Waheguru ji ka khalsa
Waheguru ji ki fatehThe following is part of a presentation I recently wrote for the Khalsa Council. I have taken some literary liberties by presenting this in first- person format. This requires some extrapolation of feelings and thoughts with very little research data available - especially with Guru Sahib's younger sons. I had to rely on my heart and my meditation. And, of course, who really knows what was in the mind of these incredible and brilliant incarnations! But, by taking the chance and putting the piece in first person - it creates a hologram effect and Baba Ajit Singh Maharaj seems to materialize before us.
I hope you understand the spirit in which it was done, and I apologize in advance for my errors and my arrogance.
Shanti Kaur
I, Baba Jujhar Singh, was born in March 1689. When my elder brother, Ajit Singh, was ten years old, he used to spend hours each day in the rhythmic practice of gatka. I would sit with my nurse at the feet of Guru Gobind Singh and watch my brother with respect and awe. I listened while my holy father told the stories of the Khalsa and their bravery against the Turkish oppression.
As my brother gain proficiency with the arrow and the sword, I also learned right behind him. I was a quick learner, athletic and strong. Even when my older brother struggled with a skill or an academic subject, I learned it with ease. But I always felt as if I was waiting; waiting to grow older, waiting to grow bigger, and I found myself impatient. When Ajit Singh was given command of his first regiment of soldiers, I went to my mother in protest. It was unfair that I should not be given this opportunity as well. But with her kindness and grace, she once again reminded me of the virtue of patience and to wait until I was older and stronger.
During the evacuation of Anandpur Sahib, I was riding with my father and brother, struggling to cross the cold, raging waters of the river Sarsa. When the mughal army betrayed my father and attacked the Sikhs, Baba Ajit Singh immediately turned with his soldiers to defend the Sikhs. I wanted so badly to go with him, but the Guru held my arm and told me to stay. Together we charged forward through the water with the cries and screams of war all around us. It was like nothing I had ever known.
When we reached the far bank, immediately the Guru sent me in search of my mother and two younger brothers. I looked desperately, but in the confusion and darkness it was impossible to find them. By the time I reported back to the Guru, Ajit Singh had rejoined the group, and together 40 of us rode toward the fort at Chamkaur.
As the battle of Chamkaur Sahib raged, every single one of the forty Sikhs were needed to fight with the endurance of 100 men. For the first time in my fifteen years, I was given the respect and responsibility of a man. High on the parapets of the fort, I sent my arrows flying into the battlefield to support the efforts of the six brave warriors who were fighting the mughals. My aim was very sure, and none survived my deadly assault. Periodically the great Guru himself came over to my position and saw with his own eyes my skill and bravery. He gave me quiet and loving words of praise, and I knew that I stood as a warrior in his divine eyes. I had finally reached the exaltation of my heart's desire.
It was not long before I look down upon the battlefield, and saw that Ajit Singh had ridden out with five Sikhs to fight. At first I was stunned to see my brother, how could this be! Then I felt fear as I saw that it was inevitable that the hundred mughals who surrounded him would eventually overcome him. But fear quickly passed into unconquerable resolve to help my brother. I sent one arrow right after the other into the battle until my shoulder ached with exertion.
When Baba Ajit Singh fell for the final time, I saw a crowd of mughals rush forward to run their swords into my brave brother's already dead body. I was filled with mahabir, the rage of battle, and I could not restrain myself from rushing to find my father and ask his permission to also go out and fight. The Guru looked at me and placed his hand lovingly on my forehead. I could see he thought I was too young, with a beard barely showing on my smooth face. His fatherly heart broke as he nodded in agreement, but my warrior soul rejoiced. I answered the soldier's call without fear and without hesitation.
I took five more Sikhs with me and like my brother before me, created havoc among the seasoned enemy soldiers. It is written that I made my way through the mughal army as a crocodile swims through a stream. The soldiers were so tall and so broad, but I hardly noticed. The enemy dropped like rain in the monsoon all around me. My sword seemed to have life of its own as I swirled and slashed and danced. Finally, they rushed towards me in great numbers, and I fell overpowered. But even at that last moment, I died as a soldier-saint, and the brilliant light of my father's face carried me on to the realm of eternal truth.