Punjab in History and Historiography
Punjab in History and Historiography
This volume seeks to consider the notion of Punjabiyat, a loosely defined term
often used to describe a sentiment of belonging or attachment to Punjab and/or
the foundations of a shared, cross-religious, cross-caste, cross-class culture. Is
there an ‘idea of Punjab’ or ‘ideas of Punjab’ that help ground—as Punjabi—
people from the region, now scattered across the globe? Or that connect those in
Indian and Pakistani Punjab, divided by what is for most of them an impermeable
border? In other words, despite political, social, religious—indeed, historical—
differences, are there notions of Punjabiyat/Punjabiness that constitute Punjab
as a region conceptually in history, culture, and practice? The essays in this
volume, through their careful analyses of aspects of Punjabi social, cultural,
political, and religious history, taken collectively suggest that there are, indeed.
Part of the impetus for this collection is that volumes on Punjabi culture/s or
histories—especially of its modern period—have not been commonplace in
academic circles. One is more likely to come across (p.xvi) titles that delve into
specific aspects of its culture or people, for instance works on ‘Sikh religion’ or
the ‘Sikh people’, ‘Islamic identity’ or ‘Hindu reform’ in their Punjabi regional
context. Such endeavours are entirely valid and reasonable, and perhaps even
necessary, but it is difficult to comprehend the elision if not erasure of Punjabi
identity from academic writing. Given that it has been easier for diasporic
Punjabis to evoke a much wider and an inclusive Punjabi identity than it has
been for Punjabis residing in India or Pakistan, one wonders if this elision is yet
another result of the political divisions that have marked Punjab’s twentieth-
century history? Have these divisions, whether of 1947 or the postcolonial
period, made other identity markers more apt or emotionally more satisfying
than the idea of belonging/originating/associating with a region? Or could it be
Page 1 of 34
We think this is the right moment to re-imagine and re-configure Punjab and
notions of Punjabiyat, not only in light of a complex past, but also on the
threshold of a globalizing future that is reconstituting both subjects and
subjectivity. Each essay in this volume attempts to do this to some extent, while
engaging with a specific aspect of Punjabi history and culture. Taken as a whole,
the volume both presents critical and varied analyses of Punjab’s complex
cultures and helps reflect on Punjabiyat in its many manifestations.
Methodological Foundations
This volume marks a point of departure in the study of Punjab by emphasizing a
cultural history of the region and its peoples. The turn towards cultural history is
now established and is particularly apposite in contending with questions of
what constitutes communities, peoples, selves, or how these are represented. As
a volume that brings together diverse perspectives on Punjabi cultures, the term
‘culture’ is understood in the widest possible sense—mentalities and social texts,
symbols and cultural representations, elite and popular cultures, social codes
and their performance and reception1 —and a variety of methodological and
disciplinary techniques have been employed for its analysis. For example, as we
use the term, it also refers to the material cultures of a period, or even a culture
specific to class/es. Thus the Annales school’s foundational emphasis on studying
mentalities—mental habits and the barely perceptible changes therein,
especially in the longue duree—continues to be of vital significance. The
anthropological perspective on studying cultural codes of societies, whether
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(p.xviii) Cultural texts are surely an important site of analysis in the essays
that follow, and texts have been interrogated not only for their meanings, but
also for how they work, their manifold reception, and their appropriation to new
and different ends. The linguistic turn with its emphasis on cultural self-
expression through language, and the feminist perspective, which has helped
unravel the gendered aspects of language, have been influential theories whose
impact will also be visible in the following pages. Indeed, the essays in this
volume use these and other methods to provide compelling and sophisticated
analyses of the cultural foundations of historical change.
Most of the contributors in this volume, though not all, are historians, and
though the interdisciplinarity that the linguistic and cultural turns in history
have encouraged is undoubtedly evidenced here, so is the historian’s
preoccupation with context. Readers will thus find the specificity of social or
political milieus carefully laid out for them, rather than an adherence to post-
modernist trends that pursue the study of cultural texts and artefacts as free-
floating signs, capable of generating endless interpretive possibilities. We use
the term practice to capture this emphasis on context, particularly to draw
attention to the importance of historical time, and to ground cultural praxis in
temporal frames and social networks.
Page 3 of 34
Territoriality
The idea of Punjab—as is that of any region—is grounded in complex concepts of
territoriality. While these concepts are perhaps as varied as those who hold them
dear, we focus attention on three concepts of territoriality in particular. We
identify these as the historical, the spatial, and the imaginary. While we
disaggregate these concepts from one another in order to facilitate our
discussion, it must be underscored at the outset that in practice, in the way that
people identify with a region as a geographic/territorial entity and incorporate
this into their notions of self—into their identity—these three aspects of
territoriality easily meld into one another producing precisely the complexity of
experience that the essays in this volume all point to.
Page 5 of 34
(p.xxii)
(p.xxiii) Despite these shifting
contours of Punjab as an
administrative entity, the essays
in this volume do not focus so
much on this territorial
instability of the region as on
the geographical stability of the
‘idea of Punjab’ as it has
emerged in the modern period.
Put another way, and as Farina
Mir has argued elsewhere,
Map of the Sikh Empire, 1839. Courtesy
despite the waxing and waning
Farina Mir
of Punjab’s administrative
borders, ‘the Punjab has a
geographical–cultural core…
whether conceived as an axis
connecting the major cities of
Amritsar, Lahore, and Multan,
or more broadly as the five
doabs and the cis-Sutlej
territory [the area to the south
of the Sutlej river, up to
Delhi]’.6 Indeed, this
geographical–cultural core
corresponds to the rather stable
—even if nebulous—notion of
Map of Colonial Punjab (post 1901).
Punjab that is a subtext in
Courtesy Farina Mir
discussions of the region’s
territoriality. And it is this
notion of Punjab’s territoriality that the essays in this volume engage more
directly, rather than those of administrative borders. Having said that, the
essays also show that this rather stable entity was not in any way insular or
unconnected from the regions around it. In particular, the essays by Anshu
Malhotra and Christopher Shackle point to the importance of cultural
continuities with Sindh, to Punjab’s south-west. Both essays hint that these
continuities may point to a cultural inheritance from Sindh, or at minimum
Sindhi influence on Punjab’s literary culture—an influence that has to date been
muted in scholarly understandings, at best.
Page 6 of 34
modern, colonial, Indian, or Pakistani Punjab, but also the places where the ‘idea
of Punjab’ has travelled, and along with it ideas of Punjabiness. We
conceptualize this expansion of scope as thinking about Punjab spatially, rather
than simply in geographical terms. Thus, we include in this volume an essay by
Tony Ballantyne on a particular Punjabi migrant experience—that of Sikhs who
migrated from Punjab to Britain in the mid-twentieth century. Ballantyne’s essay
examines the construction of a Sikh identity in Britain in the latter half of the
twentieth century, focusing on Sikh representations of themselves as a distinct
community to the British state. This was a deliberate process, and as Ballantyne
shows, it had certain outcomes that might (p.xxiv) be read as ‘costs’. One, for
example, was that it privileged a particular vision of Sikhism, marginalizing
other voices, experiences, and representations of the faithful. Another was that
it privileged a religious over a regional identity, thus providing little ground for
inter-racial or inter-faith alliances that might have more effectively furthered
Sikh political and socio-economic aims. While Ballantyne limits his analysis to
the consequences of Sikh political action in the British context, we might add
that to think of Punjab in these spatial terms—to ignore, as it were, boundaries
or limits as identified on a map—is also to emphasize a recursivity between the
Punjab and its diaspora, both historically and to this day. That is, the experience
of Punjabi migrants has transported Punjab—as a set of ideas and practices—to
other parts of the globe, and the diaspora has similarly played an important role
in Punjab’s (and India’s) history. One need only think of the revolutionary
nationalism of the Ghadar Party, started on the west coast of North America in
the early twentieth century, or the significance of the diaspora in supporting the
Khalistan movement, or the economic impact of migrant labor remittances on
Punjab (both Indian and Pakistani) to recognize this recursivity.7
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is that the earlier politics of death and hope that she elucidates has largely
become a politics of death alone.
If life on the land, and thus a relationship to it, was transformed for many during
the colonial period, then colonialism’s end severed that relationship altogether
for scores of people. The numbers are staggering and despite being well known
are worth repeating: an estimated 12 million people were on the move in Punjab
in the summer of 1947; that is 12 million people whose lives were severed from
familiar places and landscapes. Yet, for many of Partition’s refugees, while the
physical relationship with land/place was irrevocably lost, their ‘Punjab’ would
live on in their imaginaries, and in the new worlds they constructed for
themselves. One example of this is the names given to some of the refugee
colonies of Delhi: (p.xxvi) ‘Gujranwala’, ‘Bhera’ or ‘Punjabi Bagh’. Another
example is the persistent conversation opener posed to Punjabi settlers in Delhi,
even 60-odd years on from Partition: ‘tussi pichhon kithon de ho?’ (Where are
you from [with clear reference to a ‘before’: picchon]?). Such imaginings extend
beyond refugee communities, and are to be found in migrant communities the
world over, whether marked in their restaurants (London’s plethora of ‘Lahore
Kebab House (s)’, or New York’s ‘Lahore Deli’, for example), their sweet shops
(London’s famous Ambala mithai-makers, for example), or their neighbourhoods
(for instance, Vancouver’s ‘Punjabi Market’ area). In each case, an imaginary is
at work that maps Punjab without giving credence to international borders
either within the subcontinent or beyond it. While no single essay in this volume
addresses itself to this imaginary, it is without doubt at play in all of the essays
included herein. Indeed, it would not be pushing our point too far to suggest that
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contrast, Shackle argues for an era of vibrant Sufi literary production that ranges from
the late-twelfth century Sufi Baba Farid to the late-nineteenth century Sufi Khwaja
Ghulam Farid. More importantly, perhaps, he recontextualizes their literature away
from Krishna’s emphasis on its ‘universalism inspired by the monism of Vedanta’ by
arguing that it is critical to see this literature in its Islamic context. This is not, of
course, to deny that Punjabi Sufi poetry had a profound impact beyond Sufi and
Muslim circles, or that there could be ‘theological equivalences’ between Vedantic
monism and certain Sufi ideas, as Malhotra discusses in her essay in this volume.
Rather, it is to suggest that we be more attentive to the context in which Punjabi Sufi
poetry was produced. Shackle’s essay not only does this, but also posits an argument
for why the Islamic context of Punjabi Sufi poetry’s production became opaque,
suggesting that it was the result of Punjabi Sufi poets and their poetry being
appropriated in the modern period to contemporary political exigencies.
Shackle’s essay is an important reminder that in examining a regional literature,
we do not want to collapse important distinctions that were germane to the
context of its production. Thus, without undermining the notion of a regional
literature, we can recognize distinct strands within that tradition. We can
suggest, thus, that between the sixteenth and eighteenth centuries two distinct
literary traditions emerged in Punjab. One was of the Sufis, who expressed their
mystical experience in poetry that deployed the dominant Punjabi dialects Majhi
and Multani. By using symbols and metaphors in their poetry that were steeped
in the practices of everyday life—such as the spinning wheel, a prospective bride
collecting her dowry, or popular characters from Punjab’s ubiquitous qisse (epic
stories/romances), such as Hir and Ranjha—Sufis produced an emotional
connection with their listeners. The other was the Sikh tradition, which from the
time of Guru Nanak had turned to the nirguni bhakti that was spreading across
north India for spiritual inspiration and sustenance. The languages of this
universalist bhakti, Sant Bhasha and later Braj, (p.xxix) were the preferred
modes of transmission of Sikh literature.11 There were, nevertheless, many
points of intersection between the two, whether the mode of ‘masquerading’ in
feminine voice adopted by male poets when addressing the beloved (God),12 the
use of bridal mysticism, or the presence of Baba Farid’s poetry in the Adi
Granth. Indeed, Shackle, who in his essay briefly explores the historical and
literary problems of the Farid verses in the Adi Granth is more aware than most
of the complex relationship between the two traditions, being one of the few
scholars to have worked on both.
As the discussion above suggests, Punjabi linguistic and literary cultures are
marked by pluralities. They are also marked by ironies, not least of which is their
relationship to the state. Members of all of Punjab’s religious communities—
Hindu, Muslim, Sikh, Christian—speak Punjabi, and have done so historically.
Although it has been a vibrant vernacular tradition since the time of Baba Farid,
Punjabi has never enjoyed state support. Mughal rulers reinforced the policy of
their Sultanate predecessors to use Persian as the administrative language in
the areas where Punjabi was spoken, a practice continued by Mughal successor
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Alyssa Ayres’s essay follows a different set of ironies around language, these in
postcolonial Pakistan, where despite Punjabi dominance of the Pakistani state,
Punjabi is the only major regional language in Pakistan with no official status.
Ayres focuses her attention on what she terms a ‘Punjabiyat movement’, which
she defines as ‘seeking to “restore” a role for Punjabi, justified entirely in terms
of aesthetics and pursued through the development of a respected Punjabi-
Page 11 of 34
Colonialism in Punjab
Interrogating the idea of Punjab becomes particularly salient if we consider how
historians have engaged with Punjabi history, particularly its modern period. It is
perhaps not surprising that the workings of the colonial state—its administrative
and technological innovations, for example—and the sheer power of its imperial
interventions in Punjab have been a mainstay of postcolonial history writing on
the region. As a people still coming to terms with the short but transformative
hundred years of colonial history and its consequences, it was imperative to
examine how the colonial state had instituted (p.xxxii) its power. The
peculiarities of the paternalistic ‘Punjab School’ of administration were
understood and explained in terms of the colonial state seeing Punjab as the last
bastion of conquest, and the colonial rulers’ paranoia of being hemmed in by a
turbulent frontier and the designs of powers beyond it.15
An important element of the colonial state’s Punjab project, if we can call it that,
was to recognize/shape the ‘tribal’ character of the province’s ‘agricultural
classes’ and to nurture them as the ‘natural’ leaders of Punjabi society, both of
which were to the disadvantage of kirars, moneylenders, and traders, most of
Page 12 of 34
whom were Hindu.16 The colonial state did this through legal and administrative
structures that had a profound impact on Punjabi society. Two interventions that
stand out in particular are the division of Punjabis into ‘agricultural’ and ‘non-
agricultural’ tribes and the application of ‘customary law’ for all Punjabis.17
Generally viewing Punjabi land-owning Jats (and Rajputs) as a flat, seamless
category of middle-ranking peasants encouraged such policies.18 Indeed, the
colonial understanding of caste in Punjab viewed it as a system of ranking social
hierarchy, one that pertained to social customs and purity/pollution taboos in
particular. These customs and taboos were thought to have less traction among
Punjab’s Jats—something belied by contemporary scholarship, including
Oberoi’s essay in this volume—than among its urban mercantile classes; it was
these urban mercantilists who were seen to preserve the ideals of caste.19 In
other words, notions of agricultural/non-agricultural, tribe/caste became
foundational to colonial policies in Punjab. Among the consequence of such
categorization was the enactment at the fin de siècle of the Punjab Land
Alienation Act which proscribed ‘urban castes/classes’ from owning agricultural
land. In sum, the consequences of these policies were that they favoured the
land-owning castes and classes over urban professional and trading ones.
The workings of the British Raj then—its apparently limitless power to intervene
and change things—whether in taming nature by creating the famous irrigation
canals or in compartmentalizing people through their census and other
ethnological/ethnographical logics have received due attention.20 This research
continues to be significant, even as newer research further unravels the
workings of (p.xxxiii) colonial institutions such as the police and the army or
dismantles the apparently monolithic structure of the colonial state.21 While
disaggregating the colonial state and, increasingly, looking beyond it through
histories grounded in social and cultural perspectives, there are significant ways
in which these two impact areas of Punjab historiography—that is, the state’s
attempt at socio-legal restructuring and its will to refashion the landscape—have
come together as well.
In this context, David Gilmartin’s essay in this volume is important for linking
the power of the colonial state and its transformative capacities to cultural
changes that came to define the new rural elites. He draws on earlier research
to show how the colonial state produced an immense ecological transformation
of Punjab through technological innovation specifically, in creating the irrigation
canals.22 The drive for increasing agricultural productivity and thus revenues
was linked to marginalizing and criminalizing the pastoral/semi-pastoral
communities of western Punjab. Gilmartin notes the tensions between the
settled agriculturists and the pastoralists of Punjab and underlines the role of
Sufi pirs (saints/mystics) as intermediaries between the two. The pious pirs, as
Richard Eaton’s articles on Baba Farid’s establishment at Pakpattan have shown,
played a crucial role in the gradual Islamization and settling of these areas.23
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Under colonialism the new rural elite, guided by the state’s moral universalism
that emphasized private property and individual responsibility, came to rework
genealogy as the fluid notion of biradari. While contractual law structured
dealings in property, customary law came to organize patterns of inheritance
and other matters that fell in the domain of personal law in large parts of
colonial India. Besides nurturing a loyal rural elite, these changes also created a
more patriarchal society. With the state’s insistence on the division between
agricultural and non-agricultural classes with the implementation of the Land
Alienation Act in 1900, sharp cleavages between the favoured rural elite and the
urban non-agricultural elite came into play, as demonstrated above. Rural low
class/caste tenants, labourers and artisans, and women were (p.xxxiv) also
losers in this peculiar social engineering. Gilmartin traces the impact of this
policy in the cultural adoption and adaptation of biradari, and the manner in
which it came to define social and political relations in colonial and
contemporary Pakistani Punjab. The tensions between Punjabi cultural identity
and the developmental policies of the Pakistani state, or between the Islamist
shari’at laws and skepticism about their need, in Gilmartin’s view, can be
partially traced to the rural elite’s social investment in the idea of biradari.
Through the subtle shifts in the social institution of this idea in the pre-colonial,
colonial, and postcolonial periods, Gilmartin demonstrates how we might
understand society through cultural transitions.
The collusion between the colonial state and indigenous elites that Gilmartin
illustrates through his analysis of the working of the concept of biradari has
been taken up by feminist historians, who have shown its particularly
detrimental effects on women. Though Gilmartin’s essay only hints at the
hardships women had to face due to the patriarchal institutions that were
constructed under colonialism, others have demonstrated the very real losses
that women suffered. The process of codification of customary laws, for instance,
in which the state and patriarchal elites collaborated, actively worked against
women’s usufructuary and other rights on land. Prem Chowdhry has shown the
effects that usurping women’s rights had on the widows of landed Jats,24 while
Veena Oldenburg has elucidated long-term changes in the institution of dowry
against the background of new revenue demands and the freezing of
patriarchally-informed customary laws.25 The changes in rural Punjabi society in
the colonial period thus remain a significant area of interest. Although the
essays in this volume do not directly address how historical change impacted
women per se, much of the work presented here obviously owes a debt of
gratitude to this feminist scholarship, and many of the essays are sensitive to the
changing contexts and expressions of patriarchy and gender relations.
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The historiography of modern Punjab thus has given a fair degree of attention to
the structures and institutions of the colonial state, particularly for their role in
making a rural elite. It has also focused (p.xxxv) attention on this rural elite,
showing for example how it participated and dominated the politics of the
province in the early twentieth century through webs of patronage and the
workings of the Unionist Party.26 The process of urbanization, however, or the
characteristics of urban classes have received much less attention. The impact
of the British Raj on urban areas was in fact enormous, in Punjab as across
British India, as a growing body of scholarship has shown.27 But this scholarship
has mostly focused on capital cities—both of presidencies and provinces. Urban
history, particularly in the Punjab context, is still in a nascent phase, and despite
the strides made, much is still to be done.28 We know little about the travails of
the urban poor, for example, and not much about the middle classes either.
Though some historians working on changing gender relations have drawn
attention to the new demands of domesticity among the emerging upper caste,
middle classes—speaking of the newly envisaged appropriate roles for women,
and the disciplining required in the ostensibly emancipatory programmes of
education that centrally shaped the middle classes or exposed its anxieties—
other aspects that defined middle class-ness have received far less attention.29
One exception is perhaps the over-explored area of the communalizing of the
middle classes, to which we will turn our attention shortly. Markus Daechsel’s
work therefore marks something of a departure, and his essay here carries
forward his earlier writing on the self-expression of the Urdu middle class of late
colonial Punjab.30
spatial use of the corporeal city once municipal committees were established in
1862. Tracing the specific understanding of the term ‘public space’ from its
western European usage in the medieval period, Glover shows the particular
ways in which municipalities employed the term in Punjab (as elsewhere in
colonial India). Though in the pre-colonial period there were spaces in the city
that were accessible to almost all of its residents, spaces that were in many ways
physically similar to what the colonial government would call ‘public’ urban
space, the change in the situation, according to Glover, was in the instituting and
strict implementation of new laws and rules that defined how public space could
be used. Glover traces for us in Punjab a more general colonial phenomenon:
how colonial authorities interpreted the density and filth of indigenous Indian
cities as symptomatic of social malaise. His intervention, however, is to draw our
attention to the concomitant emphasis on transforming public spaces to
engineer a socio-cultural change among the denizens of the city. Once again, the
ambitions of Punjab’s colonial administration are laid bare. The most exciting
aspect of Glover’s essay is his reading of legal cases from nineteenth-and
twentieth-century Punjab where he analyses how the term ‘public’ was applied
to the spatial use of the city. Glover speaks of the ‘translation’ of the language of
‘public’, and therefore the contestation over the use of ‘public space’ among
Punjabis. He points to the increasingly sophisticated manner in which Punjabis
imbibed, transmuted and re-deployed the term ‘public’, with its baggage of
rules, delineating the complex processes that shaped the cityscape in the
colonial period. By showcasing Daechsel’s and Glover’s essays, we point to the
exciting new research on Punjab’s cities, their (p.xxxvii) physical appearance
and material cultures, and the classes who inhabited, transformed and
consumed the city.
The colonial period in Punjab was a turbulent one, and seminal studies have
focused on this era as a time when the language and form of religious discourse
were forever changed. After all, this was the time when various organizations
and movements including the Arya Samaj, the Singh Sabhas, the Ahmadiyya,
and numerous Muslim anjumans emerged, all composed of elites eager to gain
space and recognition in the new public sphere.33 The logic of their social and
cultural politics depended on mustering and maintaining the support of their
‘cadres’, engaging in bellicose rhetoric, the discursive domains of which have
been well documented and analysed. The impetus of this research is far from
Page 17 of 34
over, and as we continue to grapple with religious and ethnic conflicts in South
Asia—whether of our (p.xxxix) own making or those received as a legacy of the
colonial state—its momentum is not likely to abate.
C.S. Adcock’s essay in this regard disturbs and unsettles some of the given
assumptions about the nature of public discourse and the ostensibly entrenched
positions that various reform and political organizations were committed to. She
questions the assumed linkages often made by historians between the Arya
Samaj of the late nineteenth and the first decade of the twentieth centuries to
Hindu nationalism as it grew after the 1920s.34 The framing of the debate on
communalism by the Indian National Congress in terms of ‘Hindu Tolerance’,
that is, Hinduism as a ‘tolerant’ religion that did not condone proselytization, as
against the attack on Muslims by Hindu nationalists in this matter, had
significant consequences in polarizing public debate. The representation of the
early twentieth century by historians in similar terms—the continuum between
the Arya Samaj and Hindu nationalism—has obscured important moments in the
Arya Samaj’s history. One of these, for example, is that of the Arya Samaj
struggling to live up to its ideals of reform on caste.35
A salient contribution of this volume are essays that examine the eighteenth and
the nineteenth centuries, opening up key concepts like ‘religion’ or ‘community’
or ‘piety’ for careful interrogation in the pre-colonial and early colonial periods.
Can the European Enlightenment’s universalizing of religion, and the
importation of that idea in the colonies be held responsible for obscuring
indigenous traditions that grasped and performed religiosity in different ways?39
Did the stance of the ‘Orientalists’, with their focus on textual traditions create a
warped understanding of Indian religious phenomena? Was ‘Hinduism’ never
studied on its own terms, marking as different the colonized and their religious
expression from their imperial rulers?40 The essays highlighted below show the
local lineages of holy men and regional traditions that so significantly defined
people’s relationship to the sacred. They also illuminate the interlocution,
appropriation and intermeshing with the greater Indic traditions that created
the templates on which the local was inscribed. The idea of a community was
also undoubtedly present, but what made the community distinct was a much
more complex process than the categories Hindu, Muslim or Sikh allow for. In
other words, it might be more useful to look at society in relational terms,
marking out distinctions not in sharp cleavages but in chains of connectedness.
(p.xli) One example of such a palimpsest would be the new state structure of
the Sikhs, built on the political and statist imaginary fed by the culturally
hegemonic Mughal state. Another would be the reach and play of the Pauranic
mythologies to understand and experience the world. Alternatively we can speak
of the sheer power of the holy personage in Punjab disbursing sacred charisma
on the temporal or spiritual efforts of humans. This could be a sant or a pir, a
living guru or a human conduit carrying forward saintly baraka (grace),
performing salutary and obligatory miracles, affirming life and its course for
most Punjabis.
The study of the Kukas by Harjot Oberoi, and the Gulabdasi sect by Anshu
Malhotra, point to ways in which the guru lineages (a parallel tradition being the
veneration of the pirs) played an important part in expressing piety in this
region. Though these essays also affirm the notion of Hindu, Sikh and
Musalman/Turak in Punjabi society, they are circumspect about using them as
self-evident categories. Oberoi depicts the centrality of the purity/pollution
binary for the millenarian Kukas (though they rejected the caste system) who
literally invested everything to maintain the symbolic purity of the cow. The
attack on the butchers of first Amritsar, then Raikot, and finally an apocalyptic
moment at Malerkotla in 1872 was not a case of ‘religious riot’ that we have
become familiar with in the colonial chronicles from the end of the nineteenth
century, but symptomatic of a state of anomie for the Kuka protectors of the cow.
Page 19 of 34
It was the mlechha (impure; barbarian) British with their increasing tolerance
for cow-slaughter that forced the hand of the Kukas, who rose against the
destruction of what they held to be inviolable. The Kukas drew inspiration from
the miracle-making guru Ram Singh, proximity to his physical presence and the
power of his teachings. The guru himself freely borrowed, adapted and
internalized from the Sikh tradition, whose imagined pristine past he wished to
recreate.
While the Kukas were keen on drawing boundaries in their own way and
distinguishing between the sacred and the profane, the Gulabdasis seemingly
welcomed all to their dera (establishment). These included men and women,
persons of all religions, the high castes and the low. Malhotra shows how the
charisma of the (p.xlii) guru was important in this rather literary sect whose
last decades, as those of the Kukas, intersected with the colonial period. It was
guru Gulabdas’s particular interpretation of Vedantic monism that encouraged
the openness of the sect that apparently embraced all. Malhotra re-explores the
concept of ‘syncretism’ to demonstrate the manner in which specific
appropriations from bhakti, Sufi and Sikh traditions created the multiple
inheritances that the sect revelled in.
Page 20 of 34
Two more essays in this volume further complicate our understanding of how
community and religious identity came to be experienced and addressed in the
eighteenth century. Discussing the specific genre of history writing within the
Sikh tradition, the Gurbilas literature, they attempt to unravel how the notion of
a Sikh community was constructed and built. Before we take these up for
discussion, a few preliminary words about the flourishing discipline of ‘Sikh
Studies’ will help in apprehending them.
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Other tensions and opportunities have also influenced the field of Sikh Studies.
One of these, for example, is the massive emigration from Punjab from the late
nineteenth century which created a need for host communities to incorporate
this diaspora in what have often been evolving discourses on multiculturalism.
The large migrations from the Sikh community, and its success in terms of both
economic well-being and integration in host societies—the latter demonstrated
by Ballantyne in this volume—has meant a significant presence and growth of
Sikh Studies in Western academia. In recent years the discipline has engaged in
debates about Sikh identity and opened questions about the perennial
ambivalence of identities and the state of flux in which they are constantly
negotiated.46 The discipline has encouraged a range of research into the pre-
modern period, spurred on in the first instance by locating and studying texts
and manuscripts associated with the gurus.47
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the future—in the field of Sikh Studies, rife with possibilities as a new
generation of scholars enter the field and new institutional spaces are garnered
for the study of Sikh and Punjabi history.
Among the many accomplishments of Sikh Studies as a field is the way it has
complicated our understanding of the seventeenth, eighteenth, and the first half
of the nineteenth centuries, particularly through scholarship that has
highlighted the power of the Khalsa—as an idea, an incipient organization, and
as an imperial darbar (court).49 Sometimes the intimate relationship between the
history of the Sikhs and its historians, contemporary as well as those of earlier
generations, has also led to more polemical efforts to exhibit a continuous
history of Sikh ‘nationhood’, its locus apparently embedded in old manuscripts,
but also dressed in newer nationalist sensibilities. (p.xlvi) However, as
research has become more sophisticated, particularly in its examination of what
went into the making of Sikh senses of the self, the Sikh community’s
relationship to its past has also become more nuanced.
Louis Fenech in this volume studies the complex and fascinating history of the
Zafar-namah (Epistle of Victory) attributed to the tenth guru Gobind Singh.
Dismissing the banality of questions that try to establish whether the tenth guru
did/did not, could/could not have written the Zafar-namah, or whether he would
have entered into a dialogue with the Mughal emperor Aurangzeb, Fenech is
more interested in the history of the Zafar-namah itself. Fenech simultaneously
unpacks the manner in which Gobind Singh’s court and his literary composition
can be placed within what he calls a ‘larger South Asian Islamicate’ culture, and
how over time the text came to stand for the guru in the Sikh imagination. From
what was purportedly the guru’s letter to the emperor, this text’s transition and
transformation into sacred writing, and its emplacement within the Dasam
Granth is the unfolding story of Sikh subjectivity and selfhood. Fenech’s adept
handling of diverse sources, drawing out the contours of the Perso-Islamic
heritage of north India even as he shows how a sense of Sikh community was
born, enriches our understanding of this period as it does of Sikh identity.
In a similar vein, Anne Murphy examines Kuir Singh’s Gurbilas Patshahi Das and
delves into the larger Pauranic mythological world that animated this genre of
literature, showing at the same time the interpretive load a term like
‘community’ carried in the eighteenth and the early nineteenth centuries.
Focusing on Kuir Singh’s portrayal of the martyrdom of the ninth guru Tegh
Bahadur, Murphy too weaves her discussion around the persistent and troubling
question of conversion. Noting that the idea of religion in this period and region
must be seen to be relational (rather than as dualistic, as it developed in the
west), Murphy investigates what Turak, Hindu or Sikh meant at this time. She
delineates the concept of ‘commensurability’ to give a perspective on how
Turaks were constructed as the others of Sikhs in this literature, but also how
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The saga of Haqiqat Rai as represented in the nineteenth century that Malhotra
discusses briefly in her essay highlights how Hindu and Sikh groups came to
associate conversion with the abuse of (p.xlviii) political power by the Turaks
in Punjab. Malhotra elaborates this idea in her discussion of Piro, showing how
by the mid-nineteenth century the conversion trope could plausibly be displaced
to any supposed abuse of power by the ‘Musalmans’—even when the Sikhs ruled.
However, the putative conversion of the Muslim Piro to the Gulabdasi sect points
to how this conversion also allowed for the reifying of religious identities, if only
to exhibit in the larger context the speciousness of divisions in the first place.
This latter attitude—that religious divisions were specious—had a long history
within bhakti literature, and was used to mock the ritual-oriented religiosity of
authority figures. Finally, Adcock examines the shrill polemics of the early
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twentieth century and shows that those who thrived on controversies that
demarcated community boundaries, themselves moved between different
identities. Taken together, these essays complicate both the term conversion and
its articulation in Punjabi society. Indeed, conversion, it seems, was implicated in
the complex and multi-dimensional ways in which modern communities came to
be constructed.
Anna Bigelow, who delineates the symbolic power of three shared sacred sites in
contemporary Indian Punjab draws out another aspect of inter-community
relations, namely what she calls ‘pro-social encounters’. All the sites she
discusses are associated with different expressions of Islamic piety—the dargah
(tomb) of Hyder Shaikh in Malerkotla, shrines commemorating events from the
life of the famous Chisti Sufi Shaikh Farid in Faridkot, and a maseet (mosque) in
Gobindpura. Rather than reading tolerance at these places as the outcome of
passive non-interference, Bigelow suggests in her analysis of shared sacred sites
that it is the positive effort on the part of various interested parties to work
towards promoting peace that makes space for varied—and not contestatory—
interpretations of the power of the sacred. Importantly, this desire for harmony
does not mean the erasure of difference. In fact, different ritual specialists and
those with a stake in a site’s continuing religious life often understood the power
of the sacred in separate ways. What is critical, and Bigelow’s essay lays this out
clearly, is people’s ability to make space for alternate and pluralistic
understanding of a site’s religious meaning. (p.xlix)
What Bigelow has observed in the course of her fieldwork and discussed with
theoretical clarity, has been a kind of movement in contemporary Indian Punjab.
It seems the dominant Punjabi Jat-Sikhs and their Hindu neighbours have over
the last decade restored and rebuilt over two hundred mosques destroyed in
partition riots. This has been accomplished either with their resources and
initiative, sometimes at the behest of the Jamaat-e-Islami, and at times with the
help of funds remitted from relatives in the Sikh diaspora. It is with this
background that the latest case of the Ghumman family’s similar effort in
Sarwarpur has received celebratory acknowledgement.55 Is this the case of post
colonial Indian Punjab’s remorse over the extremities of violence during the
Partition? Undoubtedly this gesture of symbolic amity has enormous power, not
least because Punjab saw the worst of partition violence. However, this
magnanimity for a mere 1.5 per cent Muslim population of the state, many of
whom are migrant labour, must be put in perspective. On the one hand it shows
how the trend of hardening of religious lines and political posturing on the issue
since the demolition of the Babri Masjid is bucked in Punjab, exemplified by the
pro-social encounters that Bigelow highlights. On the other hand, it must be kept
in mind that the miniscule Muslim population of Indian Punjab is not a threat in
terms of numbers, economic presence, nor does it spawn a fear of cultural
conquest, both of which are anti-Muslim bogies favoured by the Hindu Right.
The saga of conflict in Indian Punjab is being played out with a sharper edge in
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relation to the dalits, who have larger numbers and represent greater prosperity.
Nevertheless there is no doubt that pro-sociality encourages people to look at
themselves as tolerant and multi-dimensional.
Simona Sawhney picks just this ominous moment of violence—of young men
willingly sacrificing life for a cause perceived as greater than themselves by
exploding bombs at an Ahmadiyya mosque—to inquire into an earlier
phenomenon of ‘revolutionary terrorism’. While the romance of sacrifice and
death are linked with the idea of patriotic exhortation directed at the youth,
Sawhney turns to the writings of the young man gifted with clear thinking—
Bhagat Singh. Using the canvas of a range of writings emanating from the
radical, socialist and democratic traditions of the West in the nineteenth and
early twentieth centuries, Bhagat Singh displayed an astonishing
cosmopolitanism in order to forge a democratic nationalism. What makes a hero
and what gives the hero the right to inflict violence, including on the self, were
issues that troubled Bhagat Singh. The similarities with Gandhi were only too
visible, but so were the enormous differences. Similarly the case for drawing
parallels with the present manifestations of terrorist violence is there, but so are
very significant distinctions. One of the distinguishing points that Sawhney
highlights with subtlety is the manner in which the perception of the ‘West’ has
undergone a change. From a beacon of hope and cosmopolitanism, the West is
viewed by many youth growing up in the third world today as the seedbed for
spawning prejudiced neo-imperialists. Hope and cosmopolitanism have had a
conjoint death. And the line dividing the romance of death with its sheer
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this apparently familiar and loved (or denigrated) Punjabi culture should not
mean that it does not require rigorous study.
Notes:
(†) This Introduction has benefitted from careful readings by David Gilmartin and
Gurinder Singh Mann. We would like to thank them for their helpful comments.
(1) The following discussion has benefited from theoretical insights on cultural
history in Lynn Hunt, ‘Introduction: History, Culture and Text’, (p.liii) in Lynn
Hunt (ed.), The New Cultural History, Berkeley: University of California Press,
1989, pp. 1–22; Victoria Bonnell and Lynn Hunt (eds), Beyond the Cultural Turn:
Directions in the Study of Society and Culture, Berkeley: University of California
Press, 1999.
(2) J.S. Grewal, ‘The Historian’s Panjab’, in his Miscellaneous Articles, Amritsar:
Guru Nanak Dev University, 1974, pp. 1–10.
(3) J.S. Grewal, Social and Cultural History of the Punjab: Prehistoric, Ancient,
and Early Medieval, New Delhi: Manohar, 2004.
(4) This is evident in Muzaffar Alam’s The Crisis of Empire in Mughal North
India, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1993, for example. One also sees this
reflected in Chetan Singh’s Region and Empire: Panjab in the Seventeenth
Century, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1991.
(5) J.S. Grewal, The Sikhs of the Punjab, Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1990, pp. 99–127.
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(6) Farina Mir, The Social Space of Language: Vernacular Culture in British
Colonial Punjab, Berkeley: University of California Press, 2010; Ranikhet:
Permanent Black, 2010, p. 27.
(7) On the Ghadar movement, see the seminal study by Harish K. Puri, Ghadar
Movement: Ideology, Organization & Strategy, Amritsar: Guru Nanak Dev
University, 1983. On the Khalistan movement, see Giorgio Shani, Sikh
Nationalism and Identity in a Global Age, New York: Routledge, 2008, esp. pp.
40–99. On remittances from the Gulf to Pakistan, see Jonathan Addleton,
Undermining the Centre: The Gulf Migration and Pakistan, Karachi: Oxford
University Press, 1992.
(10) We should note that of these dialects, Lahnda alone is no longer common in
linguistic discussions of Punjabi dialects. Shackle, for example, does not include
it in his exposition of the language in his essay, ‘Panjabi’. Today, linguists
generally use the term to refer to a distinct Indo-Aryan language. One finds a
number of such references in Dhanesh Jain and George Cardona (eds), The Indo-
Aryan Languages, New York: Routledge, 2003. See, for example, pp. 240, 545,
652, and 898. This dovetails with colonial linguist George Grierson’s analysis in
his famous linguistic survey of Indian languages, where he identified Lahnda as
the language spoken in Western Punjab. See George Grierson, Grierson on
Punjabi [reprint of Punjabi sections of Linguistic Survey of India, vol. 9], Patiala:
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Languages Department, 1961 [1919]. For our purposes, however, we follow the
tradition of Punjabi literary criticism that views Lahnda as a dialect of Punjabi,
one particularly significant to medieval and early modern literary production.
See, for example, Mohan Singh Uberoi’s foundational text, A History of Panjabi
Literature (1100–1932), Jalandhar: Bharat Prakashan, 1971 [1933].
(11) Denis Matringe, ‘Hir Varis Shah, A Story Retold’, in Vasudha Dalmia and
Theo Damsteegt (eds), Narrative Strategies: Essays on South Asian Literature
and Film, New Delhi: Oxford University Press. 1998, p. 19.
(12) Carla Petievich, When Men Speak as Women: Vocal Masquerade in Indo-
Muslim Poetry, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2007.
(13) The reasons for this are explored in Farina Mir, ‘Imperial Policy, Provincial
Practices: Colonial Language Policy in Nineteenth Century India’, Indian
Economic and Social History Review, 43 (4), 2006, pp. 395–427.
(15) P.H.M. van den Dungen, The Punjab Tradition: Influence and Authority in
Nineteenth Century India, London: George Allen and Unwin Ltd, 1972.
(16) N.G. Barrier, The Punjab Alienation of Land Bill of 1900, Durham, NC: Duke
University Press, 1966.
(18) It should be noted that some colonial officials had more nuanced
understandings of Jat identity. Denzil Ibbetson, for example, noted important
distinctions within this group.
(19) Anshu Malhotra, Gender, Caste and Religious Identities: Restructuring Class
in Colonial Punjab, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2002, pp. 24–34.
(20) On the canal colonies, see Imran Ali, The Punjab Under Imperialism 1885–
1947, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1988. On colonial ethnographic
logics, see Richard Fox, The Lions of the Punjab, Berkeley: University of
California Press, 1985.
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(21) See, for example: Arnaud Sauli, ‘Circulation and Authority: Police, Public
Space and Territorial Control in Punjab, 1861–1920’, in Markovits et al. (eds),
Society and Circulation, pp. 215–39; Rajit Mazumder, The Indian Army and the
Making of Punjab, Ranikhet: Permanent Black, 2003; and Tan Tai Yong, The
Garrison State: the Military, Government and Society in Colonial Punjab, 1849–
1947, Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications, 2005.
(23) Richard Eaton, ‘The Political and Religious Authority of the Shrine of Baba
Farid’, and ‘Court of Man, Court of God: Local Perceptions of the Shrine of Baba
Farid, Pakpattan, Punjab’, in his Essays on Islam and Indian History, New Delhi:
Oxford University Press, 2001, pp. 203–46.
(24) Prem Chowdhry, The Veiled Women: Shifting Gender Equations in Rural
Haryana 1880–1990, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1994. For how the
laws affected ‘high caste’ widows, see Anshu Malhotra, ‘Ascetic Widowhood or
Widow Remarriage? Dilemma for the New Punjabi Elite’, in her Gender, Caste
and Religious Identities, pp. 82–115.
(25) Veena Talwar Oldenburg, Dowry Murder: The Imperial Origins of a Cultural
Crime, New York: Oxford University Press, 2002.
(26) Ian Talbot, Punjab and the Raj 1849–1947, New Delhi: Manohar, 1988.
(27) See, for example, on Calcutta, Lahore, and Bombay, respectively: Swati
Chattopadhyay, Representing Calcutta: Modernity, Nationalism, and the Colonial
Uncanny, London: Routledge, 2005; William J. Glover, Making Lahore Modern:
Constructing and Imagining a Colonial City, Minneapolis: University of
Minnesota Press, 2008; and Preeti Chopra, A Joint Enterprise: The Indian
Making of British Bombay, 1854–1918, Minneapolis: University of Minnesota
Press, 2011. (p.lvi)
(28) In addition to Glover 2008, see Ian Talbot, ‘A Tale of Two Cities: The
Aftermath of Partition for Lahore and Amritsar 1947–1957’, Modern Asian
Studies, 41 (1), 2007, pp. 151–85.
(31) There are, however, increasingly scholarly correctives to this. See Anna
Bigelow’s essay in this volume as well as her, Sharing the Sacred: Practicing
Pluralism in Muslim North India, New York: Oxford University Press, 2010.
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(32) Our thanks to David Gilmartin for this point, whose own work is at the
vanguard in this respect.
(34) For such a stance, see Christophe Jaffrelot, The Hindu Nationalist
Movement and Indian Politics 1925 to the 1990s: Strategies of Identity-Building,
Implantation and Mobilisation, Delhi: Viking, 1996.
(35) Jones contended that in his Satyarth Prakash Dayananda Sarasvati, the
founder of the Arya Samaj, argued for caste based on the merit of a person
rather than birth, advocating an ‘open social system’. See Jones, Arya Dharm, p.
33. For a different view that argues for Dayananda’s ambivalence on caste
reforms, see Anshu Malhotra, ‘The Body as a Metaphor for the Nation: Caste,
Masculinity and Femininity in the Satyarth Prakash of Dayananda Sarasvati’, in
A.A. Powell and S. Lambert-Hurley (eds), Rhetoric and Reality: Gender and
Colonial Experience in South Asia, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2006,
pp. 121–53.
(37) On the diverse aspects of ‘conversion’ and the different modes and
motivations for such an occurrence, see Rowena Robinson and Sathianathan
(p.lvii) Clarke, ‘Introduction’, in Rowena Robinson and Sathianathan Clarke
(eds), Religious Conversion in India: Modes, Motivations, and Meanings, New
Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2003, pp. 1–21.
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Religions, Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2005. On the usage of the term
‘Hinduism’, see Heinrich von Stietencron, ‘Hinduism: On the Proper Use of a
Deceptive Term’, in his Hindu Myth, Hindu History: Religion, Art and Politics,
Ranikhet: Permanent Black, 2005, pp. 227–48. On different components
constituting Hinduism, see Gunther-Dietz Sontheimer, ‘Hinduism: The Five
Components and Their Interaction’, in Heidrun Bruckner, Anne Feldhaus and
Aditya Malik (eds), Gunther-Dietz Sontheimer: Essays on Religion, Literature
and Law, New Delhi: Manohar, 2004, pp. 401–19.
(41) Though Jats are placed as shudras in the Hindu caste hierarchy, they were
the powerful land-owning dominant caste of Punjab.
(42) These included the later fiery Singh Sabha supporter Ditt Singh, the harijan
Tara Singh and the prostitute Piro.
(43) Census of India 1891 – Vol. XIX – The Punjab and Its Feudatories, Calcutta:
Government Printing, 1892, p. 88.
(44) This is seen, for example, in the bi-annual journal The Panjab Past and
Present started by Ganda Singh of Punjabi University, Patiala in 1967; and the
The Journal of Regional History, established in 1980 and published by Guru
Nanak Dev University, Amritsar.
(45) J.S. Grewal, The Sikhs of the Punjab, Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1990; and Harnik Deol, Religion and Nationalism in India: The Case of the
Punjab, London: Routledge, 2000.
(46) Some aspects of these debates have been captured well in J.S. Grewal,
Constesting Interpretations of the Sikh Tradition, New Delhi: Manohar, 1998.
(47) The literature here is too vast to be referenced fully except mentioning a
few outstanding examples. W.H. McLeod, Guru Nanak and the Sikh Tradition,
New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1986; Gurinder Singh Mann, The Making of
Sikh Scripture, New York: Oxford University Press, 2001; and Pashaura Singh,
Life and Work of Guru Arjan: History, (p.lviii) Memory, and Biography in the
Sikh Tradition, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2006.
(48) W.H. McLeod, ‘The Development of the Sikh Panth’, in his Exploring
Sikhism: Aspects of Sikh Identity, Culture, and Thought, New Delhi: Oxford
University Press, 2004, pp. 49–69.
(49) Louis E. Fenech, The Darbar of the Sikh Gurus: The Court of God in the
World of Men, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2008.
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(52) Richard M. Eaton, The Rise of Islam and the Bengal Frontier 1204–1760,
Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993.
(53) Louis E. Fenech, Martyrdom in the Sikh Tradition: Playing the ‘Game of
Love’, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2000.
(56) Amir Mir, ‘Just Who is not a Kafir?’ Outlook (New Delhi), 19 July 2010, pp.
54–6.
(57) A controversy erupted over the branding ‘kafir’ on the coffin of the young
Hindu Prem Chand of Pakistan who died in a plane crash near Islamabad.
Mohammad Wajihuddin, ‘Don’t Use the K Word’, The Times of India (New Delhi),
20 September 2010, p. 13.
(58) Ayesha Jalal, Partisans of Allah: Jihad in South Asia, Cambridge: Harvard
University Press, 2008; Ranikhet: Permanent Black, 2008.
(60) Srijana Mitra Das, ‘Partition and Punjabiyat in Bombay Cinema: The
Cinematic Perspective of Yash Chopra and Others’, Contemporary South Asia, 15
(4), 2006, pp. 453–71.
(61) Ananya Jahanara Kabir, ‘Musical Recall: Postmemory and the Punjabi
Diaspora’, Alif: Journal of Comparative Poetics, vol. 24, 2004, pp. 172–89.
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