The Sacred Sacrifice - Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5 : The road of sacrifice

This part delves into the poignant journey of Mata Gujri Ji and her young grandsons, Zorawar Singh (9 years) and Fateh Singh (7 years), as they navigate treacherous paths and confront the tyrannical rule of the Mughals. The weight of anticipation hangs heavy in the air, mingled with a sense of foreboding. The court of Wazir Khan, the Mughal governor, looms large, a symbol of oppression and injustice. The part portrays the young Sahibzadas' unwavering resolve, their unwavering commitment to their faith, and their unwavering determination to uphold the principles of their faith.

The Tenth Master knows.

He knows about the hospitality

of the devout Kumma Mashki.

He knows

that the meal served by Lakshmi

would be their last proper meal.

…

Guru knows of their hunger.

That Gangu serves

but dry, hard bread to tender little boys.

Yet Gran sustains them still,

on sugar drop candies

and dullops of love and faith.

…

The Light knows of betrayal.

Of Gangu stealing their purse,

a small, little worldly holdall.

His swindling, sealing them away,

depriving them of food and water,

yes, the Light knows it all.

…

The Master is aware.

Of the Police arresting

his loved ones, at Gangu’s behest.

Of the temptations,

to trick and corrupt his seeds,

of the games played to entice.

…

The Master is proud.

Of their bold Jaikaras,

like eyas calling out in the prison cells,

Of the young hawks

spreading their wings

and soaring spiritedly.

…

The Omniscient feels.

The weight of the iron shackles

on the aged hands of his mother.

The pain of walking

with soft ankles restrained

in strong iron fetters.

…

The Master blesses them.

As they walk towards The Cold Turret,

with ragged clothes and battered frames.

As they spend the night,

huddled together

and dwelling on Thy name.

…

The clairvoyant Master watches.

When the men of Suba Sirhind,

come to summon his fledglings to the Court.

When the nascent hawks,

are scurried away, rather roughly,

away from their shield, their Gran.

…

The Master smiles.

As they stride through the tiny door,

feet first—refusing to bow.

As the confident twin voices

ring through the court of foes,

Waheguru ji ka khalsa, Waheguru ji ki Fateh!

….

The Light hears.

When the Quazi offers them

lands, riches and women.

When they laugh off the propositions

and refuse to convert,

their wisdom defying their years.

…

The Light watches.

Spirited, they return to the warm folds

of Mata Gujri’s shawls.

They touch not the food from Suba’s kitchens,

but sip slowly, gratefully, that glass of milk,

that Moti Ram pours with sheer love.

…

The family prays.

The Master, Ma Gujri and princes,

the faithful Mehals who reach Delhi.

This night of trials,

this too shall pass, shadows fading,

in the dawn of Thy glory.

Welfare unto all 

Rab rakha 

The Sacred Sacrifice - Chapter 4

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