How do you capture the essence of a man who was as boundless and infinite as his name – Anant? Charismatic, joyous, sparkling, deep as a bottomless gold mine, and soaring high with infectious energy. The 15 years that I spent as his Assistant Editor and then as his Associate Editor for Tinkle magazine were the most meaningful in all my working life.  

Uncle Pai was a colossus in thought. His mind was ever searching for more knowledge, more wisdom and more ways in which to communicate all that he learned to the generation he regarded as the foundation of the future – children. 

For him, children were the most precious beings on earth. And on us, his team, he placed the responsibility of telling them stories which would help make them confident, happy, positive and self-assured individuals. He would often tell me that when he was a child, he had lacked self-confidence. Having lost his parents at the age of two, he had struggled during the initial years to stand up to challenges around him. Luckily for him, he had a very loving older sister who tried to take the place of a mother. And as he grew up and went to school and college in Mumbai, he had met some wonderful teachers who had instilled in his mind a belief in himself.  

He always wanted to do the same for children, especially Indian children. He saw them growing up heavily influenced by Western culture and Western thought, and wanted them to realise that they also had their own precious heritage, which was closer to them and one with them. They just had to understand it and get to know it, and the wisdom of the land they were born in would give them all the strength and confidence they needed in a fast-changing world.  

For this, he created Amar Chitra Katha and led it with an unshakable belief in its purpose. To his memory, we pledge to sustain his passion for Indian heritage, to continue his tireless search for an even better story than the last, and to honour his deep desire to create a world for children where they would feel safe, loved and full of hope. 

Discover Uncle Pai’s timeless stories of Indian History, Mythology and Culture at our very own ACK Comics App. 

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In January 1967, Goans stood in long lines, waiting to cast a vote that would change their future. It was the moment when the people of Goa were given the choice to either merge with Maharashtra or remain a Union Territory. Their choice eventually led to Goa being vested with full Statehood. Decades later, that moment is remembered with pride every year on Goa Statehood Day, celebrated on 30th May. 

To understand why this opinion poll mattered, we should look back at Goa’s colonial history and the long journey that led to statehood. 

Operation Vijay – The Liberation of Goa 

In 1510, Portuguese Admiral Afonso de Albuquerque captured Goa from Yusuf Adil Shah, the Sultan of Bijapur, thus beginning Portuguese rule in Goa. From then on, Portuguese was imposed while Konkani, the native language, was discouraged for official use. This deeply distressed the Goans. They were forced to adopt Portuguese culture and identity against their will. Over time, Goans resented the censorship and lived in fear. They faced harsh consequences that included police crackdowns due to their resistance. 

Even after Indian Independence in 1947, the Portuguese refused to give up their colonies (Goa, Daman, Diu). So, the people protested more than ever along with leaders like Dr Ram Manohar Lohia and T.B. Cunha. They participated in the Satyagraha movement, and the Konkani language was revived. Many suffered and risked imprisonment by hoisting the Indian flag and distributing secret pamphlets to spread the movement. In 1961, the Indian government finally decided to take military action. The Indian Armed Forces launched ‘Operation Vijay’, which successfully liberated Goa, Daman, and Diu, with minimal casualties, in just 36 hours. In a poignant irony, the Indian Navy sank the Portuguese warship, NRP Afonso de Albuquerque, putting an end to colonial rule. With the local population’s support, Goa, Daman, and Diu were integrated into India as a Union Territory. 

The Battle of the Flower and the Two Leaves  

Though freed in 1961, the future of Goa and its people remained uncertain. While some assumed that Goa would merge with Maharashtra, the majority of the Goans feared that Konkani and their distinct lifestyle — a unique blend of Indo-Portuguese traditions that are seen in their vibrant festivals like Shigmo, their soulful Fado and Mando music and their cuisine — would slowly die after the merger. Hence, the Indian government took a historic step on 16 January 1967.  

Goa held the first and only Opinion Poll (a referendum) in the history of independent India. The simple symbols on the ballot represented the choice. The ‘Flower’ for those who wanted to merge with Maharashtra and the ‘Two Leaves’ for those who wanted Goa to remain a separate Union Territory and preserve their unique language and culture. When the votes were counted, the ‘Two Leaves’ won by a margin of over 34,000 votes, much to the people’s delight and Goa continued to remain a Union Territory with Daman and Diu.  

The Final Road to Statehood 

The Opinion Poll ensured that Goa would not be merged with its neighbour. But as years passed, the Goans were disappointed that Konkani still lacked official recognition from the Indian government. For the next two decades, the desire for statehood and Konkani’s recognition as the official language of the territory grew. These desires were supported by prominent figures, most notably Luizinho Faleiro, who tabled resolutions in the State Assembly in 1980 and 1983 demanding ‘official language’ status for Konkani and statehood for Goa. The turning point came in the mid-1980s, when the Konkani Porjecho Avaz (Voice of the Konkani People) Movement began. The movement grew stronger with each protest as students marched through the streets, slogans for Konkani echoing across Panaji. In response to these demands, the ‘Official Language Act’ was finally passed by the Goa, Daman and Diu Legislative Assembly on 4th February 1987, making Konkani the official language of the territory. On 30th May 1987, Goa was granted statehood and became the 25th State of India. Daman and Diu remained a Union Territory. Goans celebrated as it was the result of their decades-long struggle to ensure that the ‘Goan identity’ would be preserved forever.  

Goa Today  

Today, Goa’s unique heritage and culture is not only protected but also actively celebrated through its festivals, music, dance, and dishes. During Statehood Day celebrations, people enjoy parades, cultural performances, and official ceremonies across the state.

On such occasions, the stories of the 1967 Opinion Poll are passed down to the younger generations. They are reminded that the power of their democratic choice and the need to preserve their centuries-old way of life are the main foundations of Goa’s identity and its future. 

Read more stories on Indian History, Mythology and Folklore on our very own ACK Comics App.

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‘Ecology is a permanent economy.’ – Sunderlal Bahuguna

In the Himalayan forests of Uttarakhand, a group of women once stood between axes and the trees that had sustained them most of their lives. This gave birth to the ‘Chipko Movement’ — one of India’s most important environmental movements. On this World Earth Day, let us learn how this story feels more relevant now than ever. 

Background: Why the Movement Began 

The villagers who lived in the Himalayan region of Uttarakhand (then part of Uttar Pradesh) depended heavily on the nearby forests for their daily needs, such as fuelwood for cooking, timber for houses, and protection from soil erosion. During British colonial rule, laws were introduced under the Indian Forest Acts, which gave the government rights over natural resources in certain regions while limiting those of the local communities. After the Sino-Indian War in 1963, increased road construction and development led to further deforestation, which distressed the villagers.  

The tipping point came when the Uttar Pradesh Forest Department granted logging contracts to Symonds Company from Allahabad to cut trees. This angered villagers in the Chamoli district who felt that their needs were being ignored. With support from environmentalists such as Chandi Prasad Bhatt and his organisation, the Dasholi Gram Swarajya Sangh (DGSS), later known as the Dasholi Gram Swarajya Mandal (DGSM), the villagers began to protest to protect their trees. 

The Famous Reni Village Incident (1974) 

A defining moment came in March 1974, in Reni village (present-day Raini). When loggers were appointed to Reni, the men of the village were deliberately lured away under the pretext of receiving compensation. The women knew that saving the trees meant saving their children’s future. When the loggers arrived, they underestimated the determination of these women. As they advanced, the women, led by Gaura Devi, hugged the trees and refused to move till they left. The loggers realised that harming the trees meant striking the women first. Faced with such fierce and non-violent resolve, the loggers retreated.

The protest was so impactful that the government ordered a 10-year ban on cutting trees in the region.

The word ‘Chipko’ means ‘to embrace’ in Hindi. Since the women had ’embraced’ the trees, as news of the protest spread across the nation, it came to be known as ‘The Chipko Movement’.    

The Spread of the Chipko Movement  

Environmentalists like Sunderlal Bahuguna spread the message of the movement across the nation after this incident in 1974. During that time, people in the Himalayan villages had limited access to newspapers and other types of media. So, the villagers used folk songs and marches to spread the message to other parts of the hills and India. They began organising similar protests to protect their forests. Between 1972–1979, more than 150 villages were involved, resulting in 12 major protests and many minor confrontations in Uttarakhand. In 1978, the local women in the Tehri Garhwal district, Uttarakhand, tied sacred threads around the trees and recited verses from the Bhagavad Gita to stop the loggers. In Pulna village in the Bhyundar valley in the same year, the women confiscated the loggers’ tools and left receipts for them to be claimed if they withdrew from the forests. In some areas, chir pine trees that had been tapped for resin were also bandaged to prevent further exploitation of trees. The Chipko movement also inspired other environmental movements in India, including the 1983 Appiko Movement (‘Appiko’ means ‘to hug’ or ‘to embrace’ in Kannada), in Karnataka. As the support grew, the pressure also increased on the government to adopt policies that addressed people’s needs and were beneficial for the environment.  

The Leaders who helped the Movement 

While the movement was carried out by thousands of villagers, several leaders joined them and strengthened their hands. Among them, besides Gaura Devi and Sunderlal Bahuguna, were Chandi Prasad Bhatt and Dhoom Singh Negi. Sunderlal Bahuguna started the ‘Save the Himalayas’ movement and went on a historic 5,000 kilometre Trans-Himalayan foot march that took almost two years to complete. In this time, he highlighted the importance of protecting nature for future generations and connected with the villagers through folk songs. Social activist Dhoom Singh Negi fasted for five days to protest the commercial logging of the forests, which inspired people to participate in the movement. 

Impact and Importance 

In 1980, the movement reached a turning point when Prime Minister Indira Gandhi announced a 15-year ban on commercial tree felling in the Himalayan forests. It was a landmark victory that proved a movement led by ordinary people, especially women, could bring positive changes to national policy through peaceful, collective action. 

The Reni village protest showed women leading and carrying the movement across the nation. The image of women hugging trees in the hills of Uttarakhand remains one of the most powerful symbols of environmental care in India. Decades later, as the world faces environmental challenges, the voices of those Himalayan villages still guide us, reminding us that even the smallest acts of courage can protect the planet. 

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On 13th April 1919, General Reginald Dyer of the British Indian Army opened fire on a large gathering of people in Jallianwala Bagh, Amritsar. What was a joyful and lively gathering of people for the Baisakhi fair and a peaceful protest against the British Raj, turned into a gruesome scene as the British attempted to silence Indian voices against their repressive laws. This incident has since been remembered through the years as the Jallianwala Bagh Massacre, and on 13th April, we solemnly recall and honour the lives lost on this dark day. 

The seeds that led to the Jallianwala Bagh massacre were sowed with the Rowlatt Act of 1919 which gave the colonial government the power to arrest and imprison anyone without a trial, leading it to being called ‘The Black Act’. In response to the Rowlatt Act, Mahatma Gandhi called for a nation-wide Satyagraha, a campaign of peaceful civil disobedience and hartals, to protest the act.  

In Punjab, Lieutenant Governor Michael O’Dwyer responded to the situation harshly. He ordered the arrest of two popular local leaders, Dr Saifuddin Kitchlew and Dr Satyapal, both supporters of the Satyagraha movement. The news of their arrests spread widely in no time, sparking violent protests across Amritsar. O’Dwyer responded by imposing martial law and banning all public gatherings. 

Despite the ban, the occasion of Baisakhi on 13th April, drew thousands of men, women and children to Jallianwala Bagh, a walled public garden near the Golden Temple. Many came to celebrate the harvest festival. Others came to pray. And some came to protest the arrests of Kitchlew and Satyapal. Because of the martial law, news of the ban on gatherings had not reached most people.  

While vast, Jallianwala Bagh was not an open field but enclosed on all sides by high walls with only one open exit and entrance, the rest being locked. The gathering grew and while people feared a British response, they did not believe it would occur. However, Brigadier General Dyer, who had been given the task of maintaining law and order in the city, arrived with roughly 90 soldiers and ordered his troops to shoot directly at the gathering, without issuing any warning or asking the crowd to disperse.  

1650 rounds were fired in ten minutes, with soldiers deliberately aiming at the narrow exit, the very places people were running towards. Some tried to scale the walls but were shot down. Others jumped into the well inside the Bagh to escape the bullets and were suffocated to death. Most did not survive. Dyer stopped only when the ammunition ran out, then turned around and left. The wounded were left where they lay. The British government put the official death toll at 291. The Indian National Congress estimated closer to 1,000. The true number has never been established. 

The British attempted to supress and censor the news of the massacre but word of the atrocity spread quickly. Across India, the public and leaders responded with outrage.  

Gandhi had a swift response. He returned his Kaiser-i-Hind medal, awarded to him by the British government for his services during the Boer War. It was after the Jallianwala Bagh incident that Gandhi fully committed to mass non-cooperation as the only path forward. Just like the massacre made Indians more adamant to gain freedom, it made Gandhi more determined on the path of Satyagraha. Similarly, when Rabindranath Tagore heard the news nearly a month later on 22nd May 1919, his act of protest was quiet yet very powerful. On 30th May, he wrote to the Viceroy of India, renouncing the Knighthood bestowed upon him. Both Gandhi and Tagore chose to shed their colonial honours rather than carry them.  

Jawaharlal Nehru got the news from Dyer himself, on a train journey, when he overheard General Dyer casually boasting about the massacre to fellow passengers. The experience shook him deeply. When he visited Jallianwala Bagh later, he noted the bullet ridden walls and the Martyrs’ Well, that the desperate people had jumped into. It became clear to him then that India’s freedom would not come through appeals to British fairness. People such as Annie Besant, C. Rajagopalachari, and other public voices condemned Dyer’s actions and spoke against the brutality faced by Indians.  

The massacre did not only anger leaders at the top, it also spread grief and defiance among ordinary Indians. Among those who were present during the massacre, few carried the weight like Udham Singh did. He was at the Bagh when the massacre took place, and narrowly escaped with his life. While he sustained no physical injuries, the incident became a lifelong wound. It intensified his efforts towards the independence movement, leading him to be arrested several times by the British government for his revolutionary activities. Years later, in 1940, it culminated with him shooting Michael O’Dwyer in London. 

Back in Britain, the news of the massacre drew mixed responses. Some officials and politicians condemned Dyer and saw the firing as an abuse of power, since he had commanded the soldiers to shoot without warning and kept shooting even as people tried to flee. The Hunter Commission later criticised him for this, and the British government eventually removed him from service. Winston Churchill, who was then the Secretary of State for War, condemned Dyer and supported the motion against him in his speech before the House of Commons. 

But Dyer was also defended in several British circles, where he was praised for being firm and for preventing what they called a wider rebellion. Some newspapers and public supporters treated him like a hero. Dyer himself showed no remorse. He insisted that he had done the right thing, said he had saved Punjab, and continued to defend the massacre as a necessary lesson. 

The massacre showed to Indians how little the British valued their lives. It did not do what Dyer had hoped, to silence India. Instead, the massacre renewed in the people the desire for liberation from the British and gave a fresh impetus to the freedom struggle. 

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On the evening of 23rd March 1931, a revolutionary walked to the gallows in Lahore Central Jail singing ‘Inquilab Zindabad’. This was Bhagat Singh, who remains one of the most revered personalities of the Indian freedom struggle.  He was sentenced to death, along with his comrades Shivram Hari Rajguru and Sukhdev Thappar, for the killing of British police officer John Saunders, carried out in retaliation for the death of Lala Lajpat Rai.  

Wisdom at 23 

At the time of his martyrdom, Bhagat Singh was only twenty-three years old. He was single-minded in his vision for a free India, and that reflected in his calm and collected nature in the hours leading unto his death. A few months earlier, in October 1930, Bhagat Singh had written ‘Why I Am an Atheist’ in his Lahore jail cell as a reply to religious friends who felt his atheism was born of vanity. He argued that he would not seek comfort in blind faith, not then, not at the gallows. He argued that when you reason through what you believe, there is very little left to be afraid of. 

Change of Plans 

His execution was scheduled for the 24th of March, but it had been secretly moved forward by eleven hours, carried out on the evening of 23rd March instead, at 7:30 pm in the Lahore jail. The colonial government feared the crowds that would gather, and that the sight of the young revolutionary being led to his death might ignite a restless nation.  

The Last Letters 

That morning, the government allowed Singh a last meeting with his family and friends. In such a moment, while Bhagat Singh retained his composure, his youngest brother and sister wept. Instead of preparing himself to face death, Bhagat Singh spent his last hours writing letters to his family and reassuring them, a testament to his bravery and dedication to his country. He then wrote a letter to his comrades on the same day, telling them he awaited the final test with great eagerness. 

The Revolutionary 

In the minutes before he was hanged, he was reading a book on Lenin. When the warders came to take him, he is said to have held up a finger and asked them to wait, saying, “One revolutionary is meeting another.” He finished the page. Then he put the book down and walked out. 

The Last Meal: A Final Act of Equality 

Days before he was led out, Bhagat Singh made a request that surprised the jail authorities. He asked that his final meal be prepared by Bogha, a Dalit prison employee who worked as a sweeper in the jail. 

In a time when caste barriers were incredibly rigid, Bhagat Singh called Bogha  ‘Bebe’ (a Punjabi term of endearment for a mother). He explained that because Bogha cleaned his cell and handled his daily needs, she was like a mother to him. By choosing Bogha to cook his final meal, Bhagat Singh made a quiet but profound statement: his vision for a free India was one where nobody was considered ‘untouchable’, and everyone stood on equal ground. 

A Song for the Soil 

As Bhagat Singh, Rajguru, and Sukhdev emerged from their cells, they did not walk in the sombre silence usually expected of the condemned. Instead, they cheered “Inquilab Zindabad!” with linked arms and also began to sing. Their voices filled the corridors of Lahore Central Jail with the lines: 

Dil se niklegi na mar kar bhi watan ki ulfat, Meri mitti se bhi khushboo-e-wafa aayegi.  

(Even after death, the love for my motherland will not leave my heart; even from my ashes, the fragrance of loyalty will arise.) – Written by Lal Chand Falak

The sight of the three young men singing as they walked toward their death was said to leave the jail staff and fellow prisoners in a state of stunned awe. 

Facing Death Unveiled 

Upon reaching the execution platform, the trio was met by the Magistrate. In a final show of defiance, they refused to wear the traditional black hoods that would have blindfolded them in their final moments. Bhagat Singh spoke to the Magistrate, famously remarking that he was lucky to see how Indian revolutionaries could embrace death with a smile. 

The Secret Farewell on the Sutlej 

Terrified that a public funeral would spark an immediate uprising, the British authorities chose not to return the bodies to the families. Under the cover of darkness, they smuggled the remains through a back gate of the jail. They drove to the banks of the Sutlej River near Ferozepur, where they performed a hurried, secret cremation in the dead of night. 

The British tried to silence three young voices in the dark, but in the end, they only made them echo across the nation. Bhagat Singh, Rajguru and Sukhdev redefined what it meant to be freedom fighters. In their courage, there was no fear; in their defiance, no hatred and in their sacrifice was a vision of India that was fearless, equal and free. 

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Each year on 26 January, the sound of military bands marks India’s Republic Day celebrations along Rajpath (Kartavya Path). From the opening notes of the parade to the final march-past, music sets the rhythm of the nation’s most important ceremonial event. These bands do more than accompany the spectacle—they embody discipline, tradition, and the ceremonial language of the Indian Armed Forces. Behind this familiar sound on Republic Day, lies a long and layered history of military music in India.

Where Military Bands Began 

Long before modern parades and ceremonies, music played an important role in warfare. In India, martial music traditions can be traced back to the Maratha Empire in the 17th century, where drums, wind instruments, and rhythmic calls were used to energise troops and mark movement. 

Organised military bands, as we recognise them today, were introduced later by the British Army in the 1700s. These bands followed European traditions, using brass and percussion instruments to maintain discipline and coordination, both on the battlefield and during ceremonial occasions. 

By the late 19th century, military music in India had developed its own distinct forms. Pipe bands emerged within Sikh, Gorkha, and Pathan units, blending local identity with military structure. One of the earliest examples was the all-Sikh pipe band of the 45th Rattray Regiment, formed around 1856. Before the First World War, almost every battalion-sized regiment of the Indian Army maintained its own band, making music an essential part of regimental life. 

From Empire to Republic: Military Bands in Independent India 

After Independence, India inherited this rich but colonial musical structure—and reshaped it to reflect a new nation. A key moment came on 23 October 1950, when the Military Music Wing was formally established under General K. M. Cariappa, the first Indian Commander-in-Chief of the Indian Army. 

The years that followed saw a conscious effort to Indianise military band music. During the 1950s, musicians and trainers such as Harold Joseph worked to replace purely European marches with Indian melodies, patriotic songs, and indigenous rhythmic patterns. 

This transformation gave military bands a new voice—one rooted in Indian culture and national pride. Nowhere is this change more visible than in the Republic Day parade, where the music no longer echoes empire, but celebrates the sound of a republic. 

What Service Sounds like Today 

Today, the Indian Armed Forces maintain a vast and well-organised musical network. Across the Army, Navy, and Air Force, there are over 50 brass bands and more than 400 pipe bands and corps of drums. Infantry regiments continue to maintain dedicated pipe bands as part of their regimental tradition.

A typical brass band is led by a bandmaster and includes around 33 musicians, while a pipe band usually has 17 members. Beyond music, bandsmen are trained soldiers first. In times of conflict, many serve in operational roles, often as medical assistants on the battlefield. 

Each wing of the Indian Armed Forces is represented by a premier military band that performs at national ceremonies, official functions, and important public events. Depending on the occasion, they can be configured as marching bands, concert bands, jazz ensembles, or traditional formations. 

The Indian Army Chief’s Band is the senior-most band of the Indian Army and functions under the Army Headquarters in New Delhi. The Indian Naval Symphonic Band represents the Indian Navy and is known for its orchestral format. Unlike traditional marching bands, it performs symphonic and concert music, reflecting the Navy’s ceremonial and cultural presence. The band performs at naval functions, official ceremonies, and cultural events, both in India and during international engagements. The No. 1 Air Force Band is the premier band of the Indian Air Force. It performs at Air Force Day celebrations, ceremonial parades, and official events organised by the Air Force.  

The Sounds of Service  

From the 1950s onwards, Indian military bands began gradually expanding their repertoire beyond Western marches to include compositions rooted in Indian musical traditions. Band masters within the armed forces composed new ceremonial tunes inspired by Indian folk and classical music, giving rise to an identifiable Indian sound. Marches such as ‘Veer Bharat’, ‘Amar Senani’, ‘INS Vikrant’, and ‘Priyadarshini’ are examples of works composed by military musicians themselves and remain in ceremonial use. The influence of Ram Singh Thakuri, a former member of the Indian National Army (INA) and composer of the INA’s music, was especially significant; his work helped shape post-Independence military music in India. This Indianisation was further strengthened when General Shankar Roychowdhury, as Chief of the Army Staff (1994–1997), formally directed the inclusion of the INA’s patriotic song and regimental quick march “Kadam Kadam Badhaye Ja” into the Indian Army’s marching repertoire. 

In addition to new compositions, military bands also adapted Indian classical forms for ensemble performance. Lieutenant Manjit Singh Neer of the Indian Naval Band composed a widely performed piece based on Raag Lalit, demonstrating how classical Indian music could be integrated into military settings. Today, over 200 Indian compositions are used across ceremonial, regimental, and public performances. To support this shift, traditional instruments such as the tabla, mridangam, santoor, sitar, and jal tarang have been incorporated into select military ensembles, broadening both the sound and cultural reach of Indian military band music.

Today, Indian military bands stand as living institutions where discipline, tradition, and music intersect. Their evolution—from colonial formations to distinctly Indian ensembles—reflects the larger journey of the Armed Forces themselves. Whether performing on the parade ground, at state ceremonies, or for public audiences, these bands combine military precision with a musical legacy rooted in service and national identity. 

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The preparations for the tests were conducted underground in the dead of the night in absolute secrecy. The equipment used to dig the shafts was shifted back at daybreak and the shafts concealed during the day. Every precaution was taken so that satellites would not detect unusual activity in the range. In fact, the earth dug out was piled up to mimic sand dunes.

On May 11, 1998, three nuclear devices were detonated. Operation Shakti was a resounding success. The day was etched in the history of India as National Technology Day.

Amar Chitra Katha pays tribute to the phenomenal scientists, engineers, and our very own missile man, A. P. J. Abdul Kalam, for their contributions and achievements in making India a global superpower.

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Illustration: Ram Waeerkar
Script: Toni Patel

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Script: Margie Sastry
Illustration: Shyam Desai

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