Thousands of dog-owners had to put pets to death in Punjab; a terrorism horror story
Diljit Dosanjh's Satluj has brought the dangerous days of terrorism in Punjab into the spotlight. One well-documented aspect of those days is the massacre of thousands of dogs across the state. At a time when we are debating how best or kindly to deal with street dogs, it is instructive to read this horror story about why Punjab's dogs became collateral damage.
Diljit Dosanjh's film Satluj tells the story of nameless Sikhs killed in Punjab due to alleged police excesses during the 1990s, and of Jaswant Singh Khalra, who demanded justice for them. In the era of Khalistani terrorism, casualties are broadly accounted for under three categories: civilians, police personnel, and terrorists. Then come further sub-categories, such as how many Hindus died, how many Sikhs, how many Namdharis, how many journalists, politicians, or judges.
However, in this fight for justice, an innocent creature is always left out -- the dogs of Punjab. Innumerable dogs were slaughtered in Punjab following Khalistani decrees. The terrorists' enmity with dogs remains one of the most painful chapters of human cruelty.
That horrific scene
It is a terrifying night in a Punjab village enduring the peak of Khalistani terrorism. Sandwiched between terrorist attacks and police operations, even the silence of the village triggers fear. Every passing second is heavy with the apprehension of some impending doom. In such a tense environment, a village dog begins to bark.
Its barking does not seem normal. The villagers are terrified that the noise might draw the police or the CRPF into the village. On the other hand, there is an equal dread that if the terrorists suspect the dog is signalling their movements, they will brand the villagers as enemies. Thus, in that atmosphere, the simple barking of a dog is perceived as an invitation from Yama, the god of death.
The villagers initially try to silence it. Someone scolds it, someone throws stones, and someone tries to coax it. But the dog, true to its nature, keeps barking. It remains blissfully unaware that in the human world, fear has altered the basic rules of its normal life.
The villagers' anxiety mounts. The dog no longer appears to be a loyal companion but a threat. Ultimately, attempts are made to drive it away from the village or get rid of it by any means necessary, so that its voice does not bring catastrophe upon the village.
But this is where the story delivers its deepest message. The dog takes no sides. It belongs neither to the police nor to the terrorists. It is merely doing what nature designed it to do -- barking at an unfamiliar sound. In the end, it falls victim to this environment of violence and mistrust.
- This scene is from Chauthi Koot (The Fourth Direction), a famous short story by Punjabi writer Waryam Singh Sandhu.
Citation of a true story
Chauthi Koot was awarded the Sahitya Akademi Award. Based on this very story, director Gurvinder Singh made a Punjabi film of the same name in 2015. This narrative is not a work of fiction; it is based on a deeply painful and true incident involving Sandhu Sahab’s own brother's family.
Recalling that era in an interview, Waryam Singh Sandhu says, "My brother, his wife, and their children deeply loved their two pet dogs. But one day, a decree arrived from the Khalistanis to kill these dogs immediately. To make the task 'easier,' they left cyanide capsules with the family, which had to be mixed with curd and fed to the dogs. In this brutal choice between human and animal life, the animal ultimately lost. The pain this incident caused me went far beyond politics and battles over communal identity—it was the pain of humanity fading away."
Witnessed by a ground report
A special ground report titled 'The Rule of the Gun' by veteran journalist Shekhar Gupta, who was covering the Punjab militancy for India Today magazine in 1991, confirms this tragedy. In the June 15, 1991 issue, he wrote:
"TERROR. Often it is synonymous with sundown, palpable in the eerie, dark silence. The television sets are off on the diktat of the militants. The radios and two-in-ones are quiet as most music has been decreed to be decadent. The dogs are quiet too. Some have been shot, some poisoned. Mostly by their own masters. If the militants say kill your dogs, you kill them. Or, if the armed bands walk your streets and your dog lets out as much as a whimper, they might just shoot you instead. Who knows what they will do. Nobody knows. And that, the fear of the unknown, is the engine that powers the juggernaut of terror. Inexorably, quietly and in a most un-Punjabi-like resignation, the people have surrendered to the law of the gun."
In reality, the Khalistanis viewed these dogs as 'informal informants for the security forces.' In the darkness of the night, when security forces patrolled or when terrorists rushed toward villages to hide, the barking of dogs betrayed their presence. To keep their identity and movements covert, the militants launched a campaign to eliminate dogs across Punjab's villages. These mute animals were suddenly paying the most horrific price for their loyalty. The tragedy is that their carcasses never found a Satluj for a proper farewell.
Beyond dogs, what else was silenced?
Punjab, renowned for its festivals, Bhangra, Gidha, and loud music, did not fall silent at night solely due to the killing of dogs. Behind this silence lay the cruel rules and regulations imposed by Khalistani terrorists in the name of "social reform."
In 1987, the self-proclaimed chief of the Khalistan Commando Force, General Labh Singh, along with Sikh Students Federation President Gurjeet Singh Harihar Jhok, initiated a 'Social Reform Movement' in Punjab. The objective of this movement was to control people's lifestyle and culture at gunpoint under the guise of social purity. It was mandated that any form of modern entertainment or music would be banned. This oppressive 'social reform' had a profound impact on life in Punjab:
Celebrations Vanished from Weddings: Groups like the Khalistan Commando Force issued strict edicts completely banning loud music, dhols, and dance performances at weddings and public gatherings. Weddings could only take place during daylight hours and within strict religious discipline.
Artists' stage shows halted: The most terrifying manifestation of this decree came in 1988, when Punjab's most popular folk singer, Amar Singh Chamkila, and his wife, Amarjot, were gunned down in broad daylight. The Khalistanis believed that their songs went against Sikh ideology. Following this assassination, such fear gripped the entire music industry that radio and cassette players fell completely silent.
Self-imposed night curfews: To avoid the bloodshed that occurred at night, an unannounced curfew would fall across Punjab as soon as the sun set. No matter where people went during the day, they would lock themselves inside their homes before dusk. At night, the distant sound of any motorcycle or vehicle would accelerate people's heartbeats, leaving them wondering whose door death was knocking on that night.
Religious and ideological restrictions: Mainstream folk music, songs, or entertainment on TV and radio were entirely banned. Public and private spaces were allowed to play only religious songs or revolutionary tracks that promoted the Khalistani ideology. Even singing the national anthem, Jana Gana Mana, was prohibited.
Reading about these restrictions might remind you of the Taliban decrees implemented later in Afghanistan. That era in Punjab stands testimony to how the law of the gun stripped society of its vibrancy. Everyone was under suspicion. Everyone's life was at risk. Yet, an innocent creature failed to comprehend this turmoil.
The silent deaths of Punjab's dogs tell a story of untold pain from that era, an accounting of which is yet to be recorded in the pages of history. Everyone has drawn up a list of casualties tailored to their own agendas. Diljit Dosanjh's Satluj narrates the story of the cremation of nameless bodies and demands justice for Jaswant Singh Khalra, who raised his voice for them.
If only a Satluj could be written to bring justice to those departed dogs of Punjab as well.
Diljit Dosanjh's film Satluj tells the story of nameless Sikhs killed in Punjab due to alleged police excesses during the 1990s, and of Jaswant Singh Khalra, who demanded justice for them. In the era of Khalistani terrorism, casualties are broadly accounted for under three categories: civilians, police personnel, and terrorists. Then come further sub-categories, such as how many Hindus died, how many Sikhs, how many Namdharis, how many journalists, politicians, or judges.
However, in this fight for justice, an innocent creature is always left out -- the dogs of Punjab. Innumerable dogs were slaughtered in Punjab following Khalistani decrees. The terrorists' enmity with dogs remains one of the most painful chapters of human cruelty.
That horrific scene
It is a terrifying night in a Punjab village enduring the peak of Khalistani terrorism. Sandwiched between terrorist attacks and police operations, even the silence of the village triggers fear. Every passing second is heavy with the apprehension of some impending doom. In such a tense environment, a village dog begins to bark.
Its barking does not seem normal. The villagers are terrified that the noise might draw the police or the CRPF into the village. On the other hand, there is an equal dread that if the terrorists suspect the dog is signalling their movements, they will brand the villagers as enemies. Thus, in that atmosphere, the simple barking of a dog is perceived as an invitation from Yama, the god of death.
The villagers initially try to silence it. Someone scolds it, someone throws stones, and someone tries to coax it. But the dog, true to its nature, keeps barking. It remains blissfully unaware that in the human world, fear has altered the basic rules of its normal life.
The villagers' anxiety mounts. The dog no longer appears to be a loyal companion but a threat. Ultimately, attempts are made to drive it away from the village or get rid of it by any means necessary, so that its voice does not bring catastrophe upon the village.
But this is where the story delivers its deepest message. The dog takes no sides. It belongs neither to the police nor to the terrorists. It is merely doing what nature designed it to do -- barking at an unfamiliar sound. In the end, it falls victim to this environment of violence and mistrust.
- This scene is from Chauthi Koot (The Fourth Direction), a famous short story by Punjabi writer Waryam Singh Sandhu.
Citation of a true story
Chauthi Koot was awarded the Sahitya Akademi Award. Based on this very story, director Gurvinder Singh made a Punjabi film of the same name in 2015. This narrative is not a work of fiction; it is based on a deeply painful and true incident involving Sandhu Sahab’s own brother's family.
Recalling that era in an interview, Waryam Singh Sandhu says, "My brother, his wife, and their children deeply loved their two pet dogs. But one day, a decree arrived from the Khalistanis to kill these dogs immediately. To make the task 'easier,' they left cyanide capsules with the family, which had to be mixed with curd and fed to the dogs. In this brutal choice between human and animal life, the animal ultimately lost. The pain this incident caused me went far beyond politics and battles over communal identity—it was the pain of humanity fading away."
Witnessed by a ground report
A special ground report titled 'The Rule of the Gun' by veteran journalist Shekhar Gupta, who was covering the Punjab militancy for India Today magazine in 1991, confirms this tragedy. In the June 15, 1991 issue, he wrote:
"TERROR. Often it is synonymous with sundown, palpable in the eerie, dark silence. The television sets are off on the diktat of the militants. The radios and two-in-ones are quiet as most music has been decreed to be decadent. The dogs are quiet too. Some have been shot, some poisoned. Mostly by their own masters. If the militants say kill your dogs, you kill them. Or, if the armed bands walk your streets and your dog lets out as much as a whimper, they might just shoot you instead. Who knows what they will do. Nobody knows. And that, the fear of the unknown, is the engine that powers the juggernaut of terror. Inexorably, quietly and in a most un-Punjabi-like resignation, the people have surrendered to the law of the gun."
In reality, the Khalistanis viewed these dogs as 'informal informants for the security forces.' In the darkness of the night, when security forces patrolled or when terrorists rushed toward villages to hide, the barking of dogs betrayed their presence. To keep their identity and movements covert, the militants launched a campaign to eliminate dogs across Punjab's villages. These mute animals were suddenly paying the most horrific price for their loyalty. The tragedy is that their carcasses never found a Satluj for a proper farewell.
Beyond dogs, what else was silenced?
Punjab, renowned for its festivals, Bhangra, Gidha, and loud music, did not fall silent at night solely due to the killing of dogs. Behind this silence lay the cruel rules and regulations imposed by Khalistani terrorists in the name of "social reform."
In 1987, the self-proclaimed chief of the Khalistan Commando Force, General Labh Singh, along with Sikh Students Federation President Gurjeet Singh Harihar Jhok, initiated a 'Social Reform Movement' in Punjab. The objective of this movement was to control people's lifestyle and culture at gunpoint under the guise of social purity. It was mandated that any form of modern entertainment or music would be banned. This oppressive 'social reform' had a profound impact on life in Punjab:
Celebrations Vanished from Weddings: Groups like the Khalistan Commando Force issued strict edicts completely banning loud music, dhols, and dance performances at weddings and public gatherings. Weddings could only take place during daylight hours and within strict religious discipline.
Artists' stage shows halted: The most terrifying manifestation of this decree came in 1988, when Punjab's most popular folk singer, Amar Singh Chamkila, and his wife, Amarjot, were gunned down in broad daylight. The Khalistanis believed that their songs went against Sikh ideology. Following this assassination, such fear gripped the entire music industry that radio and cassette players fell completely silent.
Self-imposed night curfews: To avoid the bloodshed that occurred at night, an unannounced curfew would fall across Punjab as soon as the sun set. No matter where people went during the day, they would lock themselves inside their homes before dusk. At night, the distant sound of any motorcycle or vehicle would accelerate people's heartbeats, leaving them wondering whose door death was knocking on that night.
Religious and ideological restrictions: Mainstream folk music, songs, or entertainment on TV and radio were entirely banned. Public and private spaces were allowed to play only religious songs or revolutionary tracks that promoted the Khalistani ideology. Even singing the national anthem, Jana Gana Mana, was prohibited.
Reading about these restrictions might remind you of the Taliban decrees implemented later in Afghanistan. That era in Punjab stands testimony to how the law of the gun stripped society of its vibrancy. Everyone was under suspicion. Everyone's life was at risk. Yet, an innocent creature failed to comprehend this turmoil.
The silent deaths of Punjab's dogs tell a story of untold pain from that era, an accounting of which is yet to be recorded in the pages of history. Everyone has drawn up a list of casualties tailored to their own agendas. Diljit Dosanjh's Satluj narrates the story of the cremation of nameless bodies and demands justice for Jaswant Singh Khalra, who raised his voice for them.
If only a Satluj could be written to bring justice to those departed dogs of Punjab as well.
