CHAPTER 7
The Crimson Stain of Sirhind
The tragic martyrdom of the younger Sahibzadas, Baba Zorawar Singh (9 years old) and Baba Fateh Singh (7 years old), along with the steadfast Mata Gujri, is one of the most poignant episodes in Sikh history. Their sacrifice embodies unparalleled courage, unshakable faith, and commitment to dharma even in the face of unimaginable cruelty.
Captured by the Morinda police and handed over to Suba Sirhind, Wazir Khan, the Sahibzadas and Mata Gujri were imprisoned in the freezing Thanda Burj. Despite their young age, Baba Zorawar Singh and Baba Fateh Singh displayed extraordinary bravery during their trial. Wazir Khan, under the guise of offering clemency, demanded they convert to Islam. The Sahibzadas, standing firm in their faith and principles, refused without hesitation.
On December 27, 1704, this defiance led to a horrific punishment. The Sahibzadas were sentenced to be bricked alive, an act of unimaginable barbarity. After enduring this torment, they were eventually executed. Mata Gujri, heartbroken by the news, attained martyrdom in the Thanda Burj.
Their bodies were left unceremoniously, but Bhai Todar Mal, a devout Sikh, displayed remarkable courage and devotion. At great personal expense, he secured land to cremate the martyrs by laying gold coins to cover the required area.
This unparalleled sacrifice serves as a profound inspiration, teaching us the values of resilience, faith, and the pursuit of justice against tyranny.
The archer's ring glitters.
Guiding the Sikh folks
towards the Master.
There he is, sleeping on stones,
his feet wounded, his clothes tattered,
but radiant still, content too.
...
He neither bewails nor bemoans.
Instead, in grace and gratitude,
The Master sings Thy lauds and primes.
He has been relieved,
of a debt long outstanding,
the burden gone, he is at peace.
...
The garden is blessed.
So is the well, where
The Master's wounds are attended to.
Blest too, the house of Masands,
where they hide him
from the searching, seeking army.
...
But the resolve of humans is fickle.
The passing time, the growing anxiety
of Masands, fearful of discovery.
But where one door closes,
another quietly opens,
mayhaps, time to move forth and bless others.
...
There's mother Hardei waiting.
Knitting garments for the Master
with her frail hands.
Devouts Nabi and Gani Khan,
waiting to serve The Light
in letter and spirit.
....
Waiting too is the dyer.
Waiting the land, yearning,
for the touch of Master's feet.
Waiting, the brood in the icy Tower,
waiting as well,
the Mehals at Delhi.
...
The Master blesses them all.
His prayers ride the winds,
bearing strength and hope for his tribe.
Dressed in robes woven in love,
and dyed with faith,
Uch da peer moves to lands of his calling.
...
Winds bring Master's caresses.
Ma Gujri holds the princes tight,
keeping them close, very close all night.
For they are mere fledglings,
and their test of faith is tough,
way too tough, even for hawks.
...
The dawn is glorious.
The trio sings Thy sweet glories,
their ringing voices floating over Sirhind.
And the tyrants are humbled,
for though punished and tortured,
the hawks soar, defying their chains.
...
The stage is set.
The audience sits in fear,
and their silence sits heavily too.
The princes are summoned,
for what may be the last time,
the despots gloating their cowardice.
...
The grooms are ready.
Their tiny turbans tied nearly,
Granma adjusts their clothing properly.
Aglow with faith,
they seek her blessings,
and tell her to follow them soon.
...
The parting is tearless.
As they step out of Turret,
for the last time, no goodbyes.
For in their hearts they know
they will all meet again
in the eternal embrace of divine.
...
Is it the Master himself?
Awestruck the audience gazes
as two beams of light acsend the podium.
Many a heads bow in reverence,
eyes shed tears of repentance,
and hands rise in silent supplication.
...
Their smoldering gaze, draws all in.
The aura of immense power
surrounds their being.
Not the fledgling sons,
but hawks, in all their splendor,
soaring with wings of truth and grace.
...
But these eyes burn the scourges.
The princes shout in ecstasy,
Victory to the Wondrous Enlightener.
The vibrations shake Sirhind,
the foggy veil is torn apart
and the sun shines clear.
...
The recital of Japji begins.
The laying of bricks begins too,
the wall begins to rise.
The hardest of hearts melt,
as they disappear behind
the burnt-red bricks.
...
The wall rises smooth.
Every curve, every fragile bend
pressed flat beneath its weight.
No wound too deep
no pain too great,
as to deter their resolve.
...
The sunshine wanes.
The wall now complete,
it hides the Master's striplings from sight.
But their prayers linger,
soft sussarations
float in the silence of Sirhind.
...
Smirking, the tyrants turn to leave.
Like a flash of lightning,
the wall shatters to the ground.
Radiant, the nestlings emerge,
their eyes closed in prayers,
and their faces, saintly serene.
...
The wall is built again.
And it crumbles to dust again,
unable to endure the strength of princes.
Again, and yet again,
the oppressors fail,
and hope is rekindled.
...
Suba refuses to accept defeat.
Zibah, he decrees,
and horror descends upon the court.
Hansla wails, Sirhind cries,
but the blade of executioner
moves swiftly.
...
The tender saplings are silenced.
The soil of Sirhind is stained,
with the blood of Master's scions.
Feet quiver, briefly,
and then there's stillness,
absolute, eternal stillness.
...
Mata Gujri is silent too.
Not in despair, not in mourning
but in reverence.
In quiet satisfaction,
of the sacred sacrifice,
even as they throw her off the Turret.
...
The lion stands guard.
The sentinel serving silently,
watching over the princes and Grandma.
In the dense forest of Bibangarh,
by the banks of Hansla,
together they rest peacefully.
...
Blessed be Diwan Todar Mal.
Outside of Sirhind,
he carpets four yards of land in gold.
Finally, Light blends with Light,
elements merge in harmony,
and they are all united, eternally.
Welfare unto all
Rab rakha
