My grandfather, Lala Kanwar Bhan, was born in 1874 to Jawahar Lal in Multan, British India. He belonged to that rare generation of men who carried courage in their hearts and discipline in their blood. A proud veteran of the British Indian Army, he served with distinction in both World War I and World War II, fighting in Europe as well as in Asia.
It is said that when he returned from the wars, he brought back a full bag of gold coins, a reward for his service and valor and thus became a prosperous man after retirement. Those very coins remain in our family even today. With characteristic fairness and affection, he distributed one coin to each of his daughters and gave the rest to his sons. That gold was not merely wealthy; it was history in the palm of his hand.
Beyond his military achievements, Nanaji was a man of culture and devotion. He was a gifted singer of Gurbani and a regular at the local Gurdwara. Every morning, before dawn, he would go for “Asa Di Vaar” and return by seven. On his way back, he would always stop at my mother’s home. She was his youngest daughter, married at the tender age of fifteen, and he held a special affection for her.
He was also musically inclined and played the harmonium beautifully. He once purchased a fine German harmonium especially for my mother, Savitri Devi. She became adept at playing the pedal harmonium, a skill she inherited from his encouragement and love for music.
My mother told me that on the day I was born, he had just returned from the Gurdwara. Deliveries in those days were conducted at home and often involved long, painful hours. Without witnessing any of the suffering, he suddenly heard the joyous news that a healthy grandson had been born. He was overjoyed. He immediately went back to the Gurdwara to offer prayers, thanking God for blessing his beloved youngest daughter and sparing him the anxiety of her labor pains. That moment of pure gratitude speaks volumes about his tender heart beneath his disciplined exterior.
In his later years, he suffered from diabetes and complications following a cataract operation. The healing was slow, and eventually he lost much of his eyesight. Despite his physical decline, his spirit remained dignified. In 1946, he left for his heavenly abode also in Multan.
Trained under the British administration, he was fluent in English at a time when very few in society possessed that skill. In Mohalla Aghapura, Kaptana Street, in Multan, where nearly 250 families of our community lived together, he was regarded as a pillar of guidance and support. He helped many relatives secure positions in the army and uplifted numerous families through his influence and standing.
He was a man of character, discipline, devotion, and generosity. I pray that his noble soul rests in peace and that he continues to watch over all of us from the heavens.
