By Balvinder Kaur Kler | Malaysia |
A centennial is a time to look to both the past and to the future. To know where we are going, it is surely necessary to know from where we have come. But, as time marches forward, the past can slip away as those who bear it in their memories do the same. The definitive history of the Kota Kinabalu Gurdwara Sahib is yet to be written, and so 100 years after its founding we must use the stories available to us and make an effort to make public some that are not well known and are in danger of being lost to time. This essay attempts to provide some lesser known history of our gurdwara’s beginnings and to share its significance to this author, born generations after its founding. This account is centered around my family’s involvement in the founding because firstly they indeed played a significant role, and second because that is what I know. I cannot claim to credit every individual involved.
Still Sikhs 100 years on
As I pondered on the theme of ‘why our Gurdwara’s centennial was worth celebrating’, I was captivated by the second part, ‘the significance of this milestone’. The word ‘milestone’ originates from an ancient Roman practice of placing stone pillars (obelisks) a mile apart on the side of a road. Each ‘mile stone’ had a number which served as a mile marker; to know how far one had come along a journey.
When seen as a journey, the main significance of 27th September 2024 is quite clear: one hundred years on, we still identify as Sikhs in a land far away from Punjab here in Sabah, Malaysia. For this, we express gratitude to our forefathers who understood the importance of building a Gurdwara. But how did they end up here? That story is embedded in the pages of colonial history. The Kota Kinabalu Gurdwara Sahib has been the locus of a number of milestones. From its founding in 1924 based on the time, money, and effort of a small number of Sikhs, to surviving the second world war. It is worth revisiting these events in some detail.
Location, Location, Location
In 1882, North Borneo became a British protectorate, administered by the British North Borneo Chartered Company (BNBCC), with Sandakan as its capital. For law and order, BNBCC established the North Borneo Armed Constabulary, essentially a police force consisting mainly of Sikhs. Some years later, in Jesselton, the Police Headquarters was built at Batu 3 (Mile 3). The Sikh police constabulary respectfully installed the Sri Guru Granth Sahibji within the compound of the Batu 3 police HQ. As we sing in the shabad, “Where my Satguru goes and sits, o dear ones, only that place is beautiful”.
Circa 1910, Bhagwan Singh Kler, a young widower from Punjab, arrives with 200 silver coins (rupees) having sold the family camel and joins the police force in North Borneo. He had initially travelled from Calcutta to Penang, then Singapore where he was told they were recruiting in North Borneo. Kler could read and write Gurmukhi and was well-versed in Gurbani.
On his daily walks from Batu 3 to Karamunsing, he would pass by the home of Mr. T.V. Durai, a draughtsman employed in the Lands and Surveys Department in 1915. Indian workers were laying down the railway tracks nearby and would whistle at Durai’s five daughters. Having witnessed this on a few occasions, Kler stepped in and told the workers to stop doing so, or there would be consequences. As an outcome of this, Durai and Kler struck up a close friendship and Kler became regular visitor at their home. He could only speak basic English and could not write in English. Durai began to impart English language skills to Kler. Over time, Durai encouraged Kler to join the railways and so began a new role as railway station master based at Batu 3. He would regularly have the policemen get on his train without a ticket; no matter, as he knew their paydays on which he would collect all dues without fail.
Kler was visionary in the need to build a gurudwara and had earmarked the present site, a stone’s throw away from the police HQ. However, it was a swamp at the time. In 1923, the Sikh constabulary were told that for security reasons, it was not feasible anymore for civilians to enter the police HQ compound for prayers. Kler had remained close to his friends in the police force, one of whom was Subedar Mangal Singh Kalsi. He moved to realise the vision by setting up a fund to build the gurdwara once the earmarked plot of land was acquired. Kler and Kalsi proposed 10% of every policeman’s monthly salary would go into the fund which at the time was $7.50, so 75 cents contribution from an estimated 100 Sikh constabulary. Kler’s stationmaster salary was $25 a month, he contributed $2.50 each month and donated 20 silver coins (rupees) to the fund. (The currency was in British North Borneo dollar between 1882 to 1953 where $1 was pegged to 2 shillings and 4 pence sterling). In the same vein, other civilians also contributed from their salary. The Sikh community came together to build a gurdwara, or the house of our Guruji. Moreover, the police constabulary donated their free time to help stabilize the ground – they did this by cutting into the hill nearby and carrying buckets of soil for filling up the swamp. More research is needed to determine the total fund and timeframe of these contributions which enabled the project.
Kler invited his good friend Durai to design the architectural structure for the Gurdwara. A building committee was formed jointly chaired by Durai and Subedar Kalsi. Stain glass for the windows was ordered from Italy and timber was brought in from Sandakan by boat. Chinese carpenters worked under the supervision of Durai who had designed a dome for the roof. But the carpenters did not have this expertise, hence the steeple shaped structure with a small dome on it sits atop the roof instead.
On the 27th of September 1924, at the opening ceremony, there were three speeches, one each from Subedar Mangal Singh Kalsi, TV Durai and the Governor of British North Borneo, His Excellency Major General Sir William Henry Rycroft K.C.B., K.C.M.G. The governor has previously been stationed in India and used some urdu words in his speech to the delight of the audience.
“Where my Satguru goes and sits, o dear ones, only that place is beautiful”. One hundred years on, the Gurdwara is still standing graciously in the very location it was built. That is a significant milestone.
Surviving World War Two
Our Gurdwara Sahib is a pre-World War 2 building which survived the bombing of Jesselton by the allied forces as the war came to an end. The roof and building were hit by machine gun fire, and a bomb that dropped into the darbar itself, did not detonate. Instead, the British Indian (Sikh Regiment) army who landed at Tanjung Aru Beach, marched in, carried the bomb out and detonated it outside, away from the compound.
A black and white photograph exists with the words “Gurudwara Jesselton. Re-opening 13th April 1946”. About 30 men of the Sikh regiment are pictured standing on the steps outside the darbar along with members of the local community. Datuk Balwant Singh Kler, born September 1938, age 86, remembers the day this photograph was taken.
He is a 7-year-old kid pictured in the photograph and has kindly identified some other members of the community. He remembers the soldiers patched up the roof and other damage to the walls of Gurdwara Sahib. He also remembers the sound of the bomb being detonated, the one that fell into, but graciously did not explode inside our Guru’s darbar.
Solace for P.O.W.s
During the war (1942), British prisoners of war (P.O.W.s) were interned at the former police HQ, turned prison and used as slave labour to repair the airport runway. In the late afternoons, as they rested, they would hear someone playing the harmonium inside the Gurdwara. Unbeknownst to the Japanese guards, every so often, the priest (identified as Kahan Singh Bagwala) would slip into the medley, the tune of ‘God Save the King’. Hearing their national anthem, the P.O.W.s would stand to attention and feel their morale boosted and felt most grateful. This story was only discovered in 2015 when a representative of the P.O.W.s, Datuk Mike J. Steel presented a plaque to the Sikh community for this service during the war. Captain Ian C. Paterson, of the 36th Light Air Defence, the British Royal Artillery, one of the P.O.Ws in 1942 had personally shared this story with Datuk Steel on a visit to Commonwealth war cemetery, Labuan in 1993.
Present during the event in 2015 was Major John Tulloch, founder of the Sabah Salute Project who was researching the wartime experience of British P.O.W.s. Major Tulloch returns to England to continue his research at the Imperial War Museum. On one occasion, as he shifts through wartime documents on North Borneo, with white gloves on, he comes across “the Bagnall watercolour” and immediately knows what he is looking at. It was a watercolor, a painting of Gurdwara Sahib Jesselton drawn by a P.O.W. In 2017, Major Tulloch returns to Sabah and presents a replica of the Bagnall watercolour to the Sikh community of Kota Kinabalu.
(The book by Major John Tulloch ‘The Borneo Graveyard 1941-1945‘ has great detail on British POWs and the story of the shabads being sung as well as the Bagnall watercolour based on his thorough research done at the Imperial War Museum, London, U.K. He went through a lot of private papers and notes made by POWs.)
Our darbar has provided solace to those who needed it the most and continues to do so. A storyboard on this piece of history would benefit battlefield tourism to mark another milestone.
Fast forward 30 years
There is much more that can be said about the period between the end of WW2 and today. For the purposes of this essay, I will turn now to consider the significance of the gurdwara in my own life with the hope and expectation that perhaps other readers have similar feelings and recollections about the role that this historic building played in their childhood development.
In 1924, Gurdwara Sahib had its original gate entrance facing the railway line. When you stood at the top step of the main door into the darbar, on a clear day, you could see Mount Kinabalu. I must have first walked into the darbar circa 1975 when we moved to KK because I was born in Tawau (1971) where there was no gurdwara. I vividly remember the chikoo tree (sapodilla) on the right and an emlee tree (tamarind) on the left by the covered area. And then there was the grand old mango tree near the toilets. Other mango trees by the new gate next to Jalan Mat Salleh which became the main entrance. Children love trees, and the ones at the gurdwara were always bountiful. The somewhat circular shape of our darbar sahib made it perfect for a game of ‘catching’ which when I was a kid, that’s what you did after prayers and langgar – you ran around and around until you were caught or it was time to go home. From those days, I remember Gianiji Tarlochan Singh – he was an elderly Sardar with a white beard and would sing shabads beautifully. And he spoke kindly, like your own Babaji.
In 1982, when I was about 10 years old, a group of parents collectively set up a formal Punjabi school. Textbooks were purchased from KL – and instead of arriving at 10 a.m. for Sunday prayers, we were now headed to Gurdwara Sahib much earlier at 8.00a.m. to attend school from 8.30a.m to learn Gurmukhi. No more sleeping in on a Sunday with this new routine. And it was harder to learn when one of the teachers is your own mother who was most strict with her children. But learn we did, and our group progressed to reciting mool mantar and the first five banis of the Japji Sahib. A small group of parents succeeded in imparting Gurmukhi to the next generation because they understood its integral role in remaining close to Sikhi. Colouring competitions and quizzes became the norm during Gurpurabs and Vaisakhi. Instead of wearing a frock, young ladies started to wear the salwar kameez to gurdwara, mostly sewn by their mothers or elder sisters. There were no shops selling Punjabi clothing or food in KK. We had experienced both a cultural and religious revival.
Around the same time, GianiJi Gopal Singh arrived in KK, he was a younger giani, tall with a black beard, and trained in Gurbani. And so began the era where the kids began to learn to play the waja (harmonium) and tabla – the ultimate goal being to participate in kirtan, singing devotional shabads during Sunday service. He had a repertoire of shabads you had to learn which allowed progression from easy, intermediate to expert levels in terms of keys and voice. All of us went through this ‘syllabus’. He was very particular to ensure your voice reached the correct pitch. He would ask you to practice scales over and over again – sa, re, ga, ma, pa, tha, ni, sa – until voice and keys harmonized and you could hold the high notes. Some of us managed to sing higher pitched shabads in raags, and others did not. He also taught us to respect the instruments and was extremely meticulous in communicating this knowledge.
In that same era, the very first Samelan, or youth camp was held in KK. A group of Gursikhs from KL were invited with great excitement amongst our sanggat. There would be activities for a couple of days within the Gurdwara compound. A funny story that stays vivid is that of the little boy. You see, when the group arrived on a late evening flight, they were welcomed by various members of our community at the airport. The men and women separated to their respective accommodations (at community members’ home, not hotels). A young boy of perhaps 9 years old was left behind at the airport. The brave lad went up to a taxi driver and shared his predicament. He then asked if the taxi driver knew any Sardar and could deliver him to a Sikh house. Amazingly, the taxi driver knew our President, S. Mukhtiar Singh Gill and drove the boy over to the very house where in fact his own father was also staying. Each parent had thought the child was with the other parent. The next day, our samelan started with the theme of being brave, something intricately woven into the Sikh DNA.
Growing up as part of the gurdwara community provided opportunities grounded in our Sikh practices of naam japna, kirat karna and vand chakna. Our Gurdwara Sahib programmes, the Punjabi school, learning and singing kirtan essentially built up a sense of belonging and camaraderie amongst our generation. Growing up in KK, there are very few Sikhs; you were always the odd one out at school, trying to fit in. But here you were amongst your people – it was comforting. I remember June 1984 and Operation Bluestar, reminding us, that all the way, over there was Punjab, the land of our forefathers. And more than ever, we had to pray. The samelans continued every school holiday and the friendships grew and glued the community through the programmes at our Gurdwara. Sundays and Saturdays were joyful because we were going to the Gurdwara. We were proud to be Sikh.
But then in 1987, tragedy struck our little community as we lost two young men in a car accident at the end of a community picnic. For the first time, those of us in our teens joined the elders at the open air crematorium. Everyone was in tears; hearts broke in anguish and many lives changed that Sunday in early March. Sadly, the bonds that held us together, melted away. A chasm appeared and engulfed our Gurdwara Sahib and its community. A few years later, the grand old mango tree which had given us lovely shade for so many years had some of its branches removed, and finally the tree was completely uprooted – it was never the same again.
In the early 1990s, I left on a scholarship to study abroad, but I was blessed to return every summer holiday. As was customary, on the way to the airport, we would stop at the gurdwara to metha tekh.
As one summer holiday ended, I remember coming out of the gurdwara, happily greeting a favourite Uncleji who was standing by his car. I bid him farewell, not knowing it was the last time I would ever see him alive. I remember feeling so blessed for having been taught, to always metha tekh whenever possible. I have continued this practice whilst overseas and having returned home to Sabah Tanah Airku, the gurdwara remains an integral part of my life.
Still Standing
In the 1980s, plans were drawn up to demolish the current darbar to rebuild a larger one to cater for the growing community. However, the state museum did not approve such major changes and categorized it as a “historical building”. Keeping the original structure intact, only minor renovations and extensions were carried out. Since 2023, the darbar is awaiting renovations as yet again, the spirit of our forefathers refuses to allow major change to the original structure designed by T.V. Durai. This is significant as it reminds us to value the blood, sweat and tears of our elders who worked as a team to build a Gurdwara because they understood it would remain the centre of meaning for our Sikh community here in the former British protectorate, former crown colony and now region in Malaysia.
Certainly, the gurdwara has been home to happy memories for many generations but there is a more serious side to this centennial too. The gurdwara was built on the time, money and effort of its founders who bequeathed it to subsequent generations, expecting them to steward the building responsibly. 100 years later we have an opportunity to consider how well we have fulfilled our responsibilities in that regard. “Where my Satguru goes and sits, o dear ones, only that place is beautiful”. In Kota Kinabalu, our Guruji has a 100 year old darbar, with a beautiful story of Sikhs and their comrades-in-arms who built a legacy which we must treasure for generations to come.
Balvinder Kaur Kler, Ph.D, an Associate Professor,of the Faculty of Business, Economics and Accountancy of Universiti Malaysia Sabah (UMS), is also the director of the Borneo Tourism Research Centre (BTRC). She can be contacted at: balvinder@ums.edu.my
RELATED STORY:
Kota Kinabalu Gurdwara: A century of unity, history and spiritual growth (Asia Samachar, 12 Oct 2024)
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