Columnists
The Doughty Defender of Harmandar Sahib
Part II
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 II
In battle dress and fully armed
Powerful backs are ramrod straight
Their lips recite the Gurus’ words
In the Guru’s hands it rests, their fate
Chant verses from the Song of Bliss
Seeking blessings from the Guru Granth
A day of joy a wedding feast
Steaming parshad receives the panth
Bodies are sprayed perfume divine
For the wedding are the grooms prepared
The warriors sing songs of praise
Women respond with wedding airs
In sacred pool The Warrior bathes
In the Timeless Tower takes his place
A dazzling sight in splendid robes
That cover him from head to toe
On his head he dons a turban proud
Steel quoits dazzle in its folds
Amidst them does a dagger fix
As jaunty as a bridegroom’s plume
Upon him is pressed a chaplet fair
Sweet smelling blooms of many kinds
The Warrior dons in humble prayer
And is by all present he blessed
Steel on his wrists, blooms on his head
On his mighty shoulders sits a sword
The Timeless Tower he exits
Eager to bow before the Lord
To the Temple then The Warrior wends
With folded hands and bended knees
The joyous songs; the chanted hymns
Oh glorious day! His heart they please
They march behind their standard proud
To the fearsome boom of kettledrums
Swaggering about like bridegrooms bold
Merrily flinging silver and gold
With reverence deep salute their flag
Generously do they give out alms
And when they reach the Temple door
They bow their heads down to the floor
The Warrior enters the hallowed space
And four times he circles The Book
All around him warriors brave
Rain down petals on his head and face
With folded hands The Warrior prays
Humble he stands in the Guru’s midst
May I be worthy, Lord, he says
My body and soul at your feet I lay
Meanwhile the Giljis gird their loins
As they get word of the massing Singhs
They don their armor helmets and mail
Sikh warriors have none of these things
To their teeth are the mighty Giljis armed
Ready to lay the Singhs to waste
Arrows pistols and muskets long
Readied and primed with savage haste
The Singhs are armed with fighting words
Some have daggers, some double edged swords
Many have naught but rustic clubs
And yet they press, eager to fight
Some Singhs are mounted on their steeds
Jockey and twist to lead the charge
To each other solemnly swear
That each will lead the pack by far
And The Warrior dressed in battle gear
In the Timeless Tower in repose
Dashing bridegroom swells with pride
As he contemplates his winsome bride
The war drum beats; standard is raised
With music divine is the Master praised
The minstrels sing sweet songs of bliss
Till the warriors too have had their fill
The Giljis march at break of dawn
And bear down upon the eager Singhs
Some steadfast sit on noble mounts
Foot soldiers too; they hold their ground
And where they stand they give their lives
For how could they stop such a mighty horde
And as they leave for their final abode
The Singhs who live give battle fierce
The Singhs are by the Giljis ringed
Kill them! Kill them! Like wolves they bay
Louder is heard the Warrior’s roar
Dig in! Show them the martyr’s way
Honor there is in pressing forth
Just as in holding back is shame
When hostile swords around you sing
Its time to prove a warrior’s worth
Hearing these words the warriors bound
And lion-like on the Giljis pounce
Where else can such valor be found
They care no more for life or limb
Press on! Press on! The Warrior roars
Drink your fill of the martyr’s brew
Your sylvan dreams of paradise
In martyrdom you will realize
If you wish to be an eternal king
The maiden, Death, you must embrace
Reborn you shall be! As a mighty Singh
Of your enemies there will be no trace
Sallied forth his most valiant men
We are best men! You are the groom
We will follow you to paradise
And with you we will gladly rule
For heaven we care not one whit
Our bonds of brotherhood are enough
A noble death fighting we crave
As we send our foes to a fiery grave
And then The Warrior gravely says
A solemn oath I now do swear
As I set foot in the Guru’s court
To pieces will I the GIljis tear
My fearless brothers, now you take heart
You will be Singhs again reborn
And once again does The Warrior say
Embrace your death! Your enemies flay
The Giljis are back with fearsome force
The Singhs fight back their heels dug in
In their heads no thoughts of retreat
As slowly back Giljis they beat
Like a lion’s roar The Warrior’s cry
Let not today your purpose pale
For your faith you fight this noble fight
Dismount and with your swords prevail
These worlds beyond the Giljis’ ken
Their muskets rain a hail of lead
Steadfast men falling to the ground
Beholds The Warrior all around
The Warrior swings his mighty sword
A fearsome Gilji whistling smites
Pierces his armor; rips his breast
And many more soldiers he fights
Audaciously the Singhs advance
For a moment mighty Giljis yield
With practiced ease they lightly dance
Each man sheltered behind his shield
Contemptuous look on his noble face
His shield, The Warrior tosses away
The Giljis charge with flashing swords
Undaunted Singhs! They join the fray
Eyelids un-batted heads unbowed
No backward glance! Singhs charge ahead
The Giljis take to their heels cowed
So furious is their attack
From a distance Gilji guns let loose
And arrows whistle through the air
Singhs spout blood from countless wounds
To shreds their flesh do Gilji’s tear
The bullets they pierce their flesh and bone
The Singhs fight on heedless of pain
Their bodies spew a rush of blood
Like from an oil press flows a flood
The Warrior too profusely bleeds
Water spurting from a ruptured pouch
As on and on as he marches forth
Like fountains do the gashes spout
As more and more of his life blood seeps
His weary body starts to rebel
Yet The Warrior thinks not of retreat
That shame to him is worse than Hell
To the Lord he prays at this moment dark
Save me O Lord! Save me from shame
Accept my humble sacrifice
He begs as he chants his master’s Name
Continued tomorrow …
https://twitter.com/sarbpreetsingh
July 12, 2014
Conversation about this article
1: Gurpal Singh Bhuller (Chester, Virginia, USA), July 13, 2014, 10:30 AM.
Excellent translation, Sarbpreet Singh ji. You have truly managed to capture the flair and spirit of the original text. Many thanks for doing this and enlightening us with this incident from Sikh History. With reference to Harpreet Singh's earlier comments, do we know the exact date of this encounter?