<< Prev Page  |  Main Page | Next Page >> Annexation Rupinderpal Singh Dhillon Chenab 2 Khalsa             Satwant was already a member of the Khalsa. That is, in so far as the original concept of the Khalsa. The Sandhu family were strong followers of the Sikh religion, and had been since the times of the third Guru, Amar Das. Satwant’s father Nand was very devout. Originally, he had told Satwant, the name Sikh had been given to those who followed the teachings of Nanak Dev Ji. Nanak was an enlightened man, who had been born into a high class Kshatri family, during the time of the sant movement. This, Nand told his son, was when low caste people began to fell that the Brahmin were giving them a raw deal, and believed that God was accessible to all. Unlike the Hindu tradition of the time, the sant movement believed in one God for all, regardless of who they were. Kabir became the strongest proponent of this movement, and his ideas influenced the young Nanak, who was less interested in his father’s business then in God.             His father had told Satwant how, Nanak was taught by teachers from Islam and Hinduism. He questioned both, and came away with the conclusion that there was only one force, or power, that was responsible for life and death. In human terms that meant one almighty. The janansakis that Satwant was taught told of Guru Nanak’s adventures, which led to the beginnings of a pacifist all universal spiritual movement. His followers became known as Sikhs. As time went, they grew. There was no set identity, many were Hindu, and many were Muslim. Women were equal to men. It became a serious threat to the Hindu faith. More significantly to Mughal power, which had abused Islam on occasion for social and political control. This Nand taught his son, led to prejudice and violence against Sikhs, especially when they refused to change their beliefs. By the time of the fifth Guru, Arjun, The Moghals sought to destroy this political threat, and thus sowed the seeds of religious hatred between Sikhs and Muslims. Guru Arjun was tortured to death. After that the Sikhs gradually became warriors, whose republican religion was outlawed. The end result as every Sikh knew, was the Tenth Guru, Gobind Rai’s dramatic creation of the Khalsa.             For what had been a spiritual philosophy for all mankind, in the heat of the moment to protect its survival, became a religion. Sikhism was officially created in 1699, Vaisakhi by the tenth teacher who was baptised as Guru Gobind Singh. He invented the Khalsa. According to Nand, it was a democratic republican concept, where one man did not rule over many, one religious pontiff did not ask for devotion. Religious power was placed in the Sikh scriptures, the Sri Guru Granth Sahib. Political powers went to the Panth, or every man and women who were a baptised Sikh, thus a member by default of the Khalsa.             This romantic and general Khalsa was not what drew Satwant to Lahore, away from his Ranbir. No, it was a different Khalsa. For after Gobind Singh’s assassination by two Afghan mercenaries, Sikhs were hunted down everywhere, and pushed into the jungles of the Punjab. Form this period of history came tales of warrior Sikhs and their exploits against the evil empire. From this period evolved the Bura Dal and Taruna Dal, the Khalsa army. Jingoistic, patriotic, noble, and brave. The backbone of Ranjit Singh’s Empire.             Nand did not pay them much heed. In his eyes, this period, when the Sikh was in the Jungle, led to the watering down of the simple monotheistic republican modern religion. It led to it being kidnapped by Hindu tradition and superstitions contrary to its principles. It led to the caste system and sexism being practised again by so called Sikhs. It led to the Khalsa army turning a blind eye to the goings on in the Lahore Durbar. But that did not bother Satwant. The excitement of the Khalsa elite attracted him, and had brought him to where he was today, sitting next to Arjun, outside the gates of the Khalsa stronghold in Lahore. Hoping to join.             The two young men alighted from the carriage and Arjun led Satwant to the iron gate of the Khalsa residence vertical to the Diwan-E-Am. The Diwan –E-Am was a raised balcony on the hall of public audience. Arjun knocked thrice. “ Kown han?” Came a loud voice. “ Ma Ha, Arjun Singh Sodi,” replied Arjun with great confidence. The bolts could be heard creaking back. The gate opened revealing a small courtyard, overlooked by several balconies and leading onto stables, where the soldiers horses were kept. The man who opened the gate ushered them in, and then shut it hard behind them. He was an octogenarian, wearing a blue Kucha, a pair of long briefs, a blue tight top and a short neatly tied turban. His peppered beard swung very low, grazing the top of his knees. Around his waist he wore a baldric, stuffed with a stabbing knife and throwing stars. In his hand he held a gold spear. “ Oh  balleh! Arjun! I haven’t seen you here for a while! Who is this?” asked the man. “ This is my knew Friend Satwant Singh. He is really brave. He tackled a thief earlier on, and successfully retrieved the rascal’s swag.” Arjun beamed like a piranha. “ Balleh Sherea! Chuck dey Fateh! I have never seen you before. Are you from Amritsar?” The octogenarian asked. “ No sir. I am from Padori. I am here to train with the Khalsa, and fight the holy fight.” Satwant stuck his chest out. “ I am not aware of any holy fight? Why don’t you come inside and I’ll fix us all some tea?” “ No thanks, I really would like to see Hari Singh Nalwa, or someone who can register me.” Satwant said with a degree of self-importance. The old man raised his eyebrows, smiled knowingly at Arjun and then said okay. He led the two men past the stables, beneath one of the balconies, and through some wooden gates.             A large yard greeted them. Red sandstone walls, with several turrets, fortified three sides of the area each with two Khalsa warriors standing guard. Standing around the court were Sikh men and some women wearing blue or yellow turbans.  Almost all of them carried swords or spears. They all wore the symbols of the Khalsa, the five “K’s” devised by Guru Gobind Singh to give this brotherhood a distintive identity. By the time he had reached his late twenties, Sikhs carried rewards on their heads. Many people pretended that they were not Sikhs, to protect themselves from the Mughal regime. So to ensure their loyalty, despite his beliefs about all equal men and women, the Guru had made a political decision that led to the creation of the Khalsa and the five “K’s”. The Kucha was one of them. The Kirpan, or short sword was another. Kesh, or long hair was another, which in turn led to the Kungha or comb to keep the hair neat. A bangle called a Kara was the fifth, representing equality between all men and women, and especially between members of the Khalsa, where caste, class or colour held no difference. On a more practical level it was a wrist guard in battle. Satwant knew all this, and noticed that every man, women and child in the court had all five symbols clearly visibly showing.             Satwant’s attention particularly went towards two groups. One was a large group, probably thirty in total, standing like a phalanx punching and kicking the air. The other was a circle of probably twelve men surrounding a young man, to the side of the court. The men carried maces, swords and spears. Some of them were dramatically dressed in Dastaar Bungas’, heavily laden with quoits. These must be the Akalis he had heard about.  Each man’s weapon oscillated at considerable speed, as they aimed to attack their target, the aforementioned man, standing in the centre with only a long wooden pole.             Satwant noticed that this man was wearing tight strange trousers (later he was to become familiar with them as clothing worn by British troops) and a short tight white puggree. His light beard curled up at the point, chiding his opponents, chin pushed forward in defiance. Each time someone came to strike, he easily parried him or her, sending them spinning one way or the other as he elegantly danced. “ Want to get nearer?” The old man asked. “ Who is he?” from Satwant. “ His name is Khushveer Singh. He is the Shahzada of Gurdaspur. He normally fights in the Amritsar Khalsa, but has come to visit Lahore,” Arjun replied as they walked through the blue sea of warriors towards the sparring Singhs. “ He is a very highly respected Gatka expert, and has come to train our men.”             The three men stood at a reasonable distance from the circle and watched the soldiers practising. Satwant was in owe. The scenes in the courtyard represented everything he had expected of the Khalsa warriors. The elegant craftsmanship of the martial art before him enthralled him. One of the Nihang’s finally managed to get his sword dangerously close to Khushveer’s visage, missing his nose by a whisker. “ Oh deeay!” exclaimed the martial artist. His upper torso was bear, revealing taut knotted muscles and a powerful abdomen. But not a drop of sweat seemed to slither down his body. The confidence of the lucky assailant grew, and he tried to prod towards Khushveer’s chest, whilst the latter deflected a downward cut from behind. The Gatka trainer bent down his knees and pushed himself back up, the wooden stick straightening so that its circular base crashed into the attacker’s forehead, as the other end rested neatly within the defendant’s armpit, using his body weight. A final thrust and the last of the attackers were neutralised. Khushveer bowed as everyone clapped, shouted “ Balleh”, “ Shahbass” and “ First Class”.             Khushveer picked up a white European jacket, threw it on in one move, and winked at Satwant. He then turned to the crowd, “ Now I must go and dabble with the politicians up there.”             They all laughed, as he walked away waving non-chantingly. Satwant tuned towards Arjun. “ Well, who do I ask, what do I do?” He was impatient to sign up. “ In regards to what you do, why don’t you pick up that stick he dropped, and start from there? In terms of who do you ask..” Arjun pointed up at one of the balconies. Satwant turned around to look. There stood splendid in his armour was their lord, Hari Singh Nalwa, who had also been watching the Gatka match.                                     *          *          *          *          *                      Each day Satwant practised at learning to fight with a sword, a stave and his bare hands. Gatka movements were based from a circle, where the warrior stood and cut and thrusted using all three hundred and sixty degrees available. Thus the warrior was able to anticipate some threats and cover all potential avenues of danger. The others, especially the playful Arjun, initially mocked Satwant. As time went by his skills improved. Eventually he got to train with Khushveer.             Khushveer stayed until September, in order to see Kharak Singh officially be “crowned” as king. Then Satwant found himself placed in a small team of five in the Dal Khalsa. He had been baptised before during a Vaisakhi festival years ago. But the head of his unit, Hari Singh Nalwa insisted he renew his vows and become a proper member of their Khalsa army. It should have bee his Khalsa army thought, Satwant. He was beginning to learn that there were a number of factions. The Fauj-E-Ain was still the main army, mostly in control by Shere Singh, who he had learnt was one of the old Maharajah’s many sons. The majority of the Dal Khalsa was also on his side. This faction was now under the control of a Brahmin called Lal Singh. A couple of units, including Hari’s was adamantly on the side of Kharak Singh. By default so was Satwant, who wore his units colours with pride.             Himmet Ali had enjoyed Lahore for six weeks before Satwant had sent him back to the village. Ranbir was on his mind, but he was too afraid to go back. He may have now become a confident warrior, but had no stomach to face his father. After a couple of months Himmet had returned. The girl wore her bindi with pride, wherever she went in the village, but the strain was beginning to show on her face, especially since people talked. His father was becoming more aggressive each day. He did not lie to anyone who asked about what had happened. Himmet pleaded with Satwant to return, but was dazzled by Satwant into enjoying the many mosques and the atmosphere of the market place, when not acting as squire to the young man. Satwant trained harder to forget Padori.             The Khalsa made preparations for the investure of the king, to take place on the first of September 1839. There would be a display of one thousand men, guarding the King. Unlike his father it would not take place in Amritsar, but Lahore. Satwant and Arjun drilled daily, attending the classes held by one of the Fauj-E-Ain’s divisions. They both had navy blue suits made for the occasion. Satwant’s uniform was to be of lamb’s wool, whilst Arjun purchased a silk suit.             Satwant and Arjun also obtained gold gilded kirpans, gold karas various quoits for their turbans. By August the two men sparred regularly, using live blades in the courtyard where first Satwant had seen Khushveer in action. “ You’ve come a long way since you picked up that stick,” Arjun commented as Satwant’s blade curled past his ear, then returned back as swiftly. Arjun successfully dodged the strokes and then returned his own. Satwant found it easy to parry and avoid the more experienced fighter. He waited until Arjun, fatally twisted around to swing his silver blade vertically across Satwant’s face, and then stepped back and thrusted forward, cutting Arjun’s tunic above his right wrist. “ Indeed my friend. Now I am the master,” He laughed, stepping back from a vengeful stroke from his colleague. “ I understand you have sent him back to Padori again?” Arjun asked whilst bowing down, missing a whooshing swing, then jumping up, as the sword swung back low, aimed at the back of his knees. “Yes. I can’t totally forget about the family. And her.” Satwant replied. “ You know, after this investure, you should go back. Trust me, it’s the right thing to do.” Arjun said, signalling Satwant to stop the sparring bout. “ Perhaps. I think it is too late. So when are we lining up for the next drill?” he changed the subject. “ This afternoon, my friend. Achaa yar, we should get ready now.” Arjun sheathed his sword, and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “ We should. You know Arjun, I have dreamed about this place and joining the Khalsa army for so long. Now it is finally true. I have relished training and have loved being here. This parade is the high light of my life right now.” Satwant looked away dreamily. “ You, yar, are strange. It was never a priority for me. Certainly not above family.  Then again I am single.” Arjun smiled. “ Oh ho, not that again. I will go back then. But now is not the time to go back to Padori.” Satwant walked away. “ I’ll see you at the parade.” *          *          *          *          *             Satwant stood near the middle of the front row of Hari Singh’s Dal Khalsa fauj. His chest was stuck out, his chin straight. In front of him stood an American mercenary who had helped drill them and Hari Singh himself, to inspect them. There were ten rows in all, each one hundred long. The front four rows wore the traditional blue of the Khalsa with pride. Their swords cleaned for inspection, quoits gleaming in the sky, knives snucked comfortably in their waist belts, a vicious incisor waiting to be used. The next four rows had men dressed in European fatigues, yellow turbans above red uniforms, like bright Dutch tulip on rouge sticks. The last two rows consisted of men and women in hotchpotch garments, carrying matchlocks and maces.             Satwant thought the old fox looked at his men with pride. It was judgemental really, as it was hard to say what the man was thinking. Hari Singh walked across the whole of the first row, his eyes meeting Satwant’s for a fleeting second. When he got to the end of the row he walked down the last column. After what seemed like an eternity to Satwant, he heard Hari Singh’s voice somewhere from behind. “ Shabassh”             Satwant remained staring forward, just like the American had taught them, for what seemed like fifteen minutes, agonising slow ones, waiting for the man who had killed a tiger with his bear hands to return to the front. Eventually the general’s footsteps were heard coming down a column to Satwant’s left. The general turned around and faced then with a satisfying look. Satwant knew that this was the crème of his force. “ Sat sri Akal. Wahe Guru Ji ki Khalsa, Wahe Guru Ji ki Fateh!” Hari Singh shouted at the top of his voice. The whole of the Khalsa, including Satwant shouted back at the top of their voices “ Wahe Guru Ji ki Fateh, Wahe Guru Ji ki Khalsa.” Back. Then Hari Singh climbed up on his horse, raised his arm and shouted “ Bolleh Sowneh hal,” and everyone replied in unison “ Sat Sri Akaaaallll!”             The Khalsa army was ready.             And Ranbir raced back into Satwant’s mind, like a splinter, piecing it apart.