‘There was only one religion in Ghadar Movement: religion of freedom'

Indian Express

26-05-2025

Written by Serena Gujral
In an age of global connectedness, local histories often fade into the margins. In The Ghadar Movement, Dr Rana Preet Gill, a veterinarian by profession, turns to one such forgotten chapter—an audacious, transnational fight for freedom led by Indian immigrants in North America in the early 20th century.
What inspired you to write about the Ghadar Movement, and how is your book different from earlier accounts?
It began during a 2019 family vacation to the Andaman Islands. While visiting the Cellular Jail, I posted a photo online and a senior colleague told me his grandfather's brother, Ram Rakha Baali, had a statue facing the jail. I was living in Hoshiarpur then—Baali's hometown—and had never heard of him or the Mandalay Conspiracy he was part of. That sparked a deeper interest and led me to the Desh Bhagat Yaadgar Hall in Jalandhar. What struck me was how inaccessible the material was—mostly in academic English or Punjabi. I haven't unearthed new facts; instead, I've tried to make the story more accessible. My book is written in a conversational voice for readers like me.
Why do you think the Ghadar Movement remains so little known in mainstream accounts of the freedom struggle?
Timing is one reason. The movement peaked between 1913 and 1918, long before the more recognised phases of the freedom struggle. It also didn't yield immediate, tangible outcomes.
There were lapses in planning, British informants infiltrated the group, and many Ghadarites were executed or jailed. Those who survived were older by 1947, and their stories slipped through the cracks. Of all the revolutionaries, whose story stayed with you most?
Kartar Singh Sarabha's courage at just 19 is unforgettable, but the story that hit closest to home was that of Pyara Singh Langheri, from my hometown Hoshiarpur. He was so fearless that even the police were afraid of him. After his arrest, people gathered just to see him. His story made the movement real for me.
How did religion factor into the movement?
It didn't—at least not in the way we usually think. The Ghadarites had only one religion: the religion of freedom. In a deeply divided India, they made a conscious choice to rise above religious, caste, and linguistic lines. Their unity and secular vision were revolutionary in themselves.
Were there women in the Ghadar Movement whose contributions have been overlooked?
Absolutely. Gulab Kaur's story stands out—her husband backed out, but she stayed. She returned to India, helped revolutionaries rent homes under false identities, and turned her own home into a safehouse. Agnes Smedley, though American, was a powerful ally who supported Lala Har Dayal and raised international awareness. Then there were countless unnamed women who held families together while the men were in jail. Bhai Parmanand's wife, for instance, showed remarkable resilience when their property was confiscated.
What did the Ghadar flag symbolise?
The flag, designed at Yugantar Ashram in San Francisco, had red, yellow, and green stripes. Red symbolised revolution and represented Hindus, yellow stood for courage and valour among Sikhs, and green symbolised progress and was linked to Muslims. It reflected a united, secular India long before independence.
What were the biggest challenges in researching this forgotten history?
I began seriously in early 2020, just as the pandemic hit. Access to archives like the Desh Bhagat Yaadgar Hall was cut off. When things reopened, the staff were incredibly supportive—they let me photocopy materials and even lent me books.
But since no Ghadarites were alive by then, I had to rely solely on written sources—many in old Punjabi or formal Hindi. Understanding and translating terms like 'wiploo' required not just language skills but context. It was painstaking but rewarding work.
Do you see any modern parallels between the Ghadar Movement and today's diaspora activism?
Honestly, no. The Ghadarites were unique. They left India to earn a living but ended up sacrificing everything for a cause. They acted with what I call 'foolish bravery'—making impulsive yet profound decisions. Even in jail, they fought for fellow prisoners. Today's activism is more structured and cautious. That raw passion and selflessness are hard to replicate.