The violence at Jallianwala Bagh marked only the beginning of a much wider campaign of repression across Punjab. In the days that followed, the colonial authorities moved rapidly to consolidate military control, replacing ordinary civil administration with a system of coercion that reached into almost every aspect of public and private life.

Lahore, as the political and administrative centre of the province, soon became a principal theatre of this intensified repression. What followed was not merely a continuation of the measures described in the preceding section, but a systematic attempt to silence dissent, discipline the population and restore imperial authority through fear. Within days, Lahore became one of the principal centres of martial law administration in the Punjab. Temporary tribunals operated with remarkable speed, processing hundreds of cases involving alleged breaches of martial law regulations. Charges ranged from participation in demonstrations and possession of inflammatory literature to failure to obey curfew orders or damage to government property. Numerous citizens received lengthy terms of imprisonment, substantial fines and public floggings. Several death sentences were pronounced, although a number were later commuted following public criticism and official review. The severity of these punishments was intended less to administer justice than to create an atmosphere of fear sufficiently pervasive to extinguish all public opposition.

Daily life in Lahore was transformed by an ever-expanding network of regulations. One of Johnson’s first acts was the imposition of a rigorous curfew that confined residents to their homes during the night. The hours were subsequently revised to extend from eight o’clock in the evening until five o’clock the following morning. Exemptions were granted primarily to Europeans, senior officials and holders of special military permits, while the overwhelming majority of the population remained subject to stringent restrictions on movement. Soldiers patrolled deserted streets, and a shoot-on-sight policy was widely understood to apply to unauthorised movement after curfew. Collective responsibility formed another distinctive feature of martial law administration. Local representatives and neighbourhood leaders could themselves be punished for violations committed within their jurisdictions, encouraging communities to police one another under constant threat of official reprisal.

The military administration simultaneously sought to monopolise transport and communications. Privately owned motorcars, horse carriages and bicycles were requisitioned for official use. Educational institutions proved especially vulnerable. Hundreds of bicycles belonging to students at D.A.V. College, Sanatan Dharam College and Dyal Singh College were confiscated and deposited at Bradlaugh Hall. The measure severely disrupted the daily lives of students while symbolising the state’s determination to subordinate civilian convenience to military necessity. Requests for exemptions, even from judges, senior lawyers and other distinguished public figures, were frequently dismissed with open contempt, demonstrating that martial law recognised neither social standing nor professional distinction when enforcing its authority.

The proliferation of regulations soon reached almost absurd proportions. Residents were forbidden to walk in pairs, assemble in groups exceeding 10 persons, or hold meetings even within private homes without official permission. Public notices containing martial law orders were affixed to buildings selected by the Criminal Investigation Department, often belonging to respected professionals and community leaders regarded as politically unreliable. Property owners became legally responsible for the preservation of these notices. Their removal, defacement or destruction exposed both occupants and buildings to severe punishment, including demolition of sections of the property itself. Such measures were designed not merely to disseminate official instructions but to make the physical landscape of Lahore a permanent reminder of military domination.

Educational institutions emerged as particular objects of official suspicion because they were believed to harbour political activism among the youth. Sanatan Dharam College became one of the most conspicuous examples of martial law’s arbitrary exercise of power. Following the disappearance of an official notice from the college compound, every male present—students, teachers and employees alike—was arrested. They were compelled to march under military escort to Lahore Fort, where they remained imprisoned for many hours without food or adequate accommodation. The punitive expedition served no meaningful judicial purpose. Instead, it functioned as a public demonstration of authority intended to intimidate the wider student community.

The campaign against students intensified further. Pupils and teachers from several of Lahore’s leading colleges were ordered to report daily for roll call at a point many miles outside the city, carrying their bedding upon their heads through the oppressive heat of the

Punjab summer. The exercise imposed considerable physical hardship while interrupting academic life almost entirely. Thousands of students were suspended, expelled or otherwise disciplined for alleged participation in political activity. When later questioned regarding these measures, military officials displayed little remorse, characterising the ordeal as a form of healthy physical exercise rather than collective punishment. Such responses only reinforced the widespread perception that the administration regarded the Indian population less as citizens than as subjects requiring discipline through humiliation.

Martial law also profoundly affected the city’s economy. Commercial activity contracted sharply as restrictions on movement disrupted trade between Lahore and the surrounding countryside. Farmers hesitated to bring produce into the city, transport became unreliable, and shortages of vegetables, fruit and meat became increasingly common. Small shopkeepers and daily wage earners suffered particularly severe hardship, as curfews reduced business hours while uncertainty discouraged consumers. Markets that ordinarily bustled with activity assumed an atmosphere of apprehension, patrolled by soldiers and overshadowed by the possibility of sudden searches or arrests.

Censorship further isolated Lahore from the outside world. Newspapers operated under constant threat of prosecution, confiscation or closure. Editors were compelled to exercise extraordinary caution in reporting events, while official communiqués attempted to shape public understanding of the disturbances. Nevertheless, accounts of military excesses continued to circulate through personal correspondence, travellers’ testimonies and vernacular newspapers. These alternative channels of communication undermined official attempts to portray martial law as a measured response to disorder and instead strengthened the widespread conviction that Punjab had become the victim of systematic political repression.

In retrospect, the events of April and May 1919 represented far more than a temporary suspension of civil liberties. Martial law transformed the relationship between the ruler and the ruled by exposing the coercive foundations upon which imperial authority ultimately rested. The massacre at Jallianwala Bagh and the subsequent repression in Lahore became inseparable episodes within a broader narrative of colonial violence. Together they convinced many previously moderate Indians that constitutional methods alone were unlikely to secure meaningful political reform. The psychological impact of these weeks endured long after martial law itself had been withdrawn. Memories of arbitrary arrests, public humiliation, military tribunals and the suppression of ordinary civic life remained embedded in Punjab’s political consciousness, contributing decisively to the erosion of imperial legitimacy and strengthening the movement that would eventually demand complete independence from British rule. (Concluded)

Published in Dawn, August 23rd, 2026