridge,
Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2011.
19
Chatterji, Bengal Divided.
252
Gandhi decided to dedicate himself personally to restoring peace by making Noakhali
In August 1947, Gandhi was merely passing through Calcutta on his way to
Noakhali. But on 9 August, when he arrived in the city, it was already in the grip of
communal violence. 21 Ever since the Calcutta riots of 1946, the city had scarcely
known respite from communal killings. Rumours, stabbings and localized outbreaks
of violence had kept the fires burning. Mobilizations around the Hindu demand for
Bengal’s partition on the streets of the city had only aggravated this tense atmosphere.
The 3 June announcement seemed to have brought about a ceasefire, but this was the
lull before a storm. Hope of a return to ‘normalcy’ soon vanished. Official statistics of
communal casualties in the city, invariably conservative, soared. By July, they had
returned to the levels of violence witnessed in May, before the 3 June announcement.
20
Rakesh Batabyal, Communalism in Bengal: From Famine to Noakhali, 1943-47, New Del-
hi; London: Sage, 2005; Suranjan Das, Communal Riots in Bengal, 1905-1947, New Delhi:
Oxford University Press, 1991; Anwesha Roy, ‘Making Riots, Making Peace: Communalism,
Communal Riots and Anti-Communal Resistance in Bengal, 1941-47’, PhD Thesis, Jawahar-
lal Nehru University, 2015.
21
Gandhi, The Miracle of Calcutta, p. 17; Apart from Manubehn’s account, there are two oth-
er important sources on Gandhi’s stay in Calcutta in August–September 1947: Nirmal Kumar
Bose, My Days with Gandhi, Calcutta: Nishana, 1953; Pyarelal, Mahatma Gandhi: The Last
Phase, Part II, Volume X, Ahmedabad: Navajivan Publishing House, 1958.
253
Period Communal Inci- Killed Injured
(1947) dents
Table 4.1: Data for Communal Incidents in Calcutta, Government of Bengal. Compiled from
Secret Reports on the Political Situation in Bengal (Fortnightly Reports) for the respective
periods, India Office Records, L/PJ/5/154, Year 1947, British Library.
While in Calcutta, Gandhi stayed at his ashram in Sodepur. It was here that
Suhrawardy and Muhammad Usman, two Muslim League stalwarts widely held by
the Hindus to have orchestrated the Great Calcutta Killing, met the Mahatma and
pleaded for help. They begged Gandhi not to leave for Noakhali immediately, but to
stay back in Calcutta to restore peace between Hindus and Muslims. Gandhi agreed
254
on the condition that Suhrawardy would personally ensure that Noakhali remained
peaceful. 22
north Calcutta in which all Muslims had either been killed or driven away. 23 Tempers
ran high; but, all of a sudden, peace returned to the city on the eve of independence.
Hindus and Muslims visited areas they had not been able to enter since the days of the
Killing; they embraced and congratulated each other in excitement. 24 This, Manubehn
Things went well for the next couple of weeks, with Gandhi and Suhrawardy ad-
dressing evening prayer meetings all over Calcutta and its suburbs. Satisfied with the
sion to proceed to Noakhali. Later that night, communal violence broke out all over
Calcutta. Allegedly started by Sikhs to avenge violence in the Punjab, Calcutta woke
In response, Gandhi decided to begin a fast which, he declared, would end either
with the return of peace or with his death. The violence raged for the next two days,
but by 4 September, a tentative calm began to return. The Mahatma had managed to
cast his spell, his chroniclers tell us, on both Hindus and Muslims: rioters from both
22
Gandhi, The Miracle of Calcutta, p. 19. See the entry for 11-12 August 1947.
23
Ibid., p. 21. See entry for 13 August 1947.
24
For a description of the rejoicing in Calcutta on 15 August 1947, see Sekhar
Bandyopadhyay, Decolonization in South Asia, pp. 9-17; also see Jim Masselos, ‘“The Magic
Touch of Being Free”: The Rituals of Independence on 15 August’ in Jim Masselos (ed.), In-
dia: Creating a Modern Nation, New Delhi: Sterling Publishers, 1990, pp. 37-53.
25
Gandhi, The Miracle of Calcutta.
255
communities fell at his feet and asked for forgiveness. Hindu goondas lined up to sur-
render their arms to Gandhi. Leaders across party lines signed a pledge assuring Gan-
dhi that they would personally ensure peace in Calcutta and that, should another riot
break out, they would fight it with their own lives. Satisfied at the ‘change of hearts’,
Gandhi broke his fast the same day, after addressing his evening prayers. Having ac-
complished the ‘miracle of Calcutta’, Gandhi left for Delhi on 7 September 1947.
Chroniclers of these events, who are mostly hagiographers of Gandhi, end the sto-
relentless violence apparently gave way, under the Mahatma’s spell, to an era of
peace in this riot-torn city. This remains the dominant narrative even today, which has
now been institutionalized in the official memory of the city. 26 Every year on 15 Au-
gust, the anniversary of India’s freedom from British rule is celebrated in Calcutta
The Police Museum in Calcutta has also ceremoniously put up the surrendered arms
Two features in this dramatic episode require attention. The first was the fact that
on the part of Muslims. Suhrawardy, the ex-Premier of Bengal, declared himself per-
sonally guilty of orchestrating the Great Calcutta Killing in August 1946 at a mob tri-
al, an admission extracted from him on the threat of being publicly lynched. While
26
For a discussion of institutional memory, see Pierre Nora, ‘Between Memory and History:
Les Lieux de Mémoire’, Representations, no. 26, Spring 1989, pp. 7-24.
27
Archivists at the Police Museum in Calcutta informed me of this annual performance. Un-
fortunately, I have been unable to witness this in person.
256
Manubehn’s account, aimed at demonstrating the ‘miracles’ that Mahatma was capa-
ble of, sanitizes the event to the point that Suhrawardy’s ‘confession’ comes across as
Gandhi had not dared to bring Suhrawardy to his evening prayer on 14 August 1947
as he was reluctant to give the crowd ‘the slightest cause for irritation’. 29 Upon learn-
ing that Suhrawardy had locked himself up inside the Haidari Mansion, an angry mob
attacked the building, pelting stones at the window. Suhrawardy remained ‘impassive,
muttering sardonic remarks about the young men outside’. 30 It was Gandhi who paci-
fied the crowd, telling them that Suhrawardy was ‘engaged in breaking the Ramzan
fast’, and that he would soon appear before them. 31 When the crowd temporarily
calmed down, Gandhi ‘beckoned’ Suhrawardy to his side. One man in the crowd
asked Suhrawardy whether he was responsible for the Great Calcutta Killing.
Suhrawardy remarked, ‘Yes, we all are’. But the mob did not relent, pushing threaten-
ingly until Suhrawardy admitted, ‘Yes, it was my responsibility’. 32 Thus, far from a
spontaneous confession of his sins, brought about by his apparent ‘change of heart’,
Suhrawardy was forced into an admission of guilt in the face of mob violence.
But Pyarelal, too, was invested in projecting the Mahatma’s greatness. He con-
cluded that this ‘unequivocal, straight and candid confession … by one who had made
arrogance and haughtiness his badge and never known humility’, apparently had ‘a
profound effect on the crowd’. 33 Gandhi had later said, Pyarelal tells us, that he could
28
Gandhi, The Miracle of Calcutta, pp. 25-26.
29
Pyarelal, Mahatma Gandhi: The Last Phase, p. 368.
30
Ibid.
31
Ibid., p. 369.
32
Ibid.
33
Ibid.
257
sense that this had a ‘cleansing effect’. 34 But that was not all; after that, Suhrawardy
in the city had supposedly melted away, Suhrawardy observed that Hindus were forc-
ing Muslims to shout ‘Jai Hind’. But, he declared, there was no need for force any
more: ‘We shall shout that slogan of our free will, for we too are residents of India.’35
shout ‘Jai Hind’ and to ‘unite’ under India’s flag. At another prayer meeting at
Tollygunge on 29 September 1947, Suhrawardy told Muslims: ‘If you want to live as
inhabitants of Hindustan you must accept the Tri-colour as your national flag and sa-
lute it.’ 36 His signal, therefore, was clear; the only way Muslims could manage to sur-
vive was by submitting themselves ‘willingly’ to the demands of the Indian state and
its Hindu public. Suhrawardy’s advice for Muslims was to crawl when, or even be-
The second aspect that needs attention is this: Gandhi’s effort was not just to re-
store communal peace, but also to legitimize state institutions, including the police,
now that the nation-state was attempting to stabilize itself. While his advice to po-
licemen was to ‘serve’ the people and not ‘rule’ over them, and to be impartial, Gan-
dhi urged the public to submit to the police. He told the congregation at one of his
prayer meetings that the police ‘received orders from the Government, not from pri-
vate individuals’ and that it was their duty ‘to arrest all those who commit crimes’. 37
34
Ibid.
35
Gandhi, The Miracle of Calcutta, p. 28.
36
Ibid., p. 51.
37
Ibid., p. 32.
258
Even historians who are otherwise critical of nationalist historiography have lauded
Gandhi’s efforts in the last days of his life and his complete disdain for power. Sumit
Sarkar, for example, writes that it was at this time that Gandhi’s true greatness was
revealed by his courage to ‘stand against the tide’ and his ‘total disdain for all conven-
tional forms of power which could have been his for the asking now that India was
becoming free’. 38 But one must not miss the point that, even though Gandhi remained
aloof from struggles over power and position in Delhi, his mission nonetheless legiti-
mized institutions of the nation-state, despite his earlier scepticism towards the coer-
was equally his mission to preach obedience towards the institutional power-
and counter-narratives are hard to come by. Fifty years after India’s independence,
series of interviews across India, Pakistan and Bangladesh about experiences of parti-
tion in South Asia. 39 As luck would have it, one of them was of Gopal Mukherjee, the
notorious Gopal ‘Patha’ who led the most extensive underground network of goondas
in 1940s Calcutta. In his account of the episode of the surrender of arms in September
1947, the 83-year-old Gopal Mukherjee provided a narrative radically different from
38
Sumit Sarkar, ‘Popular Movements and National Leadership, 1945-47’, Economic and Po-
litical Weekly, vol. 17, no. 14/16, Annual Number, April 1982, p. 683.
39
Audio tapes of Andrew Whitehead’s interviews have been deposited at the library of the
School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London.
40
Audio recording of his interview with Gopal Mukherjee is available online:
http://www.andrewwhitehead.net/partition-voices.html [accessed 15 March 2017].
259
Gopal Patha confessed that he had enjoyed a close relationship with the bosses of
the Bengal Congress, especially Dr. Bidhan Chandra Roy, who became the Chief
Minister of West Bengal soon after independence. But he was no Gandhian. A life-
size sculpture of Subhas Bose in full military uniform still adorned his ‘office’ near
Wellington Street when Whitehead met him. 41 An admirer of Bose all his life, he had
little regard for the Mahatma. Yet as a pre-eminent leader of Calcutta’s underworld,
Gopal claimed that Gandhi had approached him twice and he had refused to see him
on both occasions. He finally went the third time, when he saw people coming to
Gandhi and surrendering weapons that were of no use to anyone: ‘out-of-order pistols,
that sort of thing’. 42 When Gandhi’s secretary (presumably Pyarelal) asked him to sur-
render his arms, Gopal claimed to have replied: ‘with these arms I saved the women
of my area, I saved the people. I will not surrender them.’ 43 He also claimed to have
challenged the Mahatma further: ‘Where was Gandhi, I said, during the Great Calcut-
ta Killing? Where was he then? Even if I have used a nail to kill someone, I won’t
There is no reason why Gopal Mukherjee’s version should be taken as any more
accurate than those of Gandhi’s hagiographers. The boldness that the 83-year-old
Mukherjee attaches to his dealings with Gandhi in his memory of an event half a cen-
tury ago is more likely to be coloured by the happy imaginings of his youthful brava-
do in old age. But this research has recovered a corpus of contemporary police
sources that provide a third angle to this polarized vision of the events of September
41
Andrew Whitehead, ‘Duty Does Not Permit Repentance: The Butchers of Calcutta’, The
Indian Express, 1 July 1997.
42
Ibid.
43
Ibid.
44
Ibid.
260
1947. The evidence suggests that Gopal met Gandhi not once but twice. Furthermore,
the interactions between Gopal and Gandhi were rather conciliatory. On the first oc-
casion, he went to Gandhi in the morning of 4 September 1947 with other goonda
leaders. They assured Gandhi that there would not be any further ‘recrudescence’ of
riots in Calcutta and ‘entreated’ him to end his fast. 45 Gandhi, however, refused to be
satisfied with ‘mere verbal assurance’ and demanded that their promises be ‘translated
into action’. 46 He wanted them to surrender all arms and ammunition in their posses-
sion. Later that same evening, Gopal met Gandhi alone. Gandhi handed him an ad-
dress where, according to his information, six Sten guns were kept hidden and asked
Gopal, according to the police report, promised to do so, but only when Gandhi
assured him that he would also put pressure on Muslim goondas to surrender their
arms to him. 47 It is unknown whether Gopal surrendered any arms at all. Police rec-
ords indicate that despite making promises to start with, he later changed his mind and
decided not to surrender any lethal weapons. There are no records of the total number
of arms that were surrendered. But going by fragmentary evidence and the exhibits at
the Kolkata Police Museum, it does not seem to be a spectacular number and certainly
constituted only a small fraction of those that must have been in circulation. But these
were not merely useless pistols, as claimed by Gopal in his 1997 interview. At least
one Sten gun was surrendered, police records confirm, together with several cartridg-
45
‘Communal Affairs’, 6 September 1947, K.P.M. No. 01488/05, S.B. File No. 506/48, P.M.
(1947), SBR, CP.
46
Ibid.
47
‘Communal Affairs’, 8 September 1947, ibid.
261
es, hand grenades, country-made pipe guns, choppers and other arms. 48 In any case,
the number and potency of the surrendered arms is not at issue here. This was sup-
goonda at the feet of the Mahatma – the moral victory of right over wrong, and of the
The comprehensive disarming of criminal gangs in the city was almost impossible,
of course, given the intricate networks of patronage and protection within which the
‘institutional riot system’ of Calcutta was embedded. 49 The sphere of operation of the
gang leaders was often localized and neighbourhood-based, but many were connected
with men in high places through a range of affiliations that were numerous, entangled
and fluid.
Gang members, as is well-known, often coalesced around local clubs and gymna-
siums. 50 Some of these attained particular notoriety. The appropriately named Narak
Gulzar Club at Suri Lane, 51 for example, became the nodal point for the operation of
the Muchipara group of goondas, which extended its influence by coordinating its ac-
tivities with other gangs at Rainbow Club boarding house. 52 These groups then se-
cured their protection by tapping into the connections their leaders maintained. The
Muchipara Group was led by the infamous gangster Jagabandhu Bose and his brother
Bimal Bose (nick-named ‘Bhanu’), 53 both of whom were members of the Congress
48
Ibid.
49
I use ‘institutional riot system’ in the sense formulated by Paul R. Brass, Theft of an Idol.
50
Das and Ray, The Goondas.
51
Narak Gulzar may be literally translated as ‘hell, the garden of roses’.
52
‘Communal Situation’, 30 August 1947, K.P.M. No. 01488/05, S.B. File No. 506/48, P.M.
(1947), SBR, CP.
53
Ibid.
262
Socialist Party. Binay Chakravartti, another member of the same gang, belonged to
the Hindustan National Guard, a volunteer body with strong connections with the
Hindu Mahasabha. Hara, Ramen and Mokhim, junior members of the same group,
worker of some local repute. 54 Interestingly, it was Ganguli who had arranged for the
meeting of the goonda delegation with Gandhi on 4 September 1947. 55 This fact puts
On closer examination, it emerges that the Muchipara Group also had patrons be-
yond political circles. One of its principal funders was Makhan Lal Sen, the proprietor
of the Bharat newspaper. 56 Thus, a single group of young men, operating largely
within the jurisdiction of the Muchipara Police Station through local clubs, gymnasi-
ums and boarding houses, proves to have connections both with the Congress and the
Hindu Mahasabha, as well as the press. Many gangs frequently enjoyed protection
Not only did this goonda-politician-media-police nexus make the gangs formida-
ble, many were of some vintage. They almost always had a history of involvement in
old terrorist organizations, such as Anushilan and Jugantar, or their later incarnations,
for instance the Revolutionary Socialist Party. 58 Often, they also had a history of par-
as members of the Congress Socialist Party, had been active in the Quit India Move-
54
Ibid.
55
‘Communal Affairs’, 6 September 1947, ibid.
56
‘Communal Situation’, 30 August 1947, ibid.
57
‘Extract from a Report of an S.B. Officer’, 12 September 1947, ibid.
58
See Chapter 1 for details about the Revolutionary Socialist Party.
263
ment of 1942. They had also played significant roles in the agitations around the Indi-
an National Army trials in November 1945 and February 1946. 59 The so-called ‘na-
tionalist pedigree’ of many of these characters co-existed peacefully with their cre-
dentials as leaders of murderous Hindu communal gangs. The varied contacts, gener-
ous funding and ‘nationalist’ credentials all made it challenging for the early post-
colonial state to uproot these criminal gangs completely, had it ever had the firm in-
tention of so doing.
But the drive to disarm communal groups in the city, however lukewarm, together
with the impetus provided by the Mahatma’s efforts, created considerable turmoil in
gangs now attempted a volte-face to win favours with the new regime. As stated earli-
er, Bepin Ganguli, the local Congress leader, who had earlier been the patron of the
‘Violence Group’, was instrumental in arranging the meeting of goondas with Gandhi
on 4 September 1947. 60 Other leaders, many of whom were Congress workers, played
a similar role. Jagannath Koley, Indu Beed and Deben De, all political leaders with
some local clout, had financed a range of neighbourhood-based gangs since commu-
nal tensions in the city had reached a high pitch in 1946. Some gang commanders
complained that all of these political leaders who had financed and ‘instigated’ them
to carry out the killings were now pleading innocence and ‘trying to lay all blames on
the group leaders’. 61 Some leading goondas also tried to change their posture to suit
59
‘Communal Situation’, 30 August 1947, K.P.M. No. 01488/05, S.B. File No. 506/48, P.M.
(1947), SBR, CP. Also see the file entitled ‘Action taken by Muchipara P.S. in connection
with February Disturbances’, K.P.M. No. 01699/05, S.B. File No. 868 (D/7), P.M. (1946),
SBR, CP.
60
‘Communal Affairs’, 6 September 1947, K.P.M. No. 01488/05, S.B. File No. 506/48, P.M.
(1947), SBR, CP.
61
‘Miscellaneous: Communal Affairs’, 19 September 1947, ibid.
264
the direction of the prevailing wind. A few joined their patrons and financiers in try-
ing to court favour with government, which now tried to control goonda gangs to re-
assert its legitimacy. Ashu Chatterji, a pleader by profession and leader of the
Charakdanga group of goondas, was allegedly taking ‘much interest’ in the rehabilita-
tion of Muslim families in Mia Bagan Bustee, to which the other gangs took a strong
exception. 62
In fact, a sharp divide emerged between those groups which were willing to
change their stance and those who held on to a hard anti-Muslim disposition.
Jagabandhu Bose of the Muchipara Group inaugurated the surrender of arms to Gan-
dhi. This was strongly denounced by Gopal Mukherjee of Malanga Lane; Gopal even
threatened Jagabandhu with death. More significant was the fracture this caused with-
in the Muchipara group that Jagabandhu had previously dominated. His own brother,
Bhanu Bose now led a rival faction against him and joined Gopal. 63 The fact that con-
stant gang wars of this kind could spill over and lead to chaos kept the city admin-
istration on high alert. But the connections that these gang leaders had with men in
positions of power, and the sympathy they commanded among the lower echelons of
Admittedly, the police carefully monitored the dynamics of the goonda world,
conducting raids, seizing arms and ammunition and making arrests from time to
time. 64 However, state action was mostly directed at those recalcitrant gangs who
were indifferent to Gandhi’s call to change their ways. Indrajit Das, the leader of
62
Ibid.
63
‘Communal Affairs’, 9 September 1947, ibid.
64
‘Miscellaneous: Communal Affairs’, 19 September 1947, ibid.
265
Kalitara Bose Lane group, was one such leader of Calcutta’s underworld. He openly
fell out with Naresh Chandra Ghose, a Special Constable in Calcutta Police. Naresh,
who had masterminded the attacks on the Muslims of Mia Bagan Bustee while Gan-
dhi was living in its vicinity, was ‘now assuming an air of innocence and trying to
placate the Muslims’, much to Indrajit’s annoyance. 65 Indrajit threatened him and oth-
er financiers, many of whom were local Congress leaders, that if they dared to betray
the goonda leaders and got them arrested, ‘he would divulge all secrets to the police. 66
The nature of these ‘secrets’ are not difficult to imagine. Leaders in high places had
used goondas to their advantage, including using them to commit murder and arson.
The goondas knew enough to put their patrons in deep trouble if they decided to open
their mouths, and men like Indrajit now threatened to speak out to damage his former
bosses. This time, however, Indrajit had gone too far; somewhat to his surprise, the
police arrested him on 25 September 1947. He was released on bail two days later but
remained under constant police scrutiny. 67 But some of his close aides remained in
detention. In utter bafflement, Indrajit complained that the police, under ‘Congress
direction’, was pursuing a ‘suicidal policy’. 68 His gang, he complained, was demoral-
ized by the constant threat of arrests and house-searches. He insisted that there was
groups such as his would be urgently required. 69 He believed that goonda groups were
essential for the protection of Hindu citizens of the new nation-state against Muslim
65
Ibid. Also, ‘Extract from a report of an S.B. Officer’, 12 September 1947, ibid.
66
‘Miscellaneous: Communal Affairs’, 19 September 1947, ibid.
67
S.B. notes entitled ‘Notings on para 163 of 27 September 1947’, ibid.
68
‘Miscellaneous: Communal Affairs’, 27 September 1947, ibid.
69
Ibid.
70
Ibid.
266
Needless to say, there were better connected goonda leaders than Indrajit. They
were never arrested. The police were unable to tackle them with anything like an iron
fist. A case in point is Gopal Mukherjee, who counted the Premier himself as a per-
sonal friend. 71 Soon after making conciliatory gestures towards Gandhi, all accounts
suggest that he had remained steadfast about not surrendering his weapons or giving
up his anti-Muslim activities. As a result, Gopal, and others of his ilk, caused the po-
lice considerable grief. Every time the authorities apprehended a recurrence of com-
munal violence, Gopal’s activities worried them. That their concerns were justified
was proved by Gopal’s prominent part during the communal riot of 1950. 72
and the political establishment towards organized networks who instigate riots is not
riot-prone cities in India have always kept alive networks of professionals who could
reliably be called upon to organize riots whenever the occasion demanded. With the
connivance of state actors, operators in the riot system act as ‘fire-tenders’, maintain-
ing the ‘fuel at a combustible level, sometimes stoking it, sometimes letting it smoul-
der’. 73 This is the story of how Calcutta Muslims came to be marginalized and disem-
powered after independence, despite the regime paying lip-service to secularism and
But the presence and activities of goondas, or their patronage at high levels, cannot
wholly explain the predicament of Muslim minorities in the city. One must look be-
71
Whitehead, ‘Duty Does Not Permit Repentance’.
72
For details of Gopal Mukherjee’s activities, see Das and Ray, The Goondas.
73
Paul R. Brass, Theft of an Idol, pp. 15-16.
267
yond such networks of criminality to investigate the legitimacy that these riot net-
works derived from dominant sections of society. The activities of the underworld, if
it was to sustain itself after independence, had to resonate at some level with domi-
nant public attitudes and discourses that structured minority formation. This will re-
quire a close study of the tropes through which anti-Muslim propaganda circulated in
The main trope through which Hindu hostility towards Muslims was articulated
was the alleged threat to life and livelihood Hindus faced from Muslims despite parti-
tion. Calcutta had a substantial Muslim minority, often concentrated in small pockets.
of Calcutta, was one such locality with a substantial concentration of Muslims. The
Chairman of the Matiaburz Municipality was a Muslim, so were most of its Council-
lors. This became a major source of resentment on the part of Hindus who saw Mus-
lim dominance, even at such local levels, as fundamentally illegitimate after partition.
letter to the Home Minister of West Bengal alleged that the Muslims of Matiaburz
74
For the accession of Hyderabad to the Indian Union, see A.G. Noorani, The Destruction of
Hyderabad, London: Hurst, 2014; Taylor C. Sherman, Muslim Belonging in Secular India.
268
wanted this area to be treated in the same way as Hyderabad and wanted to merge
with Pakistan. 75 Hindus, the letter claimed, were particularly unhappy about the Mu-
ers’ shops, which encroached upon footpaths, were ‘really a menace to the Hindus’.
Even the police were no match for the ‘aggressive and ferocious Muslim butchers’. 76
The letter asserted that the same butchers had massacred Hindus during the Great
Calcutta Killing and they feared that happenings in Hyderabad would soon be met by
Sometimes, Hindu resentment against Muslims was expressed through the idiom
and foreigners. After the announcement of partition, government employees were giv-
en six months to decide whether they wanted to serve in India or Pakistan. 77 Unsur-
prisingly, most Muslim government servants chose to join the Government of Paki-
stan, while their Hindu counterparts chose India. However, government institutions
found it difficult to immediately dispense with the services of many of their employ-
ees who chose to migrate to the other dominion and replace them with newcomers.
Thus many Muslim employees continued to serve for short periods on temporary con-
tracts in government offices across India. This became a source of grievance for Hin-
du employees who wanted the government to remove the ‘betrayers’ with immediate
effect. The retention of Muslim employees in government offices, even on short con-
75
‘From One Who Knows’ to the Home Minister, West Bengal, 30 July 1948, K.P.M. No.
3497/08; S.B. File No. 506/48, P.M. (1948).
76
Ibid.
77
Nicholas Mansergh and Penderel Moon (eds.), The Transfer of Power, 1942-47, vol. XII,
no. 287, pp. 416-21; See Chatterji, Spoils of Partition, p. 23; S.M. Rai, Partition of the Pun-
jab: A Study of Its Effects on the Politics and Administration of the Punjab, 1947-1956, Lon-
don: Asia Publishing House, 1957.
269
tracts, was seen as a sign of Muslim ‘favouritism’. Hindu employees at the Mint in
Calcutta typified the prevailing sentiment. One Lalji, who claimed to represent Hindu
workers of the Alipore Mint, complained to the President of the Bengal Provincial
Hindu Mahasabha about how the Mint management was going out of its way to retain
the services of Muslim employees who had already decided to leave for Pakistan. 78 A
government notification had directed the management to sanction two months’ leave
to such employees so that they could prepare for their transfer. Accordingly, Muslim
workers who had opted for Pakistan had resigned, but had immediately been re-
absorbed on daily-wage contracts. The most skilled among them, such as the masons,
continued to receive a ‘very high salary’, often adding up to eight or nine rupees per
day. Hindu workers, Lalji claimed, were agitated about how the Mint management
were ‘appeasing’ those who had been ‘betraying from the beginning for which India
is now divided’. 79 Unpatriotic Hindu officers (who spoke only English and allegedly
felt ashamed to talk in Hindi or Bengali), together with the British Officer-in-Charge,
Lalji concluded, were behind this move. He urged the President of the Mahasabha to
intervene immediately.
Private enterprises operating in, or headquartered in, Calcutta were also looked up-
the workforce. Bata Shoe & Co., the Czech company headquartered in India at
Batanagar in the vicinity of Calcutta, had a large proportion of Muslim labourers. Af-
ter partition, the continued dominance of Muslims in its factories irked Hindu work-
ers. They complained that Muslim jobbers, who continued to enjoy patronage from
78
Lalji, Mint Staff, to President, Bengal Provincial Hindu Mahasabha, intercepted on 19 Oc-
tober 1947, K.P.M. No. 1489/05, S.B. File No. 506 II, P.M. (1947), SBR, CP.
79
Ibid.
270
the management, were recruiting Muslims from Pakistan but registering them in pay-
rolls under false Hindu names. 80 Investigation revealed that the story was false; the
new recruit named Atma Ram, who had caused much consternation among Hindu
workers, did eventually turn out to be a Hindu. 81 But allegations of this kind gained
credence as the company came under official scrutiny for a range of suspicious activi-
ties, including the illegal export of machinery to Pakistan. 82 Moreover, Hindu workers
complained that their managerial staff had long used Muslim workers as blacklegs to
louder as a sensational story came to light in the factory of Metal Box, a private Brit-
ish enterprise which had its Indian headquarters in Calcutta. As in the factories of Ba-
ta, Muslim labourers at Metal Box formed a strong and exclusive coterie. 84 A labour
supervisor called Razi Ahmad was a leader of the Muslim National Guard in the
body, he had allegedly masterminded the killing of Hindus during communal riots.
Hindu workers complained that the company, especially its allegedly pro-Muslim la-
80
‘Copy of a Security Control Officer’s Report’, 14 June 1948, K.P.M. No. 3497/08; S.B.
File No. 506/48, P.M. (1948).
81
Copy of a D.I.O.’s Report, 6 August 1948, ibid; Extract from an Interrogation Report, 22
September 1948, ibid.
82
Ibid.; Report entitled ‘Casual Agent’, 23 July 1948, ibid.
83
Copy of a D.I.O.’s Report, 6 August 1948, ibid.
84
The case was closely followed by the Special Branch of the Calcutta Police through a series
of reports: Untitled report by B. Bhattacharya, 1 June 1948, K.P.M. No. 1489/05, S.B. File
No. 506 II, P.M. (1947), SBR, CP; Untitled report by B. Bhattacharya, 4 June 1948, ibid;
Confidential Diary entry by S.I. S. Karmakar of S.B. Calcutta, dated 14 June 1948, ibid; Ex-
tract from the Commissioner’s Daily Register of Cases, 28 May 1948, ibid.
271
bour welfare officer Mr. Kapani, continued to protect him and retain his services even
after partition.
Matters came to a head when Razi Ahmad secured the employment of a new la-
bourer in the factory. The behaviour of this new hand appeared suspicious, allegedly
because Razi Ahmad and his gang prevented him from interacting with Hindu work-
ers of the factory. One day, Razi had him mercilessly beaten up for refusing to attend
prayers at the neighbouring mosque. But this new recruit soon escaped and lodged a
complaint with the Watgunj Police Station. He informed the police that he was a Hin-
du, that though he was registered at the factory as Mujibul Huq, his real name was
Manindra Nath Sarkar. 85 He had been stabbed and kidnapped by a gang of Muslims in
the days before partition and once he recovered from his injuries, he had been con-
verted by force to Islam. At first his kidnappers tortured him in captivity; thereafter,
they took him to Razi Ahmed and got him work at the Metal Box factory. But he was
used as a slave, and his entire salary was confiscated by Razi and his followers.
As this story spread, it infuriated not just the Hindu workers of the factory, but also
the Hindus of the locality. Tempers rose even further when it came to light that two of
Manindra’s tormentors, who were arrested by the police following the complaint,
were released on bail. The police reported that Hindus in the factory were so excited
that they ‘would not hesitate to take the law in their hands to retaliate against the mis-
chief caused by the Muslims’. 86 We do not know what happened thereafter; the ten-
85
Untitled report by B. Bhattacharya, 4 June 1948, ibid.
86
Untitled report by B. Bhattacharya, 1 June 1948, ibid.
272
sion at Metal Box faded away with time. However, it fed a larger Hindu anxiety over
forced conversion.
The threat of forced conversion of Hindus to Islam was part of a larger repertoire
of discourses though which anti-Muslim sentiments had long been articulated. 87 Yet it
gained a special significance after partition. It became a narrative of how, even after
partition, Muslims were continuing with their criminal designs to decimate Hindu so-
ciety. It was to show how thankless Muslims were by nature, to argue why it was use-
less to ‘appease’ them. It became a justification for the demand to put those Muslims
who chose to remain in Calcutta in their ‘proper place’. Absurd stories of forceful
conversion in the districts would sometimes make their way to the newspapers, creat-
ing a furore in the city. The Bengali daily Hindusthan reported, for example, how
Muslims in Burdwan had kidnapped a Hindu man and converted him by force to their
faith. Thereafter, the Muslims had filed a complaint with the police alleging that the
victim’s family had murdered him for willingly embracing Islam. The victim, howev-
er, managed to escape. He sought the protection of the Burdwan District Hindu
Mahasabha. Finally, with Mahasabha’s intervention, he obtained justice and saved his
There was also a constant stream of stories of how Muslims had an organized
racket for kidnapping young Hindu boys. These kidnapped boys were apparently con-
verted to Islam and raised as Muslims. Many argued that Muslims were adopting this
87
See Pradip Kumar Dutta, Carving Blocs: Communal Ideology in Early Twentieth-century
Bengal, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1999, pp. 21-63.
88
Hindusthan, 30 July 1948, newspaper cutting in K.P.M. No. 3497/08, S.B. File No. 506/48,
P.M. (1948), SBR, CP.
273
strategy to swell their numbers. With the influx of Hindu refugees from East Bengal,
the proportion of Hindus in Calcutta were increasing, thereby reducing the percentage
claimed that this was the reason why Calcutta Muslims specifically targeted Hindu
refugee children. The latter were also easy targets as they were more vulnerable. Hin-
ganizations put up camps at strategic spots, such as the Sealdah Railway Station,
vealed the typical denouement. It claimed that a Muslim man had approached a Hindu
refugee family who had arrived at Sealdah Station on their way to a refugee camp at
Howrah, and had offered to take charge of their son. 89 On being refused, the man at-
tempted to kidnap the boy while his parents were busy making arrangements. A
managed to catch the Muslim and raise alarm. A crowd of three hundred Hindus gath-
ered and attempted to assault the man, while shouting ‘in a frenzy that Noakhali
should be avenged’. 90 The police managed to intervene and arrest him. Such stories
obviously increased the paranoia around Muslim ‘depredations’ and contributed to the
89
‘Communal Tension’, 11 June 1948, K.P.M. No. 1489/05, S.B. File No. 506 II, P.M.
(1947), SBR, CP.
90
Ibid. Noakhali riot in 1946 saw large-scale forceful conversion of Hindus to Islam. For
Noakhali riots, see Batabyal, Communalism in Bengal; Das, Communal Riots in Bengal; Roy,
‘Making Riots, Making Peace’.
274
Stories of the forceful conversion of Hindu men to Islam went hand in hand with
another hoary trope, as Datta has shown. 91 On the eve of Indian independence, pam-
phlets and posters proliferated in Calcutta that spoke of the need to avenge Muslim
depredations on Hindu women and the forceful conversion of Hindu men. A Hindi
leaflet published in Calcutta, which found its way to various North Indian provinces,
asked Hindus why they wanted to celebrate India’s freedom from colonial rule on 15
August 1947. 92 It asserted that the day must be observed as the first anniversary of the
Great Calcutta Killing; instead of celebrating it, Hindus should spend the day weeping
in shame. It prepared an inventory of reasons why the day must be mourned. The rape
of Hindu women and their forceful marriage to Muslim men topped the list, together
supposedly Hindu women being forced to walk naked amidst a Muslim crowd carry-
ing Pakistani flags. 93 Such propaganda gripped the city in the days after partition. A
widely circulated Bengali leaflet threatened the West Bengal ministry with dire con-
claimed that Muslim League ministers were ‘still casting their lustful eyes upon Hin-
du women’; Muslim police officers transferred from Calcutta to East Bengal were
91
Dutta, Carving Blocs, pp. 21-63.
92
Criminal Investigation Department, Special Branch, Lucknow to Deputy Commissioner of
Police, Special Branch, Calcutta, 28 September 1947 (Hindi leaflet enclosed), K.P.M. No.
01488/05, S.B. File No. 506/48, P.M. (1947), SBR, CP; For English translation of the leaflet,
see Confidential Diary entry by Sub-Inspector K.S. Pandit of S.B., Calcutta, dated 16 Sep-
tember 1947, ibid.
93
Ibid. Though the leaflet was posted from Calcutta, Calcutta Police denied that the leaflet
was published in the city.
275
‘still committing adultery on Hindu women’; and it insisted that the only way of
A stream of reports on the ‘recovery’ of Hindu women found their way into Eng-
lish and Bengali dailies. These invariably prompted angry letters to editors from
27 June 1948, Amrita Bazar Patrika reported that police had recovered four Hindu
girls, aged between sixteen and twenty-five years, and two minor Hindu boys, while
searching the house of a Muslim goonda. 95 This prompted one Rabindra Nath Biswas
to write to the Editor of the paper accusing the police of not paying heed to popular
demands for a thorough search of all Muslim houses in Calcutta. It was a matter of
shame, he insisted, that the kidnapping of Hindu women and children had continued
unabated even after partition. Every day, he complained, radio and newspaper stories
were replete with reports of missing Hindu women and children. A search of ‘sus-
pected Muslim areas’, he claimed, would lead to many more recoveries. 96 In another,
claimed that even the respectable-looking Muslims were not above suspicion. He
called upon the police to conduct a ‘systematic search’ of all Muslim houses in Cal-
cutta, for nothing could be more insulting for Hindus than having to endure Muslim
94
Report titled ‘Communal Situation’, Central Intelligence Officer, Calcutta, 30 August 1947,
ibid. Also see ‘Miscellaneous: Communal Affairs’, 1 September 1947, ibid.
95
Amrita Bazar Patrika, 27 June 1948.
96
Amrita Bazar Patrika, 2 July 1948.
97
Hindusthan, 13 July 1948.
98
For paranoia around Hindu women’s purity and their bodies, see Tanika Sarkar, Hindu
Wife, Hindu Nation: Community, Religion, and Cultural Nationalism, Bloomington: Indiana
276
The demand for the rescue of Hindu women from Muslim oppression, of course a
which are worth highlighting. Some of these were peculiar to the circumstances that
prevailed around the time of partition and its aftermath. As the above examples show,
the need for protecting Hindu women from the lust of Muslim men was often articu-
lated together with concerns over the religious conversion of Hindu men. Yet there
was a conspicuous absence of concern about the conversion of Hindu women. Wom-
en were largely seen as unmarked by religion, acquiring the faith of whoever ‘owned’
their bodies. The Hindu woman’s body was a commodity that had to be prevented
from being stolen by Muslim men; for she would automatically become part of Mus-
lim society, it was assumed, if any Muslim man managed to marry, impregnate, or
The argument went a step further, and this was peculiar to the post-partition con-
text. Many Hindu commentators seemed to believe that the responsibility of protect-
ing Hindu women did not lie with Hindu men alone; it was very much a special re-
University Press, 2001. Also see Kumkum Sangari and Sudesh Vaid (eds.), Recasting Wom-
en: Essays in Colonial History, New Delhi: Kali for Women, 2006.
99
A large body of literature on gender and partition has highlighted how even government
policy concerning women articulated the idea that women’s bodies belonged to men and to
the religion that their menfolk subscribed to. These were evident in attempts at ‘recovering’
women who were (or were presumed to be) abducted during partition violence. See Urvashi
Butalia, The Other Side of Silence: Voices from the Partition of India, London: Hurst &
Company, 2000; Also, Ritu Menon and Kamla Bhasin (eds.), Borders and Boundaries: Wom-
en in India’s Partition, New Delhi: Kali for Women, 1998; for Bengal, see Jasodhara Bagchi
and Subhoranjan Dasgupta, The Trauma and the Triumph: Gender and Partition in Eastern
India, vol. 1, Kolkata: Stree, 2003; Jasodhara Bagchi and Subhoranjan Dasgupta, The Trauma
and the Triumph: Gender and Partition in Eastern India, vol. 2, Kolkata: Stree, 2009. For the
impact of partition on women and their families, and politicization of refugee women in Ben-
gal, see Gargi Chakravartty, Coming out of Partition: Refugee Women of Bengal, New Delhi:
Bluejay Books, 2005. For a more contemporary analysis of women’s bodies in the context of
communal violence, See Tanika Sarkar, ‘Semiotics of Terror’, Economic and Political Week-
ly, vol. 37, no. 28, 13 July 2008.
277
sponsibility of the post-partition Indian state. In that sense, independent India was an
essentially Hindu state. If the Indian state also protected Muslims, it was a mark of its
generosity, not its duty. A common refrain in most of this Hindu communal propa-
ganda involved anger over how the Indian nation-state was unable to protect Hindu
women despite protecting Muslims who remained in India. 100 In fact, police reports
from Calcutta reveal that the government took its responsibility of protecting Hindu
A series of reports from Calcutta demonstrate the enthusiasm with which Calcutta
Police took up this ‘responsibility’. Such reports are often presented as success sto-
ries, proof of the commitment of the city police to its assigned duty. A closer look,
however, often reveals much complexity, especially the lack of any sensitivity to the
wishes of the women involved in such cases. 101 In December 1948, Calcutta Police
covered’ a sixteen-year-old Hindu girl from the house of one Abdur Razzaque. 102 Her
brother identified her as Santi, who had gone missing in early 1945. Razzaque main-
tained that he was married to Santi. The latter, who was the mother of a two-year-old
girl, tried to hide her Hindu identity and wanted the police to leave them alone. But
she was ‘minutely crossed by the police’; when she failed to answer questions ‘satis-
factorily’, the police report claimed, ‘the truth came out’. 103 Razzaque was arrested
and Santi, along with her daughter, was sent to a rescue home. The complexity of the
100
Confidential diary entry by S.I. H.M. Bhattacharya of S.B., Calcutta, dated 4 August 1948,
K.P.M. No. 3497/08, S.B. File No. 506/48, P.M. (1948), SBR, CP.
101
See Ritu Menon and Kamla Bhasin (eds.), Borders and Boundaries: Women in India’s
Partition, New Delhi: Kali for Women, 1998; Urvashi Butalia, The Other Side of Silence:
Voices from the Partition of India, London: Hurst & Company, 2000.
102
Report of S.I. Jahar Lall Sen entitled ‘Rescue of a Hindu girl from the house of a Muslim
in Chitpur area’, 13 December 1948, ibid.
103
Ibid.
278
facts mattered little, as did the will of the woman involved. The very fact that Santi
was living with a Muslim man made the latter into a criminal and her into a victim of
abduction. Another case reveals how lower rungs of the police were given a free hand
in intervening whenever they spotted a Hindu woman with a Muslim man. This time,
two Constables arrested a Muslim man on the mere suspicion of kidnapping when
they saw him in a rickshaw with a woman who ‘looked like’ a Hindu. Despite all in-
dications that this was a case of elopement, the police report insisted that the man ‘en-
ticed the girl away from her father’s place’. 104 To give credibility to the Constables’
actions, it also added that he had ‘criminally assaulted her on the way’.
For ‘recoveries’ of Hindu women from the alleged clutches of Muslim men, there
was no lack of enthusiasm among large sections of Hindu men in assisting the police.
In one case, a group of Hindus took the initiative in ‘rescuing’ a Hindu woman and
handing her over to the police when they noticed her come out of a Muslim bustee.
Police investigations revealed that her first husband, who was a Hindu, had died in a
communal clash some time back. She had nowhere to go; she needed to find shelter
and feed herself and her son. Some time later, she got to know a Muslim man and
eventually moved in with him to a Muslim bustee. However, this man also died a few
months later. Now, having to fend for herself and her son, she had only come out of
the bustee to get some water from a roadside tap, when Hindu neighbours spotted her
and handed her over to the police. On charges which remain unknown, police arrested
104
Report entitled ‘Kidnapping of a Hindu girl by a Muslim’, 22 October 1948, ibid.
279
Newspapers with Hindu readerships often played an important role in ratifying po-
lice versions of such ‘recovery’ stories. Putting all complexities aside, the Bengali
daily Basumati reported the above incident as the uncomplicated story of the ‘rescue’
of a Hindu woman. 105 There were even occasions when some newspapers published
stories that were factually wrong. On 12 August 1948, a report in the Hindusthan
Standard, for example, claimed that police had rescued a young Hindu girl from the
house of a Punjabi Muslim. 106 However, the police report on this case confirmed that
the man was, in fact, a Punjabi Hindu and was married to the girl. However, because
they lived in a bustee with a large proportion of Muslims, Hindus of the locality were
Public demands that Muslims be taught a lesson became more insistent following
far from Calcutta. It started with an incident on 19 June 1948, when a group of Mus-
lim men chased three Hindu schoolgirls; they managed to catch one of them and mo-
lest her. This enraged Hindus of the area. When, the following day, Hindus of
But instead of calling for peace, the Calcutta papers encouraged Hindus to crush
Muslims once and for all. An editorial in Hindusthan exemplified this mood. 109 It re-
105
Basumati, 9 July 1948, newspaper cutting, ibid.
106
Hindusthan Standard, 12 August 1948.
107
Confidential diary entry by S.I. Jahar Lall Sen of S.B., Calcutta, 13 August 1948, K.P.M.
No. 3497/08, S.B. File No. 506/48, P.M. (1948), SBR, CP.
108
Amrita Bazar Patrika, 29 July 1948; Extract from the West Bengal Police Abstract of In-
telligence, 31 July 1948, K.P.M. No. 3497/08, S.B. File No. 506/48, P.M. (1948), SBR, CP.
109
Hindusthan, 25 July 1948, newspaper cutting, ibid.
280
counted how during the days of the Raj, Muslims had freely gone around raping Hin-
class backgrounds. Large Muslim crowds were even known to have honoured Muslim
women. For a while after independence, the editorial observed, there was a lull in
Muslim criminal activities. Yet, by the first anniversary of Indian independence, Mus-
lims had renounced all pretence at self-control and renewed their habit of raping
women of Hindu households. It pointed to the incidents leading to the riots at Santipur
as proof of Muslim depredations and proclaimed that the Hindu reaction there was
efforts to protect Muslims of Santipur. Finally, the editorial reflected on why the Mus-
lim criminals were feeling empowered again and what should be done to remedy this.
It declared the reason to be the timidity of Hindu men and the Congress government’s
‘weaknesses’ for Muslims. The only way of controlling Muslim mischief, it insisted,
was to apprehend them before they could even touch the women. This was not a task
that the police could perform, as they were only allowed to act when a crime actually
took place. It was the fearless Hindu youth, the writer insisted, who should take up the
mantle of crushing Muslim criminals before they could do anything. Thus suspicion
was sufficient for Hindu young men to apprehend Muslims. The last line of the edito-
rial, however, mentioned that the destiny of Hindus lay in the ability of young men to
sacrifice their lives to protect women without practicing violence or attacking the en-
emy. This, however, sits uncomfortably with the entire tenor of the editorial and was,
in all probability, inserted to escape press censorship. Taken as a whole, this editorial
281
remains a testimony to the degree of leverage given to newspapers with a Hindu audi-
Thus a significant section of Hindus, the police and some allied newspapers
from the city’s Muslims. The tropes of Muslim favouritism, the conversion of Hindu
men to Islam and the continued oppression of Hindu women framed the arguments in
favour of the socio-political subjugation of Calcutta’s Muslims. The next section will
discuss the precise mechanisms by which the Muslims of Calcutta were marginalized
The partition of British India into India and Pakistan dramatically altered the posi-
tion of urban Muslims who remained within India. 110 The predicament of Calcutta’s
Muslims was a part of the same story, but the transformation was sharper than in
many other parts of the country. For almost a decade before partition, Muslim politi-
cal formations, especially the Muslim League, had dominated Bengal through the
headquarters of the provincial government in Calcutta. This had made the city’s Mus-
lims a powerful minority. With partition, Calcutta became the capital of the Hindu-
majority province of West Bengal. The position and influence of Calcutta’s Muslims
declined rapidly thereafter. They became a marginalized group, and the object of re-
110
See the excellent collection of essays by Laurent Gayer and Christophe Jaffrelot (eds.),
Muslims in Indian Cities: Trajectories of Marginalization, London: Hurst & Company, 2012.
282
sentment that so many Hindus of the city had nurtured for years. The fact that Calcut-
from the disposition of the Muslim political leadership almost immediately after the
Partition unnerved even the ‘Nationalist Muslims’ of Calcutta. They petitioned the
Bengal Congress not to forget them ‘in the heat and hurry of the time and circum-
stances’. 111 They wanted assurances from the Congress leaders that whatever the fate
of Bengal might turn out to be, they would not be ‘thrown to the wolf’. 112 To con-
vince the Congress of their loyalty, the petitioners went on a diatribe against Muslims
who demanded Pakistan, alleging that the Direct Action Committees of the League
were responsible for keeping ‘the fire burning’. 113 They were beyond control of even
the Provincial Leagues. They insisted, therefore, that the Congress take up the initia-
For their part, Muslim League leaders were inclined towards compromise. As men-
tioned above, ever since Gandhi’s campaign for peace on 15 August, Suhrawardy had
urged Muslims to forget everything that the leaders of the Muslim League, including
himself, had previously told them. He advised them to uphold all the symbols of the
Indian nation-state, from flags to slogans, before even these were demanded from
them. By November 1947, again it was Suhrawardy who raised doubts about whether
the Muslim League should exist at all in the changed situation. An all-India confer-
111
Anonymous letter to the Secretary, Bengal Provincial Congress Committee, 1 May 1947,
K.P.M. No. 01488/05, S.B. File No. 506/48, P.M. (1947), SBR, CP.
112
Ibid.
113
Ibid.
283
ence of Muslim leaders called at Suhrawardy’s behest in Calcutta led to many acri-
monious debates. 114 The tense atmosphere prevailing even after the cessation of vio-
lence in September 1947 is apparent from the precaution Suhrawardy took to ensure
the safety of the delegates. Having no faith in the West Bengal government or its po-
lice, he had gathered a private militia of five hundred strong from members of the
In his address to the delegates, Suhrawardy painted a bleak picture of the future of
Muslims in India. He feared that a commercial boycott could begin any moment in
Calcutta against Muslim enterprises, which would mean financial ruin for Muslims of
the city. He also felt that whatever may be the attitude of the Congress towards Mus-
lims, allegations of ‘Muslim appeasement’ would force the Congress to leave the
Muslims in the cold sooner or later. The meeting reached no conclusion, but the Star
of India reported on 14 November 1947 that the delegates had expressed their virtual-
ly unanimous opinion that the League had, for all practical purposes, already ‘ceased
to exist’. 116 They had allegedly taken the view that League leaders should now join
hands with the ‘nationalist Muslim leadership’. 117 Finally, on 18 March 1948, Abul
Hashem, a key figure in the Bengal League, informed the West Bengal Legislative
Assembly that the Parliamentary Parties of the Muslim League in West Bengal, Oris-
114
K.P.M. No. 02517/05, S.B. File No. 606A, P.I. (1947), SBR, CP.
115
Ibid.
116
Star of India, 14 November 1947, newspaper clipping, F. No. 1045/47, Intelligence Bu-
reau, Government of Bengal (henceforth, IB, GB), West Bengal State Archives (henceforth,
WBSA). Quoted in Chatterji, Spoils of Partition, p. 173.
117
Ibid.
284
sa and Assam had been dissolved; for, in the ‘changed circumstances’, ‘communal
organizations should be liquidated in the best interests of the Indian Dominion’. 118
The dissolution of the League, which had been the assertive face of Muslim poli-
tics in India since at least the 1930s, created a sense of abandonment among the ordi-
nary Muslims of Calcutta. But what heightened their sense of betrayal even more
were the appeals by the League leaders that they give up the religious rights that they
had won through so many years of struggle. Muhammad Usman, Secretary of the
Calcutta District Muslim League, at a meeting in October 1947 insisted that the Mus-
lims of Calcutta should refrain from sacrificing cows in mosques situated in Hindu
localities (even in cases where such a custom existed), and from carrying beef through
Hindu areas. Muslims were even to tolerate processions playing loud music to pass
through mosques during prayer-time. 119 This was just the prelude to the tragic loss of
religious freedoms and spaces that Joya Chatterji describes in vivid detail. 120
The Muslims of Calcutta who had supported the League movement for Pakistan
reacted in multiple and complex ways to the quick surrender of the Muslim League
leadership to the new dispensation. Many better-off Muslims, together with the bulk
of the political elite, decided to leave for East Bengal. Several Muslim businessmen
and merchants shifted their families and their movable wealth to safer destinations,
but they themselves waited in Calcutta to see whether matters would settle down be-
118
West Bengal Legislative Assembly Proceedings (henceforth WBLAP), vol. II, no. 2, 18
March 1948, p. 246; See Acting Deputy Commissioner for UK, Calcutta to High Commis-
sioner for UK, New Delhi, 23 March 1948, L/PJ/5/316, IOR. Also see in Bandyopadhayay,
Decolonization in South Asia, pp. 48-49.
119
‘Muslim Affairs’, 28 October 1947, K.P.M. No. 1489/05, S.B. File No. 506 II, P.M.
(1947), SBR, CP.
120
Chatterji, Spoils of Partition; Chatterji, ‘Of Graveyards and Ghettos’.
285
fore making their final call. But there were the vast numbers of lower-middle class
and poor Muslims for whom leaving their hearth and home was no easy matter. This
was a decision they could not take in haste. For them it was their last option.
Those poorer Muslims of Calcutta who were reluctant to leave the city responded
to the quick escape of the rich and powerful among their co-religionists to East Ben-
gal with bitter resentment. A Bengali leaflet circulating in the name of the city’s Mus-
lim bustee-dwellers asserted that it was the Muslim poor who had sacrificed their
lives for Pakistan since Direct Action Day. Now that Pakistan had been achieved,
their leaders were abandoning them to enjoy the fruits of their struggles. They ac-
cused the leaders of not making any effort to get Calcutta included in Pakistan. The
leaflet demanded that if the Muslim elite decided to emigrate, they must leave behind
their belongings with the people in the bustees; or else their erstwhile followers would
not hesitate to ‘answer cruelty with cruelty’. 121 The Central Intelligence Officer of
Calcutta reported that ‘Muslim hooligan elements’ had discarded all loyalty to their
former leaders. 122 The report claimed that even Muslim politicians admitted that there
was a widespread sense among ordinary Muslims of being cheated by their political
leaders; the leaders had, therefore, lost control over ‘illiterate Muslims’. 123 Believing
that Pakistan had become a reality because of their effort, they felt they had enough
strength left in them to retain Calcutta for themselves. This sense of betrayal contin-
121
‘Communal Situation in Calcutta’, 4 August 1947, K.P.M. No. 01488/05, S.B. File No.
506/48, P.M. (1947), SBR, CP.
122
Extract from a report by the Central Intelligence Officer, 9 August 1947, ibid.
123
Ibid.
286
city. Neither did this sentiment remain confined merely to ‘illiterate Muslims’ or
‘hooligan elements’.
There are some indications of the emergence of a new, albeit low-profile, Muslim
social leadership from among the ranks of small businessmen and petty traders who
remained in Calcutta. As localized riots broke out in pockets of north Calcutta in the
middle of 1948, a group of Muslim entrepreneurs came forward to negotiate with the
officials to restore peace. A secret intelligence report from May 1948 mentions that a
group of Muslim neighbourhood leaders, all petty traders and businessmen, had come
They insisted that unlike the rich and influential Muslims of Park Circus and
Amratolla, the survival of Muslim traders, small entrepreneurs and poor labourers de-
pended upon their everyday dealings with Hindus. They could, therefore, ill afford to
follow the prosperous Muslims of posh Muslim neighbourhoods, many of whom had
already shifted most of their property and family to Pakistan. This enraged one of the
leaders, the report observed, who asserted that if he had a few loyal young men, he
would ensure that the rich Muslims were robbed of their wealth before they could
leave Calcutta. Others at the meeting pacified him, and decided that apart from the
peace committee they had decided to form together with Hindus, they would also
raise a small batch of ‘young intelligent volunteers’ to collect intelligence from Hindu
areas and warn Muslims of impending trouble. How successful these plans were, or
the extent of the influence of this new Muslim leadership, is difficult to ascertain. But
the point remains that the older Muslim leadership of Calcutta, who had previously
124
‘Communal Trouble’, 30 May 1948, K.P.M. No. 3497/08, S.B. File No. 506/48, P.M.
(1948), SBR, CP.
287
organized themselves mainly under the banner of the Muslim League, increasingly
found themselves discredited. This provided the space for the emergence of a new
sent the Muslims of the city under these vastly altered circumstances. 125
Calcutta also had an intricate network of Muslim criminal gangs that the Muslim
League had exploited and patronized in the days before Partition. Used to their posi-
tion of dominance, this Muslim underclass took time to adjust to the changed condi-
tions. Within the city, there still were pockets where Muslims had a strong presence;
many of these gangs felt that they could retain their power in such neighbourhoods
and carry on as earlier with the same degree of impunity. Soon it became evident,
however, that their influence had come under challenge from Hindus and the state
Khidderpore, the site of the Calcutta port, had a high concentration of working-
class Muslims, dominated by lascars and dock labourers. It was also notorious for its
goonda gangs, patronized by the Muslim League before partition. The prospect of
Calcutta being made a part of Hindu-majority West Bengal caused considerable con-
sternation among these gangs, who had strong roots among the Muslim labouring
poor of the area. By the beginning of August 1947, leaflets circulated among these
labourers urged them to ‘plunge into action’ to retain Calcutta in Pakistan by force. 126
Even after the inclusion of Calcutta in West Bengal, at least some Muslims of
125
Joya Chatterji argues for the emergence of a new Muslim leadership in the 1950s. The
neighbourhood-based community leadership described above predates the phenomenon
Chatterji describes. See Chatterji, Spoils of Partition; Chatterji, ‘Of Graveyards and Ghettos’.
126
‘Copy of a report by the Central Intelligence Officer’, 1 August 1947, K.P.M. No.
01488/05, S.B. File No. 506/48, P.M. (1947), SBR, CP.
288
Khidderpore still saw the arrangement as only a temporary one. On the first anniver-
sary of India’s independence, secret intelligence alerted the police to organized prop-
aganda in Khidderpore that Calcutta would soon become a part of Pakistan. Accord-
ing to these propagandists, India and Pakistan would soon go to war on the issue of
Kashmir. With the Indian army busy defending the country’s western borders, Paki-
stani troops would invade from the eastern front and capture the whole of West Ben-
gal. 127 While the police failed to establish the veracity of this information, they none-
theless expressed concern over the fact that almost ninety-five percent of Muslim
households in Khidderpore had not hoisted the Indian national flag on Independence
Day. 128
ued dominance in the area did not last very long. With the eclipse of the Muslim
League in West Bengal, the shield that had protected them had collapsed, especially
for those who had their hands stained by the stamp of criminality. This not only ex-
posed them to the long arm of the law, but also to attacks from rival Hindu goonda
gangs who now enjoyed protection under the new regime. Take for example, the story
of Nasiruddin, who ran a ration and coal shop at Khidderpore; he was a powerful local
figure with some connections in the world of crime. Hindus of the area had a long-
standing grudge against Nasiruddin for his ‘hatred’ of Hindus, manifested in his
‘rough’ behaviour towards Hindu customers. 129 One day, in June 1948, the cashier of
his shop made ‘some objectionable remarks against a Hindu girl’ in the presence of
127
Confidential Diary entry from S. Karmakar of S.B. Calcutta, dated 15 August 1948,
K.P.M. No. 3497/08, S.B. File No. 506/48, P.M. (1948), SBR, CP.
128
Ibid.
129
‘Information of CIO about communal tension in Khidderpore’, 21 July 1948, K.P.M. No.
3497/08, S.B. File No. 506/48, P.M. (1948), SBR, CP.
289
his Hindu customers. 130 Very soon, bands of Hindu goondas attacked his shop and
assaulted Nasiruddin and his employees. Nasiruddin filed a police complaint, but to
no avail. It was he, and not those who had attacked his shop, whom the Deputy Com-
missioner summoned to his office and warned of consequences if he did not amend
his conduct.
It also transpired that since partition, Nasiruddin had become the target of some
Hindu gangs who wanted to establish their authority in Khidderpore. They had even
got him arrested on a previous occasion by exposing his dealings in the black market.
A report from the Central Intelligence Officer observed that ‘Hindu hooligan ele-
ments’ were, in fact, ‘itching for creating communal unrest’ in Khidderpore and were
on the lookout for opportunities to victimize Muslims in the area. 131 What was more,
these Hindu gangs continued to receive support and patronage from the local Con-
ans’. 132 Nasiruddin, like other Muslims with criminal records against them, had be-
come an easy target despite their prowess as goondas. They learnt the hard way that
This sense of disempowerment was not confined to those with criminal records.
For the smallest ‘anti-Hindu’ assertions, Muslims of Khidderpore, even those with no
criminal past, also came under the police scanner. A police report of a ‘communal
commotion’ in the area is indicative of this trend. This was caused when a Muslim
130
Ibid.
131
‘General Situation’, forwarded by the CIO, Calcutta, 24 June 1948, ibid.
132
R. Ghosh to Vallabhbhai Patel, AICC-II, PB-21/1956. Quoted in Chatterji, Spoils of Parti-
tion, p. 177.
290
tenant of a house in Khidderpore expressed his annoyance at the early morning
Mahalaya Radio programme and abused ‘the Hindu religion’ in the ‘most vituperative
language’. 133 Local police intervened and the Deputy Commissioner warned him for
his behaviour. These kinds of police interference in the smallest of everyday local
disputes, which barely concealed the state’s majoritarian bias, must have reinforced
tioned above, government employees could opt to serve either India or Pakistan fol-
lowing the division of the subcontinent. Most Muslims chose Pakistan, just as Hindus
chose India almost to a man. Senior officials often saw this as a career move and re-
fused to call themselves refugees when they emigrated as government servants. 134 But
there is evidence to suggest that for many low-ranking state functionaries, intimida-
tion and fear of future discrimination often dictated their choices. 135 Indeed, intelli-
blood after the partition of Bengal was announced on 3 June 1947. None of the cul-
prits were ever brought to book. 136 With Muslim personnel reduced to a small minori-
ty within the force, the Calcutta Police emerged out of partition with a distinctly Hin-
du colour.
133
‘Miscellaneous: Communal Agitation’, 24 September 1949, K.P.M. No. 3498/08, S.B. File
No. 506/49, P.M. (1949), SBR, CP. This is the early morning radio programme aired every
year, even to this day, marking the beginning of the Durga Puja celebrations in Calcutta. The
programme consists of songs devoted to the Goddess, interspersed with scriptural recitations.
134
Md. Mahbubar Rahman and Willem van Schendel, ‘“I Am Not a Refugee”: Rethinking
Partition Migration’, Modern Asian Studies, vol. 37, no. 3, 2003, pp. 551-84.
135
Chatterji, Spoils of Partition, p. 168.
136
Ibid. See details in File No. 614, Year 1947, IB, GB, WBSA; File No. 1123, Year 1947,
IB, GB, WBSA.
291
This was also reflected in its attitude towards problems of ‘social order’. The law
of the land technically applied equally to all citizens; yet discrimination in the treat-
ment of Hindu and Muslim outlaws, evident in contemporary police records, exposed
the biases in the administration. Moral persuasion was the preferred strategy to ‘con-
vince’ Hindu criminal gangs to disarm themselves. In case of Muslim goondas, how-
ever, the law-and-order machinery did not feel the need to administer any such pallia-
tives. These men had to confront the might of the state head-on.
While Gandhi was busy inviting Hindu goondas to surrender arms out of their own
volition, the task of disarming Muslim goondas fell to the Anti-Robbery squad, assist-
made the police fall back upon a tried and tested strategy: turning members of crimi-
nal gangs into state approvers, through a mixture of threats, intimidation and promises
of protection. 138 Anonymously filed testimony, for example, gives details of how
Muslim goonda gangs managed to procure firearms and ammunition for use during
communal riots. In his own words, the approver claimed to be a ‘goonda’ of consider-
able infamy. 139 Not without a touch of pride, he declared that ‘thieves’ and ‘robbers’
were terrified of him. They paid him regular subscriptions and generous cuts from
their booty. A ‘staunch follower of Mr. Shahid Suhrawardy’, his job was to ‘create
disturbances in meetings organized to criticise his actions’. 140 His activities were
137
Commissioner of Police to Deputy Commissioner, Special Branch, Calcutta, 31 July 1948,
K.P.M. No. 3497/08, S.B. File No. 506/48, P.M. (1948), SBR, CP.
138
For a fascinating discussion of what it meant for those accused of a crime to become an
approver, see Shahid Amin, ‘Approver’s Testimony, Judicial Discourse: The Case of Chauri
Chaura’ in Ranajit Guha (ed.), Subaltern Studies V, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1987, pp.
166-202.
139
‘Extract from a statement of a secret agent of the Anti Robbery Section, Calcutta’, 6 April
1948, K.P.M. No. 1489/05, S.B. File No. 506 II, P.M. (1947), SBR, CP.
140
Ibid.
292
well-known and all the top bosses of the Bengal League, including Suhrawardy,
Nazimuddin, and even the League financier Mr. Ispahani, he claimed, ‘utilized’ him
‘for collecting funds by threats and creating troubles in places where they wanted’. 141
He also claimed to act as a middleman in the supply chain of arms to the Muslim Re-
lief Committee, a League volunteer organization that had sprung up in the days after
the Great Calcutta Killing ostensibly to provide relief to Muslim riot victims. Provid-
ing details of how the Committee sourced its arms from ‘a Negro of an American
ship’, he confessed that he had received fifty rupees as brokerage per firearm for these
transactions. 142 But after partition, he assured the police, he was leading the ‘quiet
The strategy of forcing former accomplices to testify against their comrades seems
to have been used widely to infiltrate criminal networks run by Muslim gangs. Alt-
hough its success is difficult to measure, its impact is revealed by the ripples it caused
in the world of crime. At times it led to localized tensions. The Calcutta Police no-
ticed, for example, a ‘great commotion’ in the Amherst Street area one July evening
in 1948. Enquiries revealed that Hindus of the locality were protesting against a local
Muslim ‘bully’ who had allegedly assaulted and stabbed a Hindu. 143 On further inves-
tigation, the police learnt that the man who had been stabbed was, in fact, a Muslim,
and that he was stabbed by a member of his own gang. Abdul Rouf, the perpetrator of
the crime, had plotted to murder the victim as this former accomplice of his had
141
Ibid.
142
Ibid.
143
‘Report on Incident on 19.7.48’, undated, K.P.M. No. 3497/08, S.B. File No. 506/48, P.M.
(1948), SBR, CP.
293
Becoming a state approver was one of the strategies that the Muslim poor, black-
ened by criminal records, adopted to survive the state onslaught. But the loss of pro-
tection was only one dimension of their subordination; the other was the loss of pat-
ronage that endangered their livelihood. Exploitation by the Muslim political elite for
their own gain, in return for protection and patronage, had also served to ensure a
livelihood for members of the Muslim poor forced into criminality. It had enabled
them to extract protection money from the neighbourhoods they dominated. Muslim
goondas, just like their Hindu counterparts, were able to collect subscriptions from
their co-religionists as payment for the service of ‘protecting’ them from their com-
munal ‘Others’; some had even demanded money from Hindus as a charge for sparing
their lives during a Muslim offensive. Now, however, their vulnerability to the reor-
Those who had earlier paid regular subscriptions saw no reason to do so any more; it
was evident that their erstwhile protectors were now themselves in need of protection.
If the former subscribers continued to pay, they could, in fact, face police harassment.
This was the perfect time for many erstwhile protection-seekers to make noise about
the ‘depredations’ of their former protectors. Thus, ‘respectable’ Muslims (and also
some Hindus) who had previously paid protection money to Muslim criminal gangs,
now began organizing themselves to invite the state to ‘rescue’ them from Muslim
goondas. Thus, on the eve of partition, when ‘Muslim goonda elements’ went about
‘extorting money’ from ‘peaceful Muslim residents of Free School Street’ (the cate-
gories invoked in the police record are instructive), the latter openly held a ‘Mohalla
meeting’ to discuss ways of stopping ‘such rowdyism and criminal pursuits’. 144 This
144
Report of the Central Intelligence Officer, Calcutta, 28 July 1947, K.P.M. No. 01488/05,
S.B. File No. 506/48, P.M. (1947), SBR, CP.
294
is one way in which the onslaught of the new state, overwhelmingly Hindu in compo-
sition and pro-Hindu in orientation, broke down Muslim communal solidarities that
had, in the days before Partition, cut through the various registers of social differentia-
tion within the community. This changed, in very significant ways, the vocabulary
nation-state.
This rhetoric of being ‘peaceful residents’ was deployed ever more frequently by
‘ordinary’ Muslims of Calcutta to claim protection from, and demonstrate loyalty to,
was radically different from the assertive voice of this middling section of Calcutta’s
Muslims during the League regime, when large sections of them had fearlessly fore-
government. During the last days of the Raj, when the political dominance of the
Muslim League in Calcutta was slipping away, those Muslims who neither belonged
dents of a Muslim bustee on Keshab Chandra Sen Street is illustrative of the changed
At least since the Great Calcutta Killing, communal fractures in Calcutta were
deep enough to divide the urban space into Hindu and Muslim zones. Hindus found it
dangerous to pass through Muslim-dominated areas and the same was true the other
145
Member of 113 Keshab Sen Street to Finance Minister, Government of Bengal, 31 July
1947, ibid.
295
way round. The letter to the Bengal Government spoke of how Keshab Chandra Sen
Street was the only corridor connecting eastern and central Calcutta that Muslims
could access. After the 3 June announcement, the petitioners complained, even this
stretch had become prone to Hindu attacks. What is striking about this letter is the
very language through which this resentment was articulated. The Muslim complain-
how, after communal incidents, police always searched and arrested people ‘not from
the community that attacks, but from the victims of the attack’. 147 The context makes
it clear that the petitioners were complaining about anti-Muslim discrimination in po-
lice investigation. But they scrupulously avoided describing the victims as Muslims
and oppressors as Hindus. It reveals a new ‘common sense’ among Muslims in post-
partition Calcutta that if they wanted to make claims on the newly emerging nation-
state, the language of citizenship was far more effective than that of religious identity.
This is in stark contrast to the way in which Hindus were freely asserting their Hindu
identity to claim special protection and privileges from the state, almost assuming that
the new state after partition was a de facto Hindu state. It was the Muslim minority of
Calcutta who made constant appeals to the formal claims of the Indian state to be the
Newspapers which had pro-Muslim League orientations in the days before parti-
tion deployed similar strategies in their reportage. Under the changed circumstances,
reports in such papers exhibited a cautious approach and a reluctance to posit ‘Hindu
146
Ibid.
147
Ibid.
296
vs Muslim’ binaries while discussing communal antagonisms. Most of these adopted
the tone of seeking protection from the state as good citizens, while scrupulously
fying the alleged rumour-mongers as ‘Hindus’, it suggested that this was the work of
pointing fingers directly at Hindu propagandists. 148 Again, instead of accusing the
government of failing to prevent the circulation of such rumours, the report merely
drew its attention to them and expressed hope that the police would take immediate
action.
worded article, it always contained an endorsement of state action rather than a cri-
tique of government. In July 1948, Amrita Bazar Patrika had claimed that Calcutta
Police had unearthed ‘an organized conspiracy’ and an ‘espionage ring’ of Calcutta’s
head on, Morning News couched its attack in terms of praise for the West Bengal
Government for its promptness in denying the veracity of this report. It suggested that
the government should take ‘deterrent action’ against the Patrika. But instead of put-
ting its demand across directly, it reminded the government that the Prime Minister
himself had declared that ‘communal peace’ was India’s ‘essential requirement’. The
implication was that Morning News, on its own, was not urging the punishment of its
148
Azad, 24 July 1948. Newspaper clipping, K.P.M. No. 3497/08, S.B. File No. 506/48, P.M.
(1948), SBR, CP.
149
Morning News, 29 July 1948, ibid.
297
rival; it was the Prime Minister’s statement that made it incumbent upon the govern-
antagonistic tenor became difficult to sustain. Yet the narrative strategies of such
news reports continued to showed considerable restraint. During the festival of Holi in
March 1949, a communal riot broke out in Kankinara in the 24-Parganas district on
the outskirts of Calcutta. A long report in one such ‘Muslim’ newspaper expressed
outrage, but never described it as a Hindu-Muslim conflict. 150 Instead, it invoked the
categories that newspapers with a ‘Hindu’ audience rarely used at that time. Instead of
stating facts on its own authority, the report adhered strictly to official data and state-
ments of the Premier and other government bodies. Lamenting administrative lapses,
it pointed out that official information confirmed that the District Magistrate did not
visit the site of violence to reassure minorities; even the police had allegedly sided
with the aggressors. While it urged the government to bring the guilty to book, the
report strove not to present this as a ‘Muslim’ demand. It insisted that this was a ‘sa-
cred duty’ of government that every ‘peace-loving’ member of the public who valued
‘communal harmony’ wished the authorities to fulfil. The report further pointed out
that ‘minorities’ in Kankinara had not celebrated their religious festivals out of fear
for the past year. In fact, not one religious festival passed without an outbreak of
communal violence in West Bengal. This only proved, the report concluded, that a
150
Newspaper clipping, name of newspaper illegible, 19 March 1949, K.P.M. No. 3497/08,
S.B. File No. 506/48, P.M. (1948), SBR, CP. Translation mine. The term ‘laukik rashtra’
used in the report literally translates as ‘people’s government’. But I have at times translated it
as ‘democratic state’ when it fitted the context better.
298
section of the public had not ‘absorbed’ the values of ‘secularism’ and ‘people’s gov-
ernment’ – ideals for which Mahatma Gandhi, ‘the father of the nation’, had sacri-
ficed his life. It urged the government to launch a campaign among this section of the
public to explain to them the need for ‘religious tolerance’ in a ‘democratic state’.
This was essential, the writer pointed out, to preserve the international reputation of
India.
This report is a classic example of how Muslim minorities attempted to fit in to the
changed situation. It was the Muslim press that, after partition, turned out to be the
most vociferous upholders of the values that Congress nationalism, and now the Indi-
ple’s government and so on. One of the strategies of survival of the Muslim minori-
ties, therefore, was to make moral claims for accommodation within the nation based
on its own declared values – values that they felt were being violated by the majority
community.
It is possible to appreciate the tenor of this criticism only when it is compared with
the systematic assaults on religious and cultural freedom that the Hindu majority (with
its new-found influence within the structures of governance) unleashed on the Muslim
minority. As the previous newspaper report pointed out, not one religious festival had
passed without the outbreak of communal violence in some area or another in West
Bengal. Holi, in particular, led to localized violence in Calcutta almost every year
since 1947. Sometimes, it would begin with petty fights, even among children. In one
case, it began when a Hindu boy threw coloured water on a Muslim passer-by. This
soon spread all over the locality, leading to a full-fledged clash between groups of
299
Hindus and Muslims. 151 In another case, a scuffle around the throwing of coloured
water resulted in a full-fledged gang war in Manicktola. 152 The exact details of the
incident remain unclear, but the real cause of conflict seemed to revolve around the
question of which gang had the right to terrorize Muslims of the area. Bagla, a ‘noto-
rious criminal’, had allegedly thrown coloured water on a Muslim in Manicktola; this
had led to a fight with local Muslims, when one of Bagla’s associates stabbed one of
his opponents. Batu, the leader of a rival gang called ‘Bharat Jatia Bahini' (‘Indian
National Army’), took exception to Bagla’s actions, probably because he thought that
the latter was encroaching upon his sphere of influence. A free fight ensued, which
involved the use of firearms. When compared to this ‘routine violence’ 153 against Cal-
cutta’s Muslims, the tone of Muslim newspapers seems very tame indeed.
Even when no communal violence actually took place, police reported tension in
often started with rumours about how Hindus were preparing for an attack. This was
not a new trend; it had been much in evidence even before partition. For example,
even in March 1947, police reported a widespread rumour of an impending Hindu at-
tack on Muslims on Holi. 154 What was new, however, was the anticipation of retalia-
tory violence on religious festivals, when rumours travelled from East Bengal of how
151
Special Branch Report entitled ‘Re: Clash between a group of Hindus and Muslims over
throwing of colour near Kilia Tangra 3rd Lane on 14.3.49’, 15 March 1949, K.P.M. No.
3498/08, S.B. File No. 506/49, P.M. (1949), SBR, CP.
152
‘Statement of a Casual Agent’, 25 March 1948, K.P.M. No. 1489/05, S.B. File No. 506 II,
P.M. (1948), SBR, CP; also see Confidential Diary Entry by S.I. H.M. Bhattacharya of S.B.,
Calcutta, dated 3 April 1948, ibid.
153
Pandey, Routine Violence.
154
‘Special Branch Officer’s Report: Communal Situation in Calcutta’, 5 March 1947, K.P.M.
No. 01488/05, S.B. File No. 506/48, P.M. (1947), SBR, CP.
300
Hindu festivals were obstructed by Muslims there. 155 In November 1947, for example,
and attack Muslims in Calcutta to avenge the violence that had erupted in Dacca
around the Janmashtami processions. 156 News of incidents on the other side of the
border often reached the ears of Calcutta’s Muslim minorities before they arrived
fear of retaliatory violence gripped entire localities. In September 1948, as the first
streams of information about a riot in Dacca were pouring into official circles in Cal-
cutta, the Special Branch found, quite ominously, that the details of the riot were al-
ready well-known among Muslims around Sealdah railway station – the entry point of
If an information deficit about incidents on the other side of the border hindered
police efforts at keeping communal violence at bay, anti-Muslim bias, going down
right to the bottom of the police hierarchy, facilitated pervasive everyday anti-Muslim
violence that reinforced the cultural subordination of Calcutta’s Muslims. One exam-
ple will illustrate the point. A letter to the editor of Paschim Banga Patrika by one
155
I have argued elsewhere that rumour did not necessarily mean ‘false’ information. In bu-
reaucratic parlance, rumour often meant information circulating through informal channels
that made them almost impossible to verify. Thus, rumours of violence in East Bengal did not
necessarily imply that the information was untrue. See Ishan Mukherjee, ‘The Elusive Chase:
“War Rumour” in Calcutta during the Second World War’ in Tanika Sarkar and Sekhar
Bandyopadhyay (eds.), Calcutta: The Stormy Decades, New Delhi: Social Science Press,
2014, pp. 65-92.
156
‘Communal Affairs’, 14 November 1947, K.P.M. No. 1489/05, S.B. File No. 506 II, P.M.
(1948), SBR, CP.
157
Confidential Diary entry by S.I. A.C. Bhattacharya of S.B., Calcutta, dated 20 September
1948, K.P.M. No. 3497/08, S.B. File No. 506/48, P.M. (1948), SBR, CP.
301
Puja in February 1949 desperately tried to provoke Muslims at Maulali Darga. 158
Prayers at the Darga were being held when this band of rowdy lathi-wielding Hindu
young men passed by, burning crackers and playing loud music. A car full of police-
men, Chatterjee complained, stood by and watched the tamasha. The report attracted
the attention of high officials and the Special Branch sent it to the local police station
for comment. The response was a complete denial of the report. The concerned Assis-
tant Commissioner claimed that he was himself at the spot; when he saw the proces-
sion coming near the Darga, he requested them to stop making noise; this, he claimed,
had an immediate effect and the procession passed by in silence. 159 He said that there
were, indeed, other processions that played music, but all of these were far away from
the shrine. The Special Branch did not feel the need to investigate the matter further
and informed the Governor’s office that all allegations in the letter printed by
Paschim Banga Patrika were false. 160 This was despite the fact that the Assistant
Commissioner admitted that the processionists were carrying lathis. The fact that this
was unnecessary, especially during Saraswati Puja celebrations, and that it could be a
sign of majoritarian muscle-flexing, did not bother the police establishment at all. As
long as it was Hindus, and not Muslims, who were showing off their power, the local
It would not be pushing the point too far to argue that the local state apparatus
promoted Hindu socio-cultural dominance. Local state agencies had historically toler-
158
Darga is a Muslim shrine, mostly belonging to Sufi denominations. Paschim Banga
Patrika, 5 February 1949, newspaper cutting, K.P.M. No. 3498/08, S.B. File No. 506/49,
P.M. (1949), SBR, CP.
159
Report of Assistant Commissioner on the incident near Maulali Darga, dated 13 February
1949, ibid.
160
Deputy Commissioner, Special Branch to the Secretary to the Governor of West Bengal,
Home Department, 27 February 1949.
302
ated large domains of informal social dominance so long as it did not threaten the ve-
neer of ‘public order’. 161 Local state functionaries in Calcutta, now overwhelmingly
Hindu in their social profile, considered Hindu majoritarian dominance quite accepta-
ble, if this cowed the Muslim minority to the point that a superficial ‘peace’ prevailed.
The trouble was that this veneer of ‘peace’ repeatedly broke down. Hindu domi-
nance did not stop only at symbolic assertions of power. Assaults, stabbings and mur-
ders of Muslims had become so regular, even so unspectacular, that they hardly drew
public attention. In November 1947, for example, the Special Branch reported how,
on two different occasions, a Muslim hand-cart puller and a Muslim hawker were
mercilessly stabbed. 162 The police could only guess which gangs could have been in-
volved and failed to bring anyone to book. On another occasion, four young Hindu
men stopped a Muslim toy bird seller while he was on his way home. One of them
engaged him over the price of his goods, when another stabbed him in the back. 163
Again, another police report described how two young men brutally stabbed a ‘tea
distributor’ without any provocation whatsoever. 164 It is clear that Hindu criminals
almost always targeted the most vulnerable sections of the Muslim poor and they exe-
cuted the stabbings and murders with so much unnecessary cruelty that it made these
161
This argument has been forcefully put forward in Rajnarayan Chandavarkar, ‘Customs of
Governance: Colonialism and Democracy in Twentieth Century India’, Modern Asian Stud-
ies, vol. 41, no. 3, 2007, pp. 441-470. Also see Rajnarayan Chandavarkar, Imperial Power
and Popular Politics: Class, Resistance and the State in India, c.1850-1950, Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1998.
162
‘Communal Affairs’, undated but sometime in early November 1947, K.P.M. No.
01488/05, S.B. File No. 506/48, P.M. (1947), SBR, CP.
163
‘Confidential Report of incidents on 22.7.48’, 23 July 1948, K.P.M. No. 3497/08, S.B. File
No. 506/48, P.M. (1948), SBR, CP.
164
‘Report of Incident on 28.7.48’, 29 July 1948, ibid. Also, ‘Stabbing Incident’, 30 July
1948, ibid.
303
Conclusion
In January 1950, the Union Parliament adopted the Constitution of free India,
which declared that the new nation was a democratic republic. It guaranteed equal
rights to all citizens, and inaugurated a regime based on joint electorates and universal
adult franchise. Only a month later, however, Calcutta plunged into communal may-
hem once more. The precise details of the incidents that triggered this violence remain
ments. It is usually attributed to ‘police actions’ in East Bengal, one against com-
munist activists in Kalshira village of Khulna district, 165 and the other against Santhal
share-croppers in Rajshahi district. 166 Whatever initial causes there may have been,
given the persistent hate campaign and structural violence unleashed against Calcut-
ta’s Muslim minority, the flare-up did not come as a surprise to anyone. 167 The vio-
lence resulted in a mass exodus across the eastern borders of the Radcliffe Line. It al-
had been going on ever since partition. Thus, before the leaders of independent India
promised democracy based upon universal adult franchise and legal equality, a slow
nerable minority, whose very status as Indian citizens was rendered questionable. This
chapter attempted to delineate some aspects of this process which ensured the domi-
165
See Badruddin Umar, Purba Banglar Bhasha Andolan O Tatkalin Rajniti, vol. 2, second
edition, Dhaka: Jatiya Grantha Prakashan, 1996, p. 228; Anjan Kumar Ghosh, ‘Partial Truths:
Rumour and Communal Violence in South Asia, 1946-92’, PhD Thesis, University of Michi-
gan, 1998, p. 89; Bandyopadhyay, Decolonization in South Asia, pp. 49-50.
166
See Sukumar Biswas and Hiroshi Sato, ‘Religion and Politics in Bangladesh and West
Bengal’, Joint Research Programme Series No. 99, Tokyo: Institute of Developing Econom-
ics, 1993, pp. 34-41; Ghosh, ‘Partial Truths’, pp. 89-90; Bandyopadhyay, Decolonization in
South Asia, p. 50.
167
See Sree Ashutosh Lahiri: Jibanbyapi Atmatyager Kahini, Calcutta, December 1951, p.
16, Ashutosh Lahiri Papers, Pamphlets, Serial No. 69, Nehru Memorial Museum and Library.
304
nance of India’s (predominantly Hindu) leadership over a docile Muslim minority
who would not come in their way, and enabled them to observe constitutional niceties
Yet electoral democracy in India did eventually create the space for Muslims to
negotiate their way into positions of power and influence, often taking advantage of
the relentless factional squabbles within the Congress. As Joya Chatterji has shown, a
new kind of ‘Muslim politics’ emerged in Calcutta from the mid-1950s, which,
despite often being deeply conservative, did not reduce Muslims to a mere ‘vote-
bank’. 168
The story that this chapter has tried to tell is of the systematic subjugation of Mus-
lim minorities in Calcutta, which structured the nature of Muslim life and politics in
the decades to come. For that reason, the narrative does remain one of majoritarian
oppression. This, however, does not preclude the possibilities of personal bonds and
does it deny the existence of some efforts at more organized forms of resistance to-
wards minority oppression. However, this chapter has elucidated how structural vio-
lence was inaugurated under the auspices of the new regime at the point of its very
birth, and how the rapid emergence of an administrative machinery of the nation-state
reduced Muslims to a vulnerable minority. Undoubtedly, this project met with only
168
Chatterji, Spoils of Partition, pp. 194-208.
305
Conclusion
This thesis has attempted to understand the nature of transition from ‘the colonial
to the post-colonial’ in South Asia through a study of mass politics in Calcutta. It fo-
cuses on five short years, from the end of the Second World War, to 1950, when the
Parliament of independent India adopted a constitution which declared the new na-
to guarantee equal rights to all its citizens irrespective of their status, personal beliefs
and community affiliations. This thesis has tried to demonstrate how the transitional
state, itself a product of the process of the transition, intervened to restructure social
(and political) relations prior to the adoption of these lofty constitutional ideals.
Decolonization has been described, broadly speaking, in two ways. One charts a
linear trajectory of progress towards a brighter future – from post-war upheavals un-
der colonial rule towards a regime of equal citizenship under the nation-state. The se-
cond turns the lens back to front: telling a story of progressive deterioration, from the
impact of war and famine to riots, displacements, and refugee formations. In this se-
social control and an elaboration of the coercive institutions of government. Both the
cated both narratives in a variety of ways. Yet these grand themes have left their mark
as referents in all such scholarly exercises. This thesis does not claim to be an excep-
tion, although it has sought to intervene and challenge some of the assumptions that
306
To begin with, the thesis expresses discomfort with the way some historians have
identified two distinct ‘types’ of mass action in this period – ‘cross-communal, anti-
colonial’ and ‘communal’ - holding that these are mutually opposed forms of political
expression, each with distinctive characteristics. In the first, camaraderie between dif-
and historians assume that it follows that different communities joined hands in a
fight to free themselves from the oppressions of colonial rule. In the second type of
mass politics, Hindus and Muslims are understood to have fought each other. In the
analysis of this second type of mass action, criticism of the state usually remains con-
fined to the charge of inaction, or of active communal bias on the part of its function-
aries.
This thesis has challenged this dual categorization. It shows that it is impossible to
the Raj – whether during large-scale street demonstrations or in quotidian life. The
first two chapters deal with spectacular mass agitations in protest against trials of In-
dian National Army (INA) officers. Historians have previously presented these as
came together to question the right of the colonial state to hold trials against a ‘na-
tional’ army. The thesis, through a close study of hitherto unexplored archives, has
shown that such claims are unsustainable. Communal fractures and intra-party in-
trigues played a part in the way the protests unfolded. Again, in the subsequent chap-
ters, the thesis has tried to identify a long-term, slow process of break-down in inter-
307
facet of everyday life even during the period when historians have assumed united
In rejecting these binary categories of popular action, the thesis has opened up a
critique of the received chronologies of popular politics in this era. Scholars have di-
vided post-war mass politics into two time-periods. The initial months after the Se-
cond World War, they assume, were marked by Hindu-Muslim solidarity in street ac-
tion. Both communities are said to have embraced the same causes, and staged spec-
tacular street action against the colonial state. However, in their analysis, the tide
seems to have suddenly taken a dramatic turn: the sub-continent plunged into a riot-
ous blood-bath as Hindus and Muslims (and Sikhs) began killing each other in com-
munal frenzy.
This thesis rejects this periodization which does not bear historical scrutiny. It ar-
gues for a slow and steady rise in the virulence of communal tension and violence
Another goal of the thesis was to understand the nature of crisis in the state that
this transition precipitated. Historians have given it many labels – freedom, independ-
ence, decolonization, and transfer of power being some of those more frequently used.
This thesis has distanced itself from using the rather tired argument about whether
understanding the precise processes of change that state institutions underwent, and
how the state came to be imagined in political action, both spectacular and quotidian.
308
of these labels (which is invariably limiting), this thesis used the technique of thick
this thesis has argued that the transitional state at this historical conjuncture is best
The thesis deploys a conceptual frame-work that draws upon Timothy Mitchell’s
proposition that modern institutions of state power, in the process of creating disci-
than-life, all-powerful, entity in popular perception. However, given that the discipli-
remains incomplete and susceptible to challenges, the ‘state effect’ it produces must
the impression of a singular all-powerful state is sustained in the public domain, the
thesis refers to Thomas Blom Hansen’s concept of the ‘imagined state’. Hansen has
shown that the state is imagined through a ‘constitutive split’ between its ‘sublime’
and ‘profane aspects’. When state actors indulge in corruption or connive in majori-
tarian violence, these acts are relegated in public perception to its ‘profane’ aspects. In
such a situation, Hansen argues, the ‘sublime’ dimensions of the state, in the form of
son and impartial justice, are called upon to stabilize the state’s imaginary as the ulti-
mate repository of power. This thesis suggests that the moment of transition from the
colonial to the post-colonial order can broadly be understood as a crisis in both ‘pro-
fane’ and ‘sublime’ imaginaries of the state. At the same time, it recognizes that any
309
necessarily involves an oversimplification that is impossible to sustain on closer his-
torical scrutiny. In this, the thesis stands in agreement with new historical scholarship
on the everyday state, which emphasizes the complexity, messiness and incoherence
The first chapter, which deals with the first Red Fort trial of three INA officers,
shows how the government’s efforts at staging court martial proceedings under full
public scrutiny met with catastrophic failure. Rather than hailing the government for
through street action. This was repeated in the case of protests against Rashid Ali’s
deliver justice to the riot victims. Again, rebellion within Calcutta police, the alleged
misdeeds of some policemen, and government’s failure to punish the guilty personnel,
the fourth chapter has shown, fatally damaged the ‘state effect’ in public eyes. The
last chapter has shown how political leaders at the helm of the new nation-state at-
tempted to reclaim public confidence in state institutions, even by falling back upon
In terms of methodology, this thesis has attempted to address some of the issues
raised by social anthropologists, whose works have been a key influence in the recent
state has been to grapple with the problem of how one may study the conceptions of
the ‘state’ as a trans-local entity through ethnographies rooted in a locality. This thesis
has tried to address this issue through a micro-historical approach. One fundamental
310
question that has animated this thesis is how to understand the transitional state, im-
Though such studies have yielded important insights, the thesis reiterates the value of
tidian life and everyday state action located at the moment of formal imperial disen-
gagement. Such a focus can reveal patterns in the process of decolonization that es-
cape more sweeping longue duree studies of the end of empire across time and space.
The thesis raises several issues that it could not address. One of the most pressing
of these is the applicability of this model of state crises to other spatial and temporal
locations. How does the nature of crisis of state power during decolonization in South
Asia compare with imperial disengagements in other parts of the world? What contri-
bution can such localized studies of regime-change in one part of the world make to
our understanding of similar processes elsewhere? The second set of questions pertain
to its applicability across time. Can we locate similar crises of state power during re-
gime change in other historical periods? Is this nature of crises peculiar to European
of empire at other points of time? This brings us to the vexed issue of the
relationship between the nature of the particular state crisis delineated in the thesis
and ‘modernity’?
311
Thomas Blom Hansen says that the ‘constitutive split’ in the imaginary of the state
between its ‘sublime’ and ‘profane’ aspects can be traced to ideas in Roman law. Yet
he is careful to point out that this conception of the state struck root in India via colo-
nialism. Such a conception of state, therefore, was very much a product of ‘colonial
it is the effect of modern forms of disciplinary power that conjures up this idea of a
that the particular type of state crises with which this thesis is concerned can be gen-
eralized to create a model for regime changes in pre-modern times. In what ways,
then, does state crises during similar situations in the pre-modern world differ from
Perhaps, the most pressing question of all is whether a similar crisis of state power
is possible in a neo-liberal world order, when governments of nation states do not aim
eignty, justice or reason. What happens in contexts when state actors actively try to
present the state as a mere rational facilitator of global capital flows? What implica-
tion does it have for the nature of state crises when states no longer even pretend to
act as protectors of its people from injustice and oppression, when they suggest that
the panacea for all human problems lie in the free movement of and a deeper penetra-
tion of global capital? These are questions that I hope this thesis will encourage future
historians to ponder.
312
BIBLIOGRAPHY
PRIMARY SOURCES
OFFICIAL RECORDS
GOVERNMENT OF INDIA:
GOVERNMENT OF BENGAL:
Documents of the Communist Movement in India, vol. I-III, Calcutta: National Book
Agency, 1997.
Mansergh, Nicholas and Moon, Penderel (eds.), The Transfer of Power, 1942-47:
Constitutional Relations between Britain and India, London: Her Majesty’s Station-
ery Office, 1976, Volumes I – XII, 1970-1983.
313
Towards Freedom: Documents on the Movement for Independence in India, New
Delhi: Indian Council of Historical Research and Oxford University Press, 1985-
2015.
NEWSPAPERS
Azad
Dainik Basumati
Dawn
Hindu
Hindusthan Standard
Morning News
Rozana Hind
Star of India
The Statesman
Ahmed, Abul Mansur, Amar Dyakha Rajnitir Panchash Bachar [Fifty Years of Poli-
tics As I Have Observed], Dacca: Naoroj Kitabistan, 1975.
314
Gandhi, Manubehn, The Miracle of Calcutta (tr. Gopalrao Kulkarni), Ahmedabad:
Navajivan Publishing House, 1959.
Moon, Penderel (ed.), Wavell: The Viceroy’s Journal, London: Oxford University
Press, 1973.
Pyarelal, Mahatma Gandhi: The Last Phase, Part II, Volume X, Ahmedabad:
Navajivan Publishing House, 1958.
NOVELS
Bandyopadhyay, Saradindu, ‘Adim Ripu’ [‘Primitive Vice’], in Pratulchandra Gupta
(ed.), Saradindu Omnibus, vol. II, Calcutta: Ananda Publishers, 1980.
315
SECONDARY READINGS
BOOKS
Alexander, Claire, Joya Chatterji and Annu Jalais, The Bengal Diaspora: Muslim Mi-
grants in Britain, India, and Bangladesh, London: Routledge, 2013.
Amin, Shahid, Event, Metaphor, Memory: Chauri Chaura, 1922-1992, Delhi; Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 1995.
Ansari, Sarah, Life After Partition: Migration, Community and Strife in Sindh, 1947-
1962, Karachi: Oxford University Press, 2005.
Arnold, David, Colonizing the Body: State Medicine and Epidemic Disease in Nine-
teenth Century India, Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993.
Bagchi, Jasodhara, and Subhoranjan Dasgupta, The Trauma and the Triumph: Gender
and Partition in Eastern India, vol. 1, Kolkata: Stree, 2003.
Bagchi, Jasodhara, and Subhoranjan Dasgupta, The Trauma and the Triumph: Gender
and Partition in Eastern India, vol. 2, Kolkata: Stree, 2009.
Bajpai, Rochana, Debating Difference: Group Rights and Liberal Democracy in In-
dia, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2011.
Baker, Christopher, Gordon Johnson and Anil Seal (eds.), Power, Profit and Politics:
Essays on Imperialism, Nationalism and Change in Twentieth Century India
(Reprinted from Modern Asian Studies), Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1981.
Bandyopadhyay, Sekhar and Tanika Sarkar (eds.), Calcutta: The Stormy Decades,
New Delhi: Social Science Press, 2015.
316
Bandyopadhyay, Sekhar, Decolonization in South Asia: Meanings of Freedom in
Post-Independence West Bengal, 1947-52, London and New York: Routledge,
2009.
Banerjee, Sumanta, The Wicked City: Crime and Punishment in Colonial Calcutta,
New Delhi: Orient Blackswan, 2009.
Basu, Amrita and Atul Kohli (eds.), Community Conflicts and the State, New Delhi:
Oxford University Press, 1998.
Bhargava, Rajeev (ed.), Secularism and its Critics, New Delhi: Oxford University
Press, 1998.
Bose, Sugata and Ayesha Jalal (eds.), Nationalism, Democracy and Development:
State and Politics in India, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1997.
Bose, Sugata, and Ayesha Jalal (eds), Nationalism, Democracy and Development:
State and Politics in India, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1997.
Bose, Sugata, His Majesty’s Opponent: Subhas Chandra Bose and India’s Struggle
against Empire, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2011.
Brass, Paul R., Forms of Collective Violence: Riots, Pogroms and Genocide in Mod-
ern India, New Delhi: Three Essays Collective, 2006.
Brass, Paul R., The Politics of India since Independence, Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1990.
Brass, Paul R., Theft of an Idol: Text and Context in the representation of Collective
Violence, Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1997.
317
Broomfield, J.H., Elite Conflict in a Plural Society: Twentieth-Century Bengal,
Berkeley: University of California Press, 1968.
Brown, Judith M., Gandhi and Civil Disobedience: The Mahatma in Indian Politics,
1928-34, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977.
Brown, Judith M., Gandhi’s Rise to Power: Indian Politics, 1915-1922, Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1972.
Burchell, Graham, Colin Gordon and Peter Miller (eds.), The Foucault Effect: Studies
in Governmentality, with Two Lectures by and an Interview with Michel Fou-
cault, Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991.
Butalia, Urvashi, The Other Side of Silence: Voices from the Partition of India, Lon-
don: Hurst & Company, 2000.
Chakrabarty, Bidyut, The Partition of Bengal and Assam, 1932-1947, London, New
York: Routledge Curzon, 2004.
Chakrabarty, Dipesh, Rochona Majumdar and Andrew Sartori (eds.), From the Colo-
nial to the Postcolonial: India and Pakistan in Transition, New Delhi: Oxford
University Press, 2007.
Chakravartty, Gargi, Coming out of Partition: Refugee Women of Bengal, New Delhi:
Bluejay Books, 2005.
318
Chandra, Bipan, Mridula Mukherjee, Aditya Mukherjee, K.N. Panikkar and Sucheta
Mahajan, India’s Struggle for Independence, New Delhi: Penguin, 1988.
Chandra, Bipan, Nationalism and Colonialism in Modern India, New Delhi: Orient
Longman, 1981.
Chandra, Bipan, The Rise and Growth of Economic Nationalism in India: Economic
Policies of Indian National Leadership, 1880-1905, New Delhi: People’s Pub-
lishing House, 1966.
Chatterji, Joya, The Spoils of Partition: Bengal and India, 1947-1967, Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 2007.
Chaturvedi, Vinayak (ed.), Mapping Subaltern Studies and the Postcolonial, London:
Verso, 2000.
Cohn, Bernard S., An Anthropologist among Historians and Other Essays, Delhi; Ox-
ford: Oxford University Press, 1987.
Cohn, Bernard S., Colonialism and its Forms of Knowledge: The British in India,
Delhi; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997.
Corbridge, Stuart, et. al. (eds.), Seeing the State: Governance and Governability in
India, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005.
Das, Suranjan and J.K. Ray, The Goondas: Towards a Reconstruction of the Calcutta
Underworld, Calcutta: Firma K.L.M., 1996.
Das, Suranjan, Communal Riots in Bengal, 1905-1947, New Delhi: Oxford University
Press, 1991.
Das, Veena (ed.), Mirrors of Violence: Communities, Riots and Survivors in South
Asia, Delhi, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992.
319
De, Amalendu, History of the Khaksar Movement in India, 1931-47, Kolkata: Parul
Prakashani, 2009.
De, Barun (ed.), Essays in Honour of Prof. S.C. Sarkar, New Delhi: People’s Publish-
ing House, 1976.
Dirks, Nicholas B., Castes of Mind: Colonialism and the Making of Modern India,
Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2001.
Duara, Prasenjit (ed.), Decolonization: Perspectives from Then and Now, New York
and London, 2004.
Evans, Peter, Dietrich Rueschemeyer and Theda Skocpol (eds.), Bringing the State
Back In, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985.
Fay, Peter Ward, The Forgotten Army: India’s Armed Struggle for Independence,
New Delhi: Rupa & Co., 1994.
Freitag, Sandria B., Collective Action and Community: Public Arenas and the Emer-
gence of Communalism in North India, Berkeley: University of California
Press, 1989.
Fuller, C.J. and Veronique Benei (eds.), The Everyday State and Society in Modern
India, London: Hurst & Co., 2001.
Gallaghar, John, Gordon Johnson and Anil Seal (eds.), Locality, Province and Nation:
Essays on Indian Politics, 1870 to 1940 (Reprinted from Modern Asian Stud-
ies), Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1973.
Gayer, Laurent and Christophe Jaffrelot,, Muslims in Indian Cities: The Trajectories
of Marginalization, London: Hurst and Company, 2012.
320
Gellner, David N., Joanna Pfaff-Czarnecka, and John Whelpton, (eds.), Nationalism
and Ethnicity in a Hindu Kingdom: The Politics of Culture in Contemporary
Nepal, Amsterdam: Hardwood Academic Publishers, 1997.
Gordon, Leonard A., Bengal: The Nationalist Movement, 1876-1940, New York,
London: Columbia University Press, 1974.
Gordon, Leonard A., Brothers Against the Raj: A Biography of Sarat and Subhas
Chandra Bose, New Delhi: Viking, 1989.
Goswami, Manu, Producing India: From Colonial Economy to National Space, Chi-
cago: Chicago University Press, 2004.
Gould, William, Bureaucracy, Community and Influence: Society and the State in In-
dia, 1930-1960s, London: Routledge, 2011.
Gould, William, Hindu Nationalism and the Language of Politics in Late Colonial
India, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004.
Gould, William, Religion and Conflict in Modern South Asia, Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 2012.
Graham, Bruce, Hindu Nationalism and Indian Politics: The Origins and Develop-
ment of the Bharatiya Jana Sangh, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1990.
Gramsci, Antonio, Prison Notebooks, (trans. Joseph A Buttigieg), New York: Colum-
bia University press, 2011.
Greenough, Paul R., Prosperity and Misery in Modern Bengal: The Famine of 1943-
44, New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1982.
Guha, Ramachandra, India After Gandhi: The History of the World’s Largest Democ-
racy, London: Macmillan, 2007.
Guha, Ranajit (ed.), Subaltern Studies I: Writings on South Asian History and Society,
New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1982.
Guha, Ranajit, A Rule of Property for Bengal: An Essay on the Idea of Permanent Set-
tlement, Durham; London: Duke University Press, 1996 (first published 1963).
321
Guha, Ranajit, Dominance without Hegemony: History and Power in Colonial India,
Cambridge, Mass.; London: Harvard University Press, 1997.
Guha, Ranajit, Subaltern Studies: Writings on South Asian History and Society, vol.
II, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1983.
Gupta, Akhil and Aradhana Sharma, (eds.), The Anthropology of the State: A Reader,
Malden, Mass., Oxford: Blackwell 2009.
Gupta, Akhil, Red Tape: Bureaucracy, Structural Violence and Poverty in India, New
Delhi: Orient BlackSwan, 2012.
Gupta, Amit Kumar (ed.), Myth and Reality: The Struggle for Freedom in India,
1945-46, New Delhi: Manohar, 1987.
Gupta, Partha Sarathi, Imperialism and the British Labour Movement, 1914-1964,
London and Basingstoke: The Macmillan Press Ltd., 1975.
Hansen, Thomas Blom and Finn Stepputat, (eds.), States of Imagination: Ethnograph-
ic Explorations of the Postcolonial State, Durham: Duke University Press,
2001.
Hansen, Thomas Blom, and Christophe Jaffrelot (eds.), The BJP and the Compulsions
of Politics in India, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1998.
Hansen, Thomas Blom, Violence in Urban India: Identity Politics, Mumbai and the
Post-Colonial City, Delhi, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998.
Hardiman, David, The Coming of the Devi: Adivasi Assertion in Western India, Delhi;
Oxford University Press, 1987.
Hasan, Mushirul and Asim Roy, (eds.), Living Together Separately: Cultural India in
History and Politics, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2005.
Hutchins, F.G., Spontaneous Revolution: The Quit India Movement, Delhi: Manohar,
1971.
Jaffrelot, Christophe, The Hindu Nationalist Movement and Indian Politics, 1925 to
the 1990s: Strategies of State Building, Implantation and Mobilization (With
Specific Reference to Central India), London: Hurst, 1993.
Jalal, Ayesha, The Sole Spokesman: Jinnah, the Muslim League and the Demand for
Partition, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994.
Jayal, Niraja Gopal, Citizenship and Its Discontents: An Indian History, Cambridge,
M.A.: Harvard University Press, 2013.
Joshi, Shashi and Bhagwan Josh, Struggle for Hegemony in India, 1920-1934, vol. I,
New Delhi: Sage, 1992.
Le Sueur, James D. (ed.), The Decolonization Reader, New York and London:
Routledge, 2003.
Low, D.A. (ed.), Congress and the Raj: Facets of the Indian Struggle, 1917-47, Lon-
don: Heinemann, 1997.
Ludden, David (ed.), Contesting the Nation: Religion, Community and the Politics of
Democracy in India, Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1996.
323
Mahajan, Sucheta, Independence and Partition: The Erosion of Colonial Power in
India, New Delhi: Sage Publications, 2000.
Menon, Ritu and Kamla Bhasin (eds.), Borders and Boundaries: Women in India’s
Partition, New Delhi: Kali for Women, 1998.
Moore, R.J., Churchill, Cripps and India, 1939-45, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1979.
Moore, R.J., Endgames of Empire: Studies of Britain’s India Problem, New Delhi:
Oxford University Press, 1988.
Mukherjee, Janam, Hungry Bengal: War, Famine and the End of Empire, New York:
Oxford University Press, 2015.
Mukherjee, Madhusree, Churchill’s Secret War: The British Empire and the Ravaging
of India during World War II, New York: Basic Books, 2010.
Noorani, A.G., Indian Political Trials, 1775-1947, New Delhi: Oxford University
Press, 2005.
Pandey, Gyanendra (ed.), The Indian Nation in 1942, Calcutta: K.P. Bagchi & Co.,
1988.
324
Pandey, Gyanendra, The Ascendancy of the Congress in Uttar Pradesh, 1926-34: A
Study in Imperfect Mobilization, Delhi; Oxford: Oxford University Press,
1978.
Pati, Biswamoy (ed.), Turbulent Times: India, 1940-44, Mumbai: Popular Prakashan,
1998.
Prakash, Gyan, Another Reason: Science and the Imagination of Modern India,
Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1999.
Rai, S.M., Partition of the Punjab: A Study of Its Effects on the Politics and Admin-
istration of the Punjab, 1947-1956, London: Asia Publishing House, 1957.
Ray, Rajat Kanta, Social Conflict and Political Unrest in Bengal, 1875-1927, Delhi:
Oxford University Press, 1984.
Ray, Rajat Kanta, Urban Roots of Indian Nationalism: Pressure Groups and Conflict
of Interests in Calcutta City Politics, 1875-1939, New Delhi: Vikas, 1979.
Roy, Anupama, Mapping Citizenship in India, New Delhi: Oxford University Press,
2010.
Rudolph, Lloyd I., and Susanne H Rudolph, In Pursuit of Lakshmi: The Political
Economy of the Indian State, Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1987.
Saha, Murari Mohan, Documents of the Revolutionary Socialist Party, Volume One:
1938-1947, Agartala: Lokayate Chetana Bikash Society, 2001.
Sangari, Kumkum, and Sudesh Vaid (eds.), Recasting Women: Essays in Colonial
History, New Delhi: Kali for Women, 2006.
325
Sarkar, Sumit, The Swadeshi Movement in Bengal, 1903-1908, New Delhi: People’s
Publishing House, 1973.
Sarkar, Sumit, Writing Social History, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1997.
Sarkar, Tanika, Bengal, 1928-1934: The Politics of Protest, New Delhi: Oxford Uni-
versity Press, 1987.
Sarkar, Tanika, Hindu Wife, Hindu Nation: Community, Religion and Cultural Na-
tionalism, Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2001.
Sen, Amartya K., Poverty and Famines: An Essay on Entitlement and Deprivation,
Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1982.
Sen, Satadru, Disciplining Punishment: Colonialism and Convict Society in the An-
daman Islands, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2000.
Sen, Shila, Muslim Politics in Bengal, 1937-1947, New Delhi: Impex, 1976.
Seth, Hira Lal, The Khaksar Movement and Its Leader Allama Mashraqi, Delhi: Dis-
cover Publishing House, 1985.
Shani, Ornit, Communalism, Caste and Hindu Nationalism: The Violence in Gujarat,
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007.
Sherman, Taylor C., State Violence and Punishment in India, London: Routledge,
2010.
Sherman, Taylor C., William Gould and Sarah Ansari (eds.), From Subjects to
Citizens: Society and the Everyday State in India and Pakistan, 1947-1970,
Cambridge, Delhi: Cambridge University Press, 2014.
Singh, Anita Inder, The Origins of the Partition of India, 1936-1947, Delhi: Oxford
University Press, 1990.
326
Singh, Ujjwal Kumar, Political Prisoners in India, Delhi: Oxford University Press,
1998.
Srimanjari, Through War and Famine: Bengal 1939-45, New Delhi: Orient
BlackSwan, 2009.
Steinmetz, G. (ed.), State/Culture: State Formation after the Cultural Turn, Ithaca,
New York and London: Cornell University Press, 1999.
Stoler, Ann Laura, Along the Archival Grain: Epistemic Anxieties and Colonial
Common Sense, Princeton, Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2009.
Van der Veer, Peter, Religious Nationalisms: Hindus and Muslims in India, Berkeley:
University of California Press, 1994.
Vanaik, Achin, The Furies of Indian Communalism: Religion, Modernity and Secu-
larization, London: Verso, 1997.
Vanaik, Achin, The Painful Transition: Bourgeois Democracy in India, London: Ver-
so, 1990.
Varadarajan, Siddharth, Gujarat: The Making of a Tragedy, New Delhi; New York:
Penguin books, 2002.
Varshney, Ashutosh, Ethnic Conflict and Civic Life: Hindus and Muslims in India,
New Haven: Yale University Press, 2002.
Wilkinson, Steven I., Votes and Violence: Electoral Competition and Ethnic Riots in
India, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004.
327
Yang, Anand, The Limited Raj: Agrarian Relations in Colonial India, Saran District,
1793-1920, Berkeley; Los Angeles; London: University of California Press,
1989.
ARTICLES
Alpes, Maybritt Jill, ‘The Congress and the INA Trials, 1945-50’: A Contest over the
Perception of ‘Nationalist’ Politics’, Studies in History, vol. 23, no. 135, 2007,
pp. 135-58.
Ansari, Sarah ‘Everyday Expectations of the State during Pakistan's Early Years: Let-
ters to the Editor, Dawn (Karachi), 1950–1953’ in Taylor C. Sherman, Wil-
liam Gould and Sarah Ansari (eds.), From Subjects to Citizens: Society and
the Everyday State in India and Pakistan, Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 2014.
Banerji, Himani, ‘The Mirror of Class: Class Subjectivity and Politics in 19th Century
Bengal’, Economic and Political Weekly, vol. 24, no. 13, 1989, pp. 1041-1051.
Basu, Amrita, ‘When Local Riots are Not Merely Local: Bringing the State Back In:
Bignor 1988-1992’, Economic and Political Weekly, vol. 29, no. 40, 1994,
pp. 2605-21.
Basu, Subho, ‘Strikes and “Communal Riots” in Calcutta in the 1890s: Industrial
Workers, Bhadralok Nationalist Leadership and the Colonial State’, Modern
Asian Studies, vol. 32, no. 4, 1998, pp. 949-983.
328
Baxi, ‘“The State’s Emissary”: The Place of Law in Subaltern Studies’, in Partha
Chatterjee and Gyan Pandey (eds.), Subaltern Studies VII: Writings on South
Asian History and Society, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1992.
Biswas, Sukumar and Hiroshi Sato, ‘Religion and Politics in Bangladesh and West
Bengal, Tokyo’, Institute of Developing Economics, Joint Research
Programme Series, no. 99, 1993.
Bose, Sugata, ‘Starvation Amidst Plenty: The Making of Famine in Bengal, Honan
and Tonkin, 1942-1945’, Modern Asian Studies, vol. 24, no. 4, 1990,
pp. 699-727.
Chakrabarty, Bidyut, ‘Political Mobilization in the Localities: The 1942 Quit India
Movement in Midnapur’, Modern Asian Studies, vol. 26, no. 2, 1992,
pp. 275-87.
Chakrabarty, Dipesh, ‘Communal Riots and Labour: Bengal’s Jute Mill-Hands in the
1890s’, Past and Present, no. 91, May 1981, pp. 140-69.
Chatterji, Joya, ‘Of Graveyards and Ghettos: Muslims in West Bengal, 1947-67’
in Mushirul Hasan and Asim Roy (eds.), Living Together Separately: Cultural
India in History and Politics, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2005, pp.
222-49.
329
Chatterji, Joya, ‘South Asian Histories of Citizenship, 1947-1970’, The Historical
Journal, vol. 55, no. 4, 2012, pp. 1049-71.
De, Bikramjit ‘Imperial Governance and the Challenges of War: Management of Food
Supplies, Bengal, 1943 – 1944’, Studies in History, vol. 22, no. 1, 2006, pp. 1-
43.
330
Freitag, Sandria B., ‘Sacred Symbol as Mobilizing Ideology: The North Indian Search
for a “Hindu” Community, Comparative Studies in History and Society, vol.
22, no. 4, 1980.
Gallagher, John, and Ronald Robinson, ‘An Imperialism of Free Trade’, The Eco-
nomic History Review, New Series, vol. 6, no. 1, 1953, pp. 1-15.
Gould, William, ‘From Subjects to Citizens? Rationing, Refugees and the Publicity of
Corruption over Independence in UP’ in Taylor C. Sherman, William Gould
and Sarah Ansari (eds.), From Subjects to Citizens: Society and the Everyday
State in India and Pakistan, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014.
Gould, William, Taylor C. Sherman and Sarah Ansari, ‘The Flux of the Matter: Loy-
alty, Corruption and the “Everyday State” in the Post-Partition Government
Services of India and Pakistan’, Past and Present, no. 219, May 2013, pp.
237-279.
Guha, Ranajit, ‘On Some Aspects of the Historiography of Colonial India’ in Ranajit
Guha (ed.), Subaltern Studies I: Writings on South Asian History and Society,
New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1982, pp. 1-8.
Gupta, Akhil, ‘Blurred Boundaries: The Discourse of Corruption, the Culture of Poli-
tics, and the Imagined State’, American Ethnologist, vol. 22, no. 2, May 1995,
pp. 375-402.
Gupta, Partha Sarathi, ‘Imperial Strategy and the Transfer of Power, 1939-51’ in Amit
Kumar Gupta, Myth and Reality: The Struggle for Freedom in India, 1945-47,
New Delhi: Manohar, 1987, pp. 1-53.
331
sari (eds.), From Subjects to Citizens: Society and the Everyday State in India
and Pakistan, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014.
Hansen, Thomas Blom, ‘Governance and Myths of State in Mumbai’ in Fuller and
Benei (eds.), The Everyday State and Society in Modern India, London: Hurst,
2001, pp. 31-67.
Harcourt, M., ‘Kisan Populism and Revolution in Rural India: The 1942 Disturbances
in Bihar and East United Provinces’ in D.A. Low (ed.), Congress and the Raj:
Facets of the Indian Struggle, 1917-47, London: Heinemann, 1997, pp. 315-
48.
Iqtidar, Humeira and Tanika Sarkar (eds.), ‘Revisiting Secularisation’ Economic and
Political Weekly, Special Issue, vol. 48, no. 50, 14 December 2013.
Kamtekar, Indivar, ‘A Different War Dance: State and Class in India, 1939-45’, Past
and Present, vol. 176, 2002, pp. 187-221.
Lorenzen, David N., ‘Who invented Hinduism?’, Comparative Studies in Society and
History, vol. 41, no. 4, Oct. 1999, pp. 630-59.
Mahajan, Sucheta, ‘British Policy, Nationalist Strategy and Popular National Up-
surge, 1945-46’ in Amit Kumar Gupta (ed.), Myth and Reality: The Struggle
for Freedom in India, 1945-47, New Delhi: Manohar, 1987, pp. 54-98.
332
Majumdar, Sohini, ‘A Different Calcutta: INA Trials and Hindu-Muslim Solidarity in
1945 and 1946’ in Tanika Sarkar and Sekhar Bandyopadhyay (eds.), Calcutta:
The Stormy Decades, New Delhi: Social Science Press, 2015, pp. 235-66.
Masselos, Jim, ‘“The Magic Touch of Being Free”: The Rituals of Independence on
15 August’ in Masselos, Jim (ed.), India: Creating a Modern Nation, New
Delhi: Sterling Publishers, 1990, pp. 37-53.
Mitchell, Timothy, ‘State, Society and the State Effect’ in Aradhana Sharma and
Akhil Gupta (eds.), The Anthropology of the State: A Reader, Malden, Mass.,
Oxford: Blackwell 2009. Reprinted in G. Steinmetz (ed.), State/Culture: State
Formation after the Cultural Turn, Ithaca, New York and London: Cornell
University Press, 1999, pp. 169-86.
Mitchell, Timothy, ‘The Limits of the State: Beyond Statist Approaches and their
Critics’, The American Political Science Review, vol. 85, no. 1, March, 1991,
pp. 77-96.
Mukherjee, Ishan, ‘The Elusive Chase: ‘War Rumour’ in Calcutta during the Second
World War’ in Tanika Sarkar and Sekhar Bandyopadhyay (eds.), Calcutta:
The Stormy Decades, New Delhi: Social Science Press, 2014, pp. 65-92.
Nakazato, Nariaki, ‘Role of Colonial Administration, ‘Riot Systems’ and Local Net-
works during the Calcutta Disturbances of August 1946’ in Tanika Sarkar and
Sekhar Bandyopadhyay (eds.), Calcutta: The Stormy Decades, New Delhi:
Social Science Press, 2015.
Nora, Pierre, ‘Between Memory and History: Les Lieux de Memoire’, Representa-
tions, no. 26, Spring 1989, pp. 7-24.
333
Pandey, Gyanendra, ‘Can a Muslim be an Indian?’, Comparative Studies in Society
and History, vol. 41, no. 4, October 1999, pp. 608-29.
Parry, Jonathan, ‘“The Crisis of Corruption” and “The Idea of India”: A Worm’s Eye
View’, in Italo Pardo (ed.), Morals of Legitimacy: Between Agency and Sys-
tem, New York and Oxford: Berghahn Books, 2000.
Rahman, Md. Mahbabur and Willem van Schendel, ‘“I am Not a Refugee”: Rethink-
ing Partition Migration’, Modern Asian Studies, vol. 37, no. 3, 2003, pp. 551-
584.
Sarkar, Tanika, ‘Semiotics of Terror’, Economic and Political Weekly, vol. 37, no. 28,
13 July 2008.
Seal, Anil, ‘Imperialism and Nationalism in India’, Modern Asian Studies, vol. 7, no.
3, 1973, pp. 321-347.
Shani, Ornit, ‘Conceptions of Citizenship in India and the ‘Muslim Question’, Mod-
ern Asian Studies, vol. 44, no. 1, 2010, pp. 145-73.
Shani, Ornit, ‘The Rise of Hindu Nationalism in India: The Case Study of Ahmeda-
bad in the 1980s’, Modern Asian Studies, vol. 39, no.4, 2005, pp. 861-96.
Sherman, Taylor C., ‘The Integration of the Princely State of Hyderabad and the Mak-
ing of Postcolonial India, 1948-56’, Indian Economic and Social History Re-
view, vol. 44, no. 4, 2007, pp. 489-516.
Stoler, Ann Laura, ‘Colonial Archives and the Arts of Governance’, Archival Science,
vol. 2, 2002, pp. 87-109.
334
Talbot, Ian, ‘Punjabi Refugees’ Rehabilitation and the Indian State: Discourses, Deni-
als and Dissonances’ in Taylor C. Sherman, William Gould and Sarah Ansari
(eds.), From Subjects to Citizens: Society and the Everyday State in India and
Pakistan, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014.
Varshney, Ashutosh, ‘Ethnic Conflict and Civil Society: India and Beyond’, World
Politics, vol. 53, no. 3, 2001, pp. 362-98.
Washbrook, David, ‘Law, State and Agrarian Society in Colonial India’, Modern
Asian Studies, vol. 15, no. 3, 1981.
Whitehead, Andrew, ‘Duty Does Not Permit Repentance: The Butchers of Calcutta’,
The Indian Express, 1 July 1997.
Wilkinson, Steven I., ‘India, Consociational Theory, and Ethnic Violence’, Asian Sur-
vey, vol. 40, no. 5, 2000, pp. 767-791.
Yang, Anand, ‘Sacred Symbol and Sacred Space in Rural India: Community Mobili-
zation in the “Anti-cow killing” Riot of 1893’, Comparative Studies in Society
and History, vol. 22, no. 4, 1980.
De, Bikramjit, ‘British Policy in Bengal, 1939-45’, DPhil Thesis, University of Ox-
ford, 2002.
Ghosh, Anjan Kumar, ‘Partial Truths: Rumour and Communal Violence in South
Asia, 1946-92’, PhD Thesis, University of Michigan, 1998.
Kamtekar, Indivar, ‘The End of the Colonial State in India, 1942-1947’, PhD Thesis,
University of Cambridge, 1988.
Shil, Partha Pratim, ‘Police Labour and State Formation in Bengal, c.1860 – c.1950’,
PhD Thesis, University of Cambridge, 2017.
335
Roy, Anwesha, ‘Making Riots, Making Peace: Communalism, Communal Riots and
Anti-Communal Resistance in Bengal, 1941-47’, PhD Thesis, Jawaharlal Neh-
ru University, 2015.
________________________________________________________
336