Waheguru ji ka khalsa Waheguru ji ki fateh The 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 ****************************************** Baba Ajit Singh, the Unconquerable I, Baba Ajit Singh, was born on January 7th, 1687. From my earliest days, I was trained in the skills of a saint-soldier of the Khalsa. As I grew into a young man I became proficient in the use of all weapons, and especially the bow and arrow and the sword. I was twelve years old when I witnessed my father give the call to all Sikhs on Baisakhi 1999. Even though I was young, my heart swelled with "bir ras", the nectar of courage, at the call from my marvelous father to the sangat for a man to come forward and give his head. I yearned to stand next to him on that day, and it was only the hands of my mother, and her gentle reminder of my young years, that held me back. From that day forward, no danger could daunt or deter me from my path of duty as the eldest son of the 10th Guru. When I was 16, I wanted to take my place in the ranks of the great Guru's army. However, I was too shy to speak directly in my father's presence, so I asked Ude Singh, one of the Guru's brave generals, to speak for me. The Guru was very pleased to hear my request, and he gave me command of one hundred soldiers. Once, a Brahmin came to the Guru and complained that his newly wedded wife had been kidnapped by the Pathans of Bassi. The Guru expressed that he wanted to help this man in need. I knew this was my chance to prove myself, and I stood before my father without hesitation. "Father," I said, "I have studied and practiced daily in the art of war. Let me go. Let me lead the Sikhs in protection of these people who need our help." Even though I was young, my father agreed. With a band of brave Sikhs, we marched towards Bassi in the cover of night. By God's grace I was successful, and I returned to Anandpur on the following morning not only with the Brahmin's wife, but also with the guilty Pathans in chains. The Sikhs who fought by my side that night told the story of my fearless and unwavering nature. As I grew up, the situation for the Sikhs in Anandpur Sahib became increasingly dangerous. Three times I joined my father in battle to defend the fort and by my seventeenth birthday, I was experienced in battle and respected as a military commander. Wrung by anger and jealousy, the Mughal armies had laid a deadly siege to our city, forcing the Sikhs to evacuate Anandpur Sahib on December 20, 1704. I rode proudly next to my father during the final preparations and departure from the fort. As the sangat left the safety of the fort they had to cross the cold and dangerous waters of the river Sarsa. Even though the Mughal emperor had given the Sikhs a guarantee of safe passage, it was here that the treacherous Mughal army attacked us from behind. In the darkness and confusion that ensued, my soldiers and I turned without hesitation to meet the enemy and hold them at bay while the rest of the Guru's party crossed the rain flooded river. I fought with courage, and it is said that I chopped off enemy heads like melons in a field. When my father had safely crossed, we again joined up with the Guru. Guru Gobind Singh and 40 of the Khalsa, including my younger brother and me, moved quickly through the night and took shelter in a small mud fort at Chamkaur. The Guru began preparing for battle as the enemy amassed a hundred thousand troops on the horizon. Hopelessly outnumbered, it was the firm resolve of each of the forty Sikhs to fight to the last drop of blood. We should have been afraid, but we were not. Being so close to the Guru filled us with a light so hot, there was no room for fear. Six Sikhs went out from the improvised fort, to delay the advance of the enemy. The Guru devised a new pattern for fighting. Two Sikhs would stand back to back, and in that way form a single entity. With four arms and four legs, covering all directions, they moved out into the enemy ranks. They fought bravely and amazed the mughal soldiers with their skill and effectiveness, holding off the advancing troops. Swirling and slashing their swords, the few Sikhs wreaked mighty destruction in the ranks of the mughals. The strategy worked, and the huge army could not take the mud fort during the entire day. When the first group succumbed to the overwhelming odds, six more Sikhs volunteer to enter the battlefield. Filled with the fury of battle, I placed my head on my father's feet and asked permission to go forth and fight the enemy. Guru Gobind Singh, my father and my everlasting lord, understood this was our last meeting together on this earth. Smiling, my eternally loving father gave permission for me to enter the battlefield. I took five brave Sikhs with me who had fought by my side before, and stepped out through the gates. We fought with a fierce fury and mughals fell beneath our powerful steel. Each second slowed in time, and it seemed that the enemy moved in slow motion against my lightening speed. As quick as they came forward, so quickly I drew their blood. When my arrows were spent and my sword was broken, I still did not stop. I whirled and jumped, spitting the enemy with my spear. When my spear snapped, the enemy soldiers saw that I finally stood with bare hands. With a great yell, they rushed together and made a fresh attack. Under the force of their great numbers, I was martyred. As my soul rose above the blood soaked earth, I heard my father call out from the roof, saying, "O God, it is You who sent him, and he has died fighting for his faith. This gift You have given to the earth has now been restored to You." Baba Jujhar Singh - the warrior 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. Baba Zorawar Singh - the powerful I, Baba Zorawar Singh, was born in November 1696. I was three years old and resting in my nanny's arms when my father stood before the sangat and called for the heads of five brave Sikhs on that great Baisakhi in 1699. As I grew, I lived in a world that was split between the soft reality of my mother, and the exciting action of my father and brothers. While Ajit Singh and Jujhar Singh practiced their swordplay, Guru Gobind Singh held me in his lap and told me stories of the Sikhs bravery. I grew up as a serious young man, always aware of the powerful energy that swirled around me. During the evacuation of Anandpur, total chaos and confusion happened when the mughals ambushed the Sikhs. My younger brother and I were traveling with our Grandmother - Mata Gurjari, in a palanquin. I was only nine years old, and my mother said I was too young to ride a horse at night. In the fury of battle, my grandmother and we were separated from the sangat. A Brahmin cook from the Guru's kitchen saw us alone, and with sweet words convinced my grandmother to come to his family's home which was near by. Cold, wet and alone, Mata Gurjari gratefully took us and went with the man to his house. I did not feel safe with the Brahmin, and felt that I needed to protect my brother and grandmother as my father would. I tried hard to stay awake. But after the trauma and anxiety of the battle, I drifted to sleep in the warmth of the house. While we slept, the vile Brahmin bitterly betrayed us. He stole my grandmother's money, and informed the local authorities that the Guru's two sons were hiding in his house. At dawn, a loud banging came on the door, and the soldiers of the evil governor Wazir Khan stood prepared to escort us to Sarhind. It had been ordered that we be imprisoned in a tower. As we traveled through the city, the people thronged to see us pass offering words of encouragement. They shouted curses and abuses at the Brahmin. I was not afraid and I walked proudly, gathering strength from the voices of the sangat. In Sarhind, the tower where they imprisoned us was cold and drafty. It was a barren cell with no cots or mats - just a pile of straw for comfort. Mata Gurjari was strong knowing that the love of Guru was with us, but still she was wrung with anxiety for our safety. Wazir Khan ordered the children to be brought before him. When Grandmother heard this, it stung her like a sharp arrow and she cried aloud. In vain she tried to conceal us in the many folds of her chola. But when the soldiers came to get us, I wanted to show no weakness. I gently laid her hand aside saying: "How can we escape from our enemies? Let us go meet the governor with victory!" Saying this, I took my little brother, Fateh Singh, by the hand and led the way out of the cell. When Wazir Khan saw us, even he was struck with the beauty and grace of the house of the 10th Guru. His first thought was to marry us into a Muslim family and in this way shame and subdue the Sikhs. To try and break our spirit, he said; "Your father and brothers are all dead, killed by my brave soldiers. Your only hope to survive is to bow to me now and accept Islam. Perhaps then I will spare your life." When I first heard this, it was like a punch in the face. I believed my brave brothers and holy father to be completely indestructible, and to think that they were dead was beyond what I had ever considered. I closed my eyes for just a few seconds, and the brilliant light of my father bathed my mind. In an instant, I knew the truth and was filled with the courage that only the truth can bring. "No," I replied with a strong voice that did not waiver, "My father, the great Guru Gobind Singh is not dead. The Akal Purkh protects him. How can you say that it is possible to tear down heaven itself? How can you say that the wind can blow aside the mountain? If the Guru wanted to, he could destroy every trace of you from the earth. But he has taught us that our first duty is to obey the will of God and the laws of heaven. When we have already given our heads to such a Guru, why should we bow to a sinner like you?" The force of our faith struck Wazir Khan and fear pricked his heart. If even the very young sons of the 10th Guru have this courage, he thought, how would we ever succeed against their armies? With brutish and bullying manners, he ordered that we be executed by placing us in chains and making us to stand in a wall that was being constructed in the courtyard. Brick by brick the masons raised the wall around us until it reached to our necks. I kept looking to Fateh Singh to make sure he was all right, but his strength was as firm as mine. I was so proud to stand there with him and let the whole world know that we were the sons of Guru Gobind Singh. Finally, the executioner swung his thick sword, and we were beheaded. Long before I drew my last breath, the blissful light of my father, Guru Gobind Singh, enclosed me in comfort and peace. He was right there with me. Baba Fateh Singh - the victorious I, Baba Fateh Singh, was born in February 1699. I was barely eight weeks only on Baisakhi 1699 when the Khalsa was formed, but I was an old soul in a little body. I did not cry for food or comforts, but looked at the world with ethereal regard. Even though I was very young during the early years of Anandpur Sahib, I retained the awareness and knowledge of my past incarnations as a warrior. By the time I was seven years old, I was regarded with respect for my wisdom and clarity. I was fully aware of the situation that was developing, and also fully aware of the future outcome. I spent hours in quiet reflection allowing my mind to roam freely with my father, only regretting that I had been born too late fight at his side. During the evacuation of Anandpur Sahib, there was a great deal of confusion and fear as the women and children tried to forge the river to a position of relative safety. I had no fear of the events as they unfolded, for I had long ago seen it in my meditation. I felt how much my Grandmother worried about me, and how much responsibility my brother felt for me. In my own quiet way, with a squeeze of the hand, I tried to give them reassurance. During the night at the treacherous Brahmin's house, I laid awake with my mind in sweet meditation on my father. My love for Guru Gobind Singh extended beyond time and space into the eternal realm of Such Kand. When the soldiers knocked on the door, I was neither surprised nor afraid. As I walked with Baba Zorawar Singh to the governor's house, we came to the door of the palace. The huge gates were closed and only a very small servant's door was open. The soldiers roughly pushed us to go through the door, but to do so we would have to bend over and duck down to enter. I saw the evil trickery of Wazir Khan, and put my hand on my brother's arm. "Brother, wait. See what this evil man is doing? We have to bend our necks and bow our heads to enter through this little door. We are the sons of the 10th Guru and we will never bow our heads to such a man!" Even though the tension in the air was strong, Baba Zorawar Singh laughed when he saw my wisdom. With a mischief look, I turned my back to the door, and scooted through backwards with Zorawar Singh close behind. Wazir Khan was furious when he saw that he had been out-smarted by a seven-year-old boy. When we stood before Wazir Khan, the governor offered to spare our lives if only we would convert to Islam. Even though Baba Zorawar Singh was confirmed in his resolve, he always respected me and he turned to me before answering the Khan. I replied to his unanswered question: " Dear brother, our grandfather gave his head, but not his religion. We are now given the same choice. You and I were both too young that Baisakhi Day when the Guru called for a head, but now we can claim our turn to answer the call. We have taken the Amrit of the double-edge sword, so what do we care for death?" Without a moment's hesitation, or quick beat of the heart, I walked through the chaos to our execution. All around people were weeping as the wall was raised and my death grew near, but I was undisturbed. When the wall was up to my chin and the executioner was ready to swing his sword, we were asked one more time to save our lives and renounce our faith. I lifted my chin and said as loud as I could, "My father is Guru Gobind Singh, my grandfather is Guru Teg Bahadur, and my great-grandfather is Guru Hargobind. Death means nothing to me. Our death will fan the flames that will drive the tyrants from this land." With that, I closed my eyes and surrendered to the sweet embrace of my father. This was the moment for which I had taken human birth. == Waheguru Jee Ka Khalsa Waheguru Jee Kee Fateh! Waheguru Jee's Khalsa, Waheguru Jee's Victory!