Why ‘Satluj’ has touched Sikhs across social and political divides

Satluj is about the life of a human rights activist, Jaswant Singh Khalra, who exposed atrocities committed by the Punjab police in the late 1980s and early 1990s, while they fought Sikh militancy. It focuses on his campaign against the large number of “disappearances”, in which the police would pick up young Sikh men reported to be active Khalistanis, kill them, and secretly cremate their bodies or simply throw them into rivers and canals. Killing designated terrorists carried rewards for police, monetary and promotions. Khalra writes to the Union government for an enquiry by a central agency and even raises the issue on international platforms. However, the state police and the political establishment are openly hostile. One morning, he too is picked up from his home and disappears.

While some are questioning its facts, or accusing Satluj of showing a biased view of a complex reality, others have expressed the anxiety that it could revive Sikh militancy. Still others see in its release a cynical political move to polarise Punjab’s voters.

Perhaps the most interesting aspect to note is the film’s reception among the Sikhs. They have embraced it with an unprecedented sense of piety and solidarity. Its shows are being organised in gurudwaras and public halls across villages and towns in Punjab and other states. Its viewers gather, as they would for a religious congregation. They may also stand together at the beginning or end of the screening and perform an ardas, praying that those dark times never return. They are often joined by their non-Sikh neighbours as well.

Like most other communities, the Sikhs and the Punjabis are not a homogeneous group. They are divided along caste and class lines. Nearly one-third of them are listed as Scheduled Castes. The rural Jats and urban Khatri/Arora Sikhs also have sharp social divisions and differences. Their identification with the Akali politics has also been varied. The Dalit Sikhs of Punjab, for example, did not support the Akali-led Punjabi Suba movement of the 1960s. They saw in it the possibility of the local landowners, their employers, becoming more coercive. The primary social base of Akali politics has remained the rural/agrarian castes. Likewise, the Sikhs living in Delhi, Haryana or Rajasthan have had their own distinct sense of community and modes of political identification.

The Khalistan movement was no different. A majority of them never identified with the idea or supported the movement. However, they all suffered because of it, not only in 1984 but even later. They feel angry and agitated every time vested interests call them Khalistanis to undermine their genuine political grievances. It is perhaps for this reason that Satluj emotionally unites them. Such a consensus across the Sikh community is rather extraordinary.

The Khalistan movement of the 1980s had multiple sides to it, but the world mainly heard one side of this story, that told by the Indian state. The film offers a different perspective: That of those who were collateral in a plot not of their own making. It affirms the Sikh grievance and articulates it in the language of constitutionalism. By foregrounding the question of human rights, the movie enables the Sikh representation narrative to shift from the popular binary of “Khalistani” versus “Indian nationalist” to the one between the “attwadis” (agents of terror) and the “sattwadis” (seekers of truth). Many see Khalra as fighting for the truth, even when he knows it might cost him his life.

The writer was a professor of Sociology at JNU