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 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 

The Sacred Sacrifice - Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

7 POH - The Night of Betrayal and Separation

In December 1704, a dark chapter of betrayal, sacrifice, and separation unfolded in Sikh history. Guru Gobind Singh Ji, after enduring a prolonged siege at Anandpur Sahib, was forced to leave the fortress in the dead of night, under promises of safe passage that were soon broken by the Mughal forces and their allies. As the Guru and his family embarked on a perilous journey, they were ambushed near Shahi Tibbi, and the ensuing chaos led to the tragic division of the family.

The retreating Sikhs, including the Guru’s wife, his young sons, and his beloved followers, faced immense trials. As they crossed the treacherous Sarsa River, their path was blocked by raging waters, a storm, and the relentless pursuit of enemy forces. In this moment of deep sorrow, the Guru’s family was scattered, never to reunite again.

The Night of 7 Poh (December 21, 1704), as it is known in Sikh history, not only marks a profound loss but also the enduring spirit of courage, faith, and resilience. This poetic series is a tribute to the legacy of those who sacrificed everything for their faith and their Guru.

‘neath the stars, the caravan moves.

Silently they traverse,

towards the ‘morrows, veiled and vast.

Ah! the pious pure Kiratpur,

the land of their patriarchs,

a place to behold and revere.

…

To rest and pause, but alas!

At last, the banks of Sarsa,

its tempest, unrestrained, unreined.

Enemy at heels and enemy ahead,

and still, the Asa Ki Vaar resonates,

steadying them in that storm-born dawn.

…

The pack of hungry wolves.

The lions guard the Light

as he sings the lauds at daybreak.

The swarm of enemies

torn apart bravely

by the beloved folks of Master.

…

Sarsa roars wildly.

Lamenting in pain and anger,

wrathfully swallowing everything.

Further,

towards the gushing river,

the enemy ensnares the bravehearts.

…

The ambushed entourage splits.

Sarsa slices the family,

the beacons separated, isolated.

Amidst the flood and swords,

The Tenth Master watches

the matrons and cubs drifting away. 

…

The universe is drifting away.

Resolute, the Master marches on,

the footfalls of Neela taming Sarsa.

Sikhs follow him,

not hundreds, not thousands,

but handful, for they are all who remain.

…

The universe is drifting away.

The youngest cubs cling

to the mother Lioness.

The whipping, lashing currents,

whisk them away,

farther away from the clan.

…

The universe is drifting away.

Flooded furious waters

and lashing swords.

The matrons are swept, 

away from the battlefield,

their eyes searching their brood.

…

Sarsa grieves.

The tears cannot wash

the crimson tinge of waters.

Three trails are lit,

ablaze by the beacons treading,

Chamkaur, Chann Kumma Mashki, Delhi.

…

The fortress of Chamkaur brings relief.

The vespers bring solace,

such, the comfort of Thy word.

The Tenth Light adores,

the loyal, the steadfast men,

the seeds of his Khalsa tribe.

…

The dawn hesitates.

This is the land

where the price will be paid.

But the Master is content,

not ruffled by sorrow,

nor anxious for tomorrow.

...

The lands are unknown.

Dense, dark eventide,

and not a kinsmen in sight.

Battered by winds and waters,

Ma Gujri and two fledgling sparks,

knock at Chann Kumma Mashki.

Welfare unto all 

Rab rakha 

The Sacred Sacrifice - Chapter 1

CHAPTER - 1

THE NIGHT OF 6 POH

The series begins with Guru Gobind Singh Ji creating a puppet filled with animal bones, covered in silk, and sending it out of Anandpur Sahib. The Mughals, believing it held valuable goods, attack and loot it, breaking their promise of safe passage. Guru Sahib uses this to show his Sikhs that the Mughals could never be trusted. Despite knowing the risks, and at the insistence of his followers, Guru Gobind Singh Ji prepares to leave Anandpur Sahib. On the night of 6 Poh (December 20, 1704), after enduring an eight-month siege and betrayal by the hill chiefs and Mughal forces, Guru Ji, along with his family and Sikhs, departs under the cover of darkness, leaving behind their sacred home. This marks a significant moment in Sikh history, symbolizing resilience and sacrifice.

Look, all look, who goes there?

Ah! For a cart load of treasures

see how the foes violate their vows. 

Eight months of siege,

no rations, no needs,

and now, this deceit!

...

Pleas and appeals before The Tenth Light.

The treachery, and the drudgery,

the scales of justice are tricky.

The weight of knowing

is crushing, as are, 

the desperate calls of Khalsa folks.

...

Solemn slight sleet. 

Solemn too,

the choice to leave. 

Solemn today, the sand

that turned to gold

in the shadows of The Tenth Master. 

...

'tis time for goodbyes.

His father rests here, 

here his sons were born. 

There shall be light here, 

at all times, a lamp of life, 

albeit small but strong. 

...

Winter winds grapple the city.

Through the frigid freezing shackles

the convoy departs from Anandpur. 

Marching through the undertones

of seemingly sacred vows, 

and leaving behind the whispers of bliss. 

...

The cavalcade moves, the skies weep. 

A nanoscopic pause, mayhaps,

a parting glance by Crown Princes.

They might not return, 

to their beloved cradle, 

never again in this lifetime.

Welfare unto all 

Rab rakha 

The Saga of Sulakhni

A chapter from the life of Guru Nanak, The Light :

Part - 1

Reveling in conjugal bliss with the Light,
she walks on the path, wise and right.
Her life perfect, euphoric and joyous.
Meaningful too, not shallow nor pompous.
Oft she dwells on the Supreme absolute,
sits with laity and sings hymns to the lute.
Questions the blinding ritualistic grasps,
raises the parish beyond worldly clasps.
Serves the congregation with utmost love,
follows His Word from the heavens above.

 

Part - 2

And thus she lives as days pass by,
saintly, exalted figure, people doth deify.
Sulakhni, they call her, the virtuous one.
In the Light, she finds, her midnight sun.
Sincere and earnest, her faith is rewarded.
She says, it happens – this boon is awarded.


Part - 3
 
There are zealots there and scoffers too,
plenty of them, jeering at all that you do.
And so a bunch of cynics is waiting today,
to test her faith, to mock and downplay.
Skilled ascetics, with powers immense,
elements they control with practice intense.
Adept they are, they have mastered God,
they walk on waters as common men laud.
Flawed in their thinking, their vision is gone.
Long past the divinity, only body and brawn.


Part - 4
 
So they wait in hiding, as patrons sing
songs of glory, attuned to harp with string.
Mellow and tuned, their litanies enthrall.
In the kitchens, she cooks meals for all,
with dullops of faith and tempered with prayers.
In the hands of Light, they rest their affairs.


Part - 5

She does not count nor measures cups or scoops.
Every bite a delight, the food prompts some whoops.
With faith she fills the buckets and breadbaskets,
serving everyone fervently, without looking at caskets.
The parishioners are leaving, happy and content.
Relishing the time they have beautifully spent.
Some stay back to help her clean the place,
some help with utensils, some mop the space.
Soaked in the color of True Name, they all work hard,
selflessly they serve, with devotion and regard.


Part - 6
 
Unfriendly ones, lurking in shadows dense,
Mala fide their drift, they begin the pretence.
Forth to the shrine, to smear and malign,
Psalm songs echo, the beginning of design.
Chanting and praying, they reach the hermitage,
Servitors announce a total hundred and fifty sage.


Part - 7

Fickle these saints, and unfaithful their curtsy.
Yet the Light smiles, a brimming fountain of mercy.
All knowing, all pervading, the Light calls for supper.
Sardonic smiles of sages, while servants shudder.
They bow before the Light, with flustered minds,
And they reach Sulakhni to succour left behinds.
They sink into sadness, there's no way they can feed,
For the sages are ravenous, athirst with greed.
But Sulakhni smiles, these are orders of the Light,
And His shall ever prevail, boundless is His Might!


Part - 8

She prays and she chants, while she hands out plates,
no one has ever returned hungry from His gates.
Then she hands out the breadbasket to the steward chief.
Covers it with 'kerchief, and recites psalms with belief.
The steward looks askance at the meagre divide.
Just five flatbreads, for the savage lions and their pride.


Part - 9

Unwavered in resolve, Sulakhni tells him to begin,
not to remove the 'kerchief, but to pray deep within.
To add dullops of clarified butter to their meals,
to top it with sugar, to mark servings with faithful seals.
And the believers bow humbly and serve this faction,
Glory be to Thee, the hermits are dazed at this action.
There's bread on every plate and sugar in every scoop,
a rich meal on every platter, no one left in the troop.
And the men eat a hearty supper with relish and delight,
Defeated, yet sated, it is such a wonderful sight.


Part - 10

Finished with the meals, they thank and they rise,
accept their pettiness, do away with disguise.
But one of their men plays on, he asks for more,
portion after portion, he asks with a roar,
his powers help him to increase his hunger,
stupifies everyone, and makes them wonder.


Part - 11

Baffled and confounded they seek Her help.
How do we satiate him, they ask with a yelp.
She smiles and she thinks of Lord Almighty,
and she prepares the plate for the highty-tighty.
Glory be to Thee, one bread of Thy Name.
And the sage loses his powers, fails in his game.
The Light smiles and showers grace on His men,
The sages learn from Him and return to their den.
Thus ends the story, the saga of Sulakhni, the blessed.
Faith, belief and devotion, all glitches redressed. 

Welfare unto all

Rab Rakha

Ganpati Bappa Morya

 Magnificent, Thy form. 

Formless, Thy eternal divinity.

Rising chants of Thy glory, 

reverberating, 

dispelling all darkness, all agony. 

Thee, we hail, with fervour, 

O Lord of pious beginnings! 

Bless us all, with Thy grace. 

Ganpati Bappa Morya!

Mangalmurti Morya!

Janmashtami

 The cosmos dances,

to the flute-tune of cowherd, 

the rhythm, hypnotic. 

Love-enchanted, the pawns sway. 

Lost cattle, He steers us all.

Hare Krishna. Hare Krishna. 

Krishna Krishna Hare Hare. 

Welfare unto all 

Rab rakha 🤗 🤗 🤗 

Payo ji maine

 Payo ji maine raam rattan dhan payo

Like the pied-crested cuckoo, 

thirsty, parched and dry, 

Thy Meera, 

seeks Thee, 

yearns for Thy name-water, 

the priceless elixir, 

the valuable gemstone. 

The blessed downpour of Thy grace, 

Meera sings Thy name, 

and Thee satiates her longing. 

A treasure to cherish, 

she loses all 

to find Thy richness. 

And thus blest, 

radiant with joy, 

she follows the melody of Thy flute 

and Thee leads her to salvation. 

Mesmerizing, the play of love and devotion. 

The pied-cuckoo is always quenched.

Hare Krishna Hare Krishna Krishna Krishna Hare Hare. 

Welfare unto all 

Rab rakha 🤗 🤗 🤗 

Secure, thy refuge

Thy grace, our refuge.
Thy pious name, salvation.
Secure, thy embrace.

Linking with Your Daily Word Prompt

Welfare unto all
Rab rakha 🤗 🤗 🤗 

Budhdham Sharnam Gachchami

With wobbly feet going astray,
adrift in illusory realms,
where savage darkness overwhelms,
hackneyed, we seeketh the right way;
We delve within, souls, we assay.
Byways, like muddled labyrinth,
unravelled slowly, placed on plinth.
The tangled branches of desires,
we free our hearts from such quagmires.
Peace within, sanctified pathway.

Linking with RonovanWrites Decima Poetry Challenge 

Life in moments

Beyond the chaos,
someday we will start living,
and
we will celebrate.
Lavish candle light dinners
with
tables and timelines ,
both reserved.

Amidst this mayhem,
when the world is all topsy-turvy,
between the uncertainty of it all,
amongst the fleeting moments,
we will celebrate.
All of us, together,
A home cooked meal,
simple, yet sumptuous,
set out on that grandpa-table,
with extra dullops of love,
and extra-large servings.
Luxuries, only a few can afford.
Such moments of simplicity,
when
through the gossamer curtains of nonce,
that mesmerizing gander of life.

Love for those who matter,
when it matters.

Amen!

For PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Roger's

Linking with Friday Fictioneers

Welfare unto all
Rab rakha 

Humble offerings

Some sacred scribblings,
humble offerings to Thee,
these hymns penned with faith.
Reflections on our blessings,
a blessed sanctified retreat.

Welfare unto all 

Hear our plea

On thy path, with faith.
Hear our plea, we come to Thee.
Be our hope and strength.
Our prayers, our pilgrimage,
our humble supplications.

Welfare unto all

We, Thy lambs

Thou art the shepherd.
We, Thy lambs, going astray.
Thee, our redemption.
Dark, the clouds; deep thy mercy.
By thy grace, eternal bliss.

Welfare unto all 

Thy pious name

In thy love, we rise,
relishing gracious blessings,
basking, in Thy gifts.
Thy pious name, breath of life,
the very chant, sustaining.

Welfare unto all 

Linking with Blogging from A to Z April Challenge 

Resonant prayer

Cosmic primal sound,

Thy name’s embalming echo.

Sacred syllables,

resounding through universe.

resonant prayer of heart,

Welfare unto all 

Linking with Blogging from A to Z April Challenge 

Thee delivers us

Our trust in thee, Lord!
O Thy name, our medicine;
healing our spirit.
Thee delivers from trespass.
In thy presence, we revel.

Welfare unto all

Linking with Blogging from A to Z April Challenge 

Boundless Thy mercy

Boundless Thy mercy.
Trillions of hearts, lifeless forms,
all fit in Thy plan.
Revered, across galaxies,
all raise their eyes towards Thee. 

Welfare unto all 

Linking with Blogging from A to Z April Challenge 

Our lone desire

Soul, thirsting for Thee,
mind, ever yearning for Lord,
this, our lone desire.
Sparrowhawks singing Thy praise,
melodic notes, day and night.

Welfare unto all 

Linking with Blogging from A to Z April Challenge 

Thy sight, our lifeline

As we think of thee,
May we be completely blessed.
Thy sight, our lifeline.
Our mind focused on thy feet,
sustain us as Thy tadpoles.

Welfare unto all 

Linking with Blogging from A to Z April Challenge