The Sacred Sacrifice - Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3 : 8 POH - THE CRUCIBLE OF FAITH - CHAMKAUR

This chapter revisits the legendary Battle of Chamkaur, a pivotal moment in Sikh history that unfolded on 8 Poh 1761 Bikrami (22nd Dec, 1704 CE). Outnumbered and surrounded by a vast enemy force, Guru Gobind Singh Ji, alongside forty brave Singhs and his two elder sons, transformed a humble mud fortress into a sacred stronghold of faith and valor.

Through vivid imagery and lyrical reflection, this retelling attempts to bring to life the unwavering courage of the Khalsa, the heroic sacrifices of Sahibzadas Ajit Singh and Jujhar Singh, and the indomitable resolve of Guru Gobind Singh Ji.

Let us journey together into this crucible of faith, where every sacrifice became a hymn and every wound, a testimony of divine resolve.

The ratio is astounding.

The mud fortress is quarantined,

fenced in by a million men.

Inside the turret,

before the cock’s crow,

forty-eight voices sing Asa Ki Vaar.

…

The enemy stirs, restless.

They dare The Tenth Master,

even before the call of conch.

The dawn is bathed in red,

and the glimmer of Master’s sword

puts the winter sun to shame.

….

Breathtaking, the battle dance of Khalsa.

Drunk on the nectar of Thy name,

look, the birds soar like hawks.

One Singh falls,

and the fortalice reverberates

with a victory call, piercing and pure.

…

Ajit Singh seeks permission.

Proudly, the Father embraces him,

gifting him a swift gleaming sword.

The Chosen Sikh implore,

asking them to retreat,

but the request, of Ajit, is honored.

….

A radiant beam enters the arena. 

His sword cuts through the rivals,

slicing tens, hundreds and many hundreds.

Then, from the citadel,

The Master sees,

the enemies attacking simultaneously.

… 

Blissfully, Ajit closes his eyes.

The turret proudly resounds

with a clarion call of triumph.

The men look at the Master,

and the Master surveys the Armageddon,

proud of the wounds borne by his seed.

….

The opponents revel.

The Master, ever grateful

readies his young lion.

Go, wed your lifegiving death,

sayeth the Light to Jujhar,

while the Sikhs implore again.

…

The nemesis strikes.

More ferociously, more precisely,

more effectively, the Sikhs gain an edge.

Bows gone, spear broken,

mowing the enemies with Khanda,

deftly, the young lion wields his weapons.

…

The cowards strike from the shadows.

Through the enemy-ring,

wound-riddled Jujhar breaks free.

Their eyes meet,

the son and the father smile,

and a last valiant Fateh echoes in the arena.

…

The sun sets, for the third time.

Two golden orbs and forty stars,

sleep shroudless on the blood-soaked soil.

Inside the bastion,

there’s stillness of gratitude,

for the debt is partially settled. 

…

Peer-e-hind rwaad.

Three ringing claps, in witching hours,

lest they think he retreated!

One against thousands,

The Master blew his horn,

beckoning them all together.

…

Peer-e-hind rwaad.

Helter-skelter, the sleepy swords,

the enemies strike their own.

Through the chaos,

a salvation for the fallen,

as The Master steers Neela.

…

The cubs wait longingly.

At the shed of Kumma Mashki,

Ma Gujri waits too.

Night has come again,

but when will their men come,

or will they come at all?

Welfare unto all 

Rab rakha