Poetry
The Doughty Defender of Harmandar Sahib
Part III
SARBPREET SINGH
This is the seventh of a series of works on sikhchic.com by the author to mark the 30th anniversary of the Indian Army’s desecration of the Golden Temple in Amritsar.
Continued from yesterday …
It was a time of great turmoil. The peril was grave and imminent. A large, well-armed force was about swoop down upon the Harmandar Sahib.
In its path stood a young man of steely resolve. A man who had decided to resist. Many had fled. Only a few stood shoulder to shoulder with him.
The invading force arrived. It was even larger and more fearsome than had been rumored, but the young man stood his ground. The battle began. The ferocity of the defenders shocked the invading force. Their resistance became the stuff of legend ...
This is the story of Baba Gurbaksh Singh, the 18th Century Akali warrior who dared to defy the might of the Afghan hordes.
His tiny band was outnumbered. Outgunned. And yet he embraced death like a bridegroom joyously bound for his wedding.
The account is translated from its original Punjabi from Episode 156 of Rattan Singh Bhangu’s opus, Sri Guru Panth Prakash.
PART III
The Gilji horde just swells and swells
Fresh fighters now their ranks enhance
With fury fall upon the Singhs
And rend their foes with spear and lance
The Warrior mighty swings his sword
Slices through many a lance
The Giljis dare not come too close
Away from flashing sword they prance
Not one Singh did that day retreat
Nor cast his eye towards the rear
No one shall ever dare to say
That even one ran from the fray
Warrior assailed! So many spears!
As the Giljis strive to make him yield
And though he’s fallen on his knee
They cannot from his hand sword free
He grips his sword in bloody hand
But his mind is now roiled by doubt
If I cast my sword on the sand
Will they spare me a man unarmed
If I yield I’m sure I will live
But all this blood will be for naught
This glorious moment for sure will pass
The time to sacrifice is now
Thus The Warrior girds his loins
Makes up his mind to never bow
May my head from my trunk be cleaved
Hither! Sweet sword! No one bereaved
He picks up his sword; mightily roars
A challenge to the Gilji horde
His neck is bare begs to be hacked
Just like was Ninth Master attacked
A Gilji bravo swings his blade
The Warrior’s head is no more nigh
The Lord is kind: a promise made
The Singhs can hold their heads up high
Of warriors past and martyrs’ sprites
Their joyous ranks The Warrior joins
Into their waiting arms he’s borne
Chariots divine with pennants flying
They come for him on prancing steeds
Bejeweled saddles! There is a slew
Beating war drums flying flags
In dazzling robes of electric blue
Music majestic spirits make
Accompanied by lute and drum
The Warrior joins the magic throng
Oh glorious and noble groom
Oh look in the throng! Bhai Mani Singh!
The sage does songs from the scripture sing
Bhai Taru Singh! He is here too
Like dogs he leads a tyrant leashed
The tyrant is being thrashed with shoes
And for his evil deeds is flayed
Of evildoers a wicked crew
Is chastised till its black and blue
The Warrior the spirits greet
And in a warm embrace engulf
With happiness joyously meet
Brace of brothers who are long lost
With folded hands The Warrior prays
His mind his Master contemplates
Thank you, My Lord! The Warrior says
And homage to his Master pays
My Lord! My King! Giver of life
For eons we have lived with strife
These brutish dogs of Khorasan
Shall meet the fate of Wazir Khan
This evil king has caused us grief
We will eject him from our fief
Give us the strength to fight; prevail
Sweep them away like a mighty gale
This land is ours! Its bounty ours!
Why should we let them steal from us
The Master hears The Warrior’s plea
It will be thus my son! You’ll see
The Afghan king will soon to hell
The Singhs will merrily sound his knell
But there is more of the tale to tell
Of how his Gilji followers fell
The Giljis sleep in a makeshift camp
By the ramparts of the Bhangi fort
In dead of night the Singhs do stir
Stealthily creeps vengeful cohort
Tired Giljis in slumber deep
The Singhs make off with many a steed
And on their camp they fiercely sweep
Writhing in the dust the Giljis bleed
At break of dawn the Giljis flee
Make haste to catch up with their king
In the light of day the Singhs behold
Brethren in heaps their bodies cold
And as the beaten foes retreat
More Singhs appear upon the scene
It looks as if the earth has bled
Or colored red by the warriors dead
The Singhs come up with a common plan
With honor they will treat every man
By the Timeless Tower a pyre is lit
By dancing flames Singhs solemnly sit
On the mighty fire are the martyrs laid
Fallen comrades gallant band
The Singhs prepare a sacred feast
Received humbly by every hand
Ashes to ashes dust to dust
Their bodies fallen heroes leave
Their souls rise up to meet the Lord
And join the martyrs’ eternal horde
The Singhs joyously chant in praise
Blessed are fathers, such sons who raise
To the warriors is built a glorious shrine
Wishes are fulfilled every day
Such is the glory of this shrine
Many a malady has it cured
And so great is its power benign
Forgotten is all pain endured
But hark! The tale is not yet done
The Singhs have joyous odes to sing
The Warrior’s prayer, his dying breath
A miracle yet it is to bring
The fallen Warrior’s eternal soul
Comradeship with martyrs seeks
Earnestly he begs the Lord
With them may I live in accord
The Master in his wisdom deep
Bestowed upon his slave a boon
The Warrior, did the Lord decree
Another life, for sure, would see
Of love of life, the man who’s free
Would the leader of a thousand be
O mighty chief who scoffed at flight
You did not bow to the Gilji might
Clamored then the martyrs’ sprites
Hear us Lord of we may be so bold
For a dozen years let him dwell here
Then send him back into the world
All of us, our Lord you blessed
For the chance to savor your grace we beg
For a dozen years let us all dwell here
Then send us all back with a mission clear
So be it! Then spoke the Lord
It shall be as you ask of me
I will not cleave you from my side
Forever joined with me you’ll be
Upon hearing these gracious words
The martyr’s hearts they swell with joy
The Warrior though is bold to ask
For me, my Lord, what is your plan?
You my son, I now will bless
In you I place my powers thus
A sovereign now is every Singh
And you shall be their mighty king
Sovereign of all within your sight
None shall stand before your might
He who dares to draw your ire
Will be scorched as if by fire
The mightiest most defiant foe
At your feet will his weapons throw
Tell, my Lord! Your slave would know
The name of the house where my soul will go
You will be born to a warrior bold
Before whose might the Gilji’s fold
A warrior who is known to all
To evil who will never fall
A warrior willing to sacrifice
For the good of all, his very life
Speak up spirits of martyrs brave
If you have heard of such a man
Oh Lord, where else can you send a king
But to the house of Charat Singh
In eighteen hundred twenty two
One Rattan Singh did tale this brew
Some of it came from what he knew
And some from ballads sung anew
Yes wisdom can be found in tomes
It’s true it may be bought and sold
But wisdom that lies deep within
Priceless! If I may be so bold
CONCLUDED
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July 13, 2014