CHAPTER 4
9 Poh - The Journey to Sirhind
After the heart-wrenching separation at the banks of the Sarsa River, Mata Gujri Ji and her two young grandsons, Baba Zorawar Singh and Baba Fateh Singh, found themselves thrust into the unforgiving path of exile. Betrayed by one they trusted — Gangu, the Brahmin — they were captured and forced on a tragic journey toward Sirhind. The land of their captivity, marked by the cold and cruel walls of Thanda Burj, would become the final stage of their suffering.
As they journeyed through desolate terrains, the strength of their faith remained unshaken, even as the storm raged both without and within. The small acts of devotion — the prayers, the quiet blessings, the warmth of simple moments shared — became their refuge. Yet, this journey was not one of mere survival; it was an embodiment of the resilience and unyielding spirit of Mata Gujri Ji and her grandsons. Their journey transcends time, reminding us of the power of devotion, sacrifice, and the eternal light that guides even in the darkest of times.
Kumma stands guard.
The cabin gives them shelter
from the frosty currents.
Within, a haven of faith blooms,
as Ma Gujri and her princes,
sit cross-legged, chanting Thy name.
...
The night passes, it always does.
The sunrise brings naive questions,
answered, only in nods and smiles.
A breakfast together,
the grandsons babbling adoringly
and yet her eyes never leave the door.
...
Hush, who knocks at the shanty.
Oh look, 'tis Gangu,
a name they know, a face they remember.
Ah, if they only saw his eyes
when Ma Gujri thanks Lakshmi
and blesses her with a few golden dimes.
...
Another arduous journey.
The terrain is rocky,
but they travel with a hope.
In the silent hours of night,
a hazy silhouette of hutments,
and they reach Saheri.
...
Gangu betrays them.
For a few shillings of gold,
he steals, he lies and he cheats.
The policemen of Morinda,
take no pity,
neither of age, nor of gender.
...
The prison walls resonate.
The voices are booming,
sonorous and full-toned.
The ringing echoes,
of the pious clarion call,
shake the spirits of officers.
...
Caged but still soaring free.
The crown princes
refuses to bow down and convert.
The orders are received,
and they are transferred to Sirhind,
their tender hands and legs tied.
...
People on the roads gasp.
Such radiant faces,
unparalleled, the beauty, the sublimity.
Hushed whispers follow them
to the Cold Turret of Sirhind,
the freezing elevated gazebo.
...
A glass of warm milk.
Blessed is the man, Moti Ram Mehra,
the price of these glasses, he pays with his life.
The icy cold tower
begins to melt in grandmother's embrace
warmed with faith, and devotion.
...
The Tenth Master rests.
The stones of Machiwara
cradle him and winter winds sing lullabies.
Prayers rise from his heart,
and waft through the frosty fortalice,
uniting them all in their thoughts.
Welfare unto all
Rab rakha
Dhan Mata Gujari ji dhan chotey Lal Dhan kalgiyan wale, Dhan Ajit te Jujhar..
ReplyDelete🙏🙏
Delete