Jalian wala bagh

O Punjab, where brave hearts rise and never choose to bend, 
Where courage flows like rivers and the tyrants always end. 
Your fields recall the footsteps of heroes history can’t erase, 
Your soil still holds the memory of a nation’s fiery grace. 

When Britain, drunk on victory after the world had burned in war, 
Returned to rule with iron laws and chains that scarred the core, 
The Rowlatt Act they forged to choke the voice they couldn’t own, 
A justice mocked, a freedom crushed, a cruelty fully shown. 

But out of Amritsar rose two men whose souls refused to break, 
Dr. Saifuddin Kitchlew and Satyapal, awake for country’s sake. 
They spoke against oppression with a courage clean and true, 
And stirred a fire in countless hearts the British never knew. 

So fearful rulers seized them both, believing fear would reign, 
They thought by jailing patriots they’d dominate again. 
But prisons cannot cage a storm nor silence rising breath, 
Their capture lit a spark that marched the valley close to death. 

For April thirteenth dawned with joy, Vaisakhi’s festive air, 
Families gathered peacefully, unarmed and unaware. 
Yet Dyer entered Jallianwala with hatred cold and vast, 
He blocked the gates, raised rifles high, and ordered firing fast. 

No warning fell upon the crowd before the lead storm came, 
No mercy touched the soldier hands that fired without shame. 
The cries of innocents rose up like thunder in the sky, 
While walls turned red and shadows wept where freedom came to die. 

But even in that slaughtered ground the spirit didn’t tire, 
Each martyr fell a warrior, their blood became a fire. 
A flame that spread through India, a vow in every soul, 
That tyranny would one day burn and justice claim its toll. 

For Udham Singh across the seas held memory like a spear, 
He waited years and crossed an ocean carrying no fear. 
He struck the heart of empire where their pride had dared to stand, 
A reckoning delivered clean by his unshaking hand. 

O Kitchlew! O Satyapal! your courage lit the way, 
You stood when many trembled, you fought though night was grey. 
Your names became the thunder that woke a sleeping land, 
Your spirit forged the soldiers who rose with burning hand. 

Jallianwala’s wounded earth still roars from age to age, 
A wound that carved a nation’s oath in history’s living page. 
Empires fall like crumbling dust when justice takes its stand, 
But martyrs rise eternal, guarding every grain of land. 

So let this Ode be sharp as flame and fierce as freedom’s call, 
A tribute to the brave who chose to rise and never crawl. 
For every bullet Britain fired, a thousand hearts awoke, 
And India learned that tyrants die while truth survives unbroke.