Flowers of Guru Ji

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Flowers of Guruji

Hot summer days, and for three of them,

Sukh Nidhaan Singh, a great warrior gem.

Lay in a cage in a wooden cart,

As red blood oozed from every body part.

The two big horses were tired and thirsty,

But not as much as the captive himself.

For many days now, there had been no food,

Nor sleep... Not even a word of help.

He had fought them hard, but had a tough time,

His was no mistake, neither a crime.

They were in a huge number, and heavily armed,

He did kill a few, but was soon calmed.

In the jungles of Afghan, he had fought the fray,

From there the mughals had taken him away.

Beaten severely, Sukh Nidhaan Singh,

Was hung from a tree for one whole day.

He was kept from death, all this while,

The soldiers preferred to walk the extra mile.

And show their king, the great specimen,

A true Khalsa, and one of the bravest men.

It was a challenge for them, a big one indeed,

To convert this 'Kaafir' into another of them.

They were smiling, laughing and shouting aloud,

They thought they'd soon do their king proud.

Few months ago, the Singh had met a messenger,

Since then though, he hasn't seen another.

At his feet he had cried, that he wanted to return,

And being with his people was his main concern.

But the messenger had to leave, for his task was an important one,

The both had said 'fateh'. There has been none,

Since that day - Sukh Nidhaan Singh's bane.

He wanted to be with his brothers once again.

Those were the days, when with the fellows of his band,

He was asked to provide a helping hand.

In damaging the bases of the rival force,

And rescue any kidnapped women during the course.

He was now, the last of the lot,

The remainder of the 'jatha' was no longer with him.

Now that he'd been caught, he was being taken,

To the Nawaab, who had been waiting for him.

In the small cage he curled, slowly dying,

The sun was hot, and intense heat prevailed.

Devoid of energy, that had left him long ago,

The exhausted Gursikh had gradually paled.

Suddenly, water was splashed onto his face,

And he realized he was alive, "by God's grace,"

But the condition was bad, and he cried in pain,

As the mughal laughed, and spat on him again.

"Not long to go now, you dog!" he said,

"The tower will be soon above your head."

The two soldiers mocked at the injured 'dog',

Who had been dragged for miles like a heavy log.

"Haha! You'd better be ready soon,

To have the honor of becoming one of us!"

Sukh Nidhaan Singh stared back fiercely,

"Never," he said, "I'd love to die first."

The soldiers continued, "Yes, we've caught,

Many of your kind. Most of them chose the wealth.

So be wise, and be ready to convert soon. Or else,

The public beatings will destroy your health.

Last month there was, that big fellow, another Sikh,

After being flogged in the street, he begged to be accepted.

Today he's living, with good homes and women,

A big reward awaits you, if you make the right decision."

The thought of his brothers, betraying their Lord -

The Guru, who showed them the path to God.

Damaged his esteem, and he started to wonder,

Whether he had the strength, to not commit the blunder.

"Do I have the courage?" the Singh thought,

"To keep my love for the Guru, until my death.

If so many had given up, what would become of me ?

Am I different?" He could barely see.

He pondered hard, and the anxiety rose,

He could hear them laugh, they were standing close.

They told stories, of how many had converted,

And by doing so, the dangers they had averted.

He looked into the darkness, along the long rough road,

Fields and flowers, and winds that roared.

His eyes were weak, and all he saw was a blend,

But he could make out that the fields had no end.

He sat back and wondered about what was in store,

About his condition, and health. "Is there a cure?"

He made a plea, "Oh Guru! I know my end is near,

You're the teacher of truth. Please make my path clear.

Bless me with the courage, O great warrior of Heaven,

To uphold justice, no matter how much they beckon.

That I never give up, and uphold 'dharam' till my end,

And that my faith and religion, I'm able to defend.

May I die, but never let go of your hand,

I'd forever want to be a member of your band.

Give me the strength, to persevere to my last,

To die a noble death, but never give up my caste.

My beloved Sikhi, and the hair on my head,

May they stay forever, at least till my death bed.

And 'Satguru Dayal', Bless me with the sight,

of my dear brothers, and the great Khalsa might."

And at that, he lay back lifeless in his cage,

With God's name in his mind, he remembered the sage.

Who had once told him, the importance of 'Simran',

"Vaheguru... Vaheguru." He lost himself in meditation.

Suddenly, the cart jolted over a stone,

And the Singh was awoken from his lazy meditation.

He sat upright, and saw the fields and the flowers,

Tears appeared, he couldn't contain the emotion.

Every single pore on his body stood to attention,

He could feel the shiver that had gripped his soul.

He couldn't believe his eyes, and he asked himself,

"Have my wounds started taking their toll?"

The flowers that he had seen, were no longer flowers,

The fields now had spears stuck into the ground.

On each spear he saw the head of a Khalsa,

Some burnt, beaten, some with blood were crowned.

There were those without eyes, beaten, bruised.

There were those that he recognized, those he used,

To spend great times with. He was seeing them again,

The sight was beautiful, that of great Khalsa men.

Sukh Nidhaan Singh felt his spirits rise to the skies,

As though, it seemed, he had won the great prize.

Of the sight of Khalsa, the mighty and the brave,

A sight for which he used to crave.

He was so proud of his brothers, those who had died,

But had never left their religion, neither truth not pride.

In the face of torture they stuck to what was right,

Kept faith till the end, and never worried about the night.

This gave him the strength, and he thought to himself,

"Though for even a second, I was a fool to doubt,

That my true Khalsa would give up and lose; since,

There were those who died, but always stood stout."

He smiled, and wiped away his tears,

And out of joy, he remembered his peers.

He let out the war cry of Khalsa, to pay homage,

To those who had saved his religion from damage.

Over the next few days, Sukh Nidhaan Singh,

Was offered many a diamond, and many a ring.

He was beaten terribly, and tortured too,

But having seen the flowers, he knew what was true.

On the third day, the Mughals gave up,

He was tortured severely, and then left to die,

A slow painful death. But even as the sun shone,

Brightly on him, he never let out a sigh.

Battered, bruised and barely alive,

Sukh Nidhaan Singh lifted his head.

Again he saw the fields, and smiled,

For he knew he would soon be one of the dead.

Hours went by, as he continued to meditate,

He looked into the fields for one last time.

And he saw a walking figure in the distance,

"A mughal soldier, coming to get me for my crime?"

But no, for the figure was much more beautiful,

Clad in a blue dress, decked with weapons.

As it drew closer, he could now see better,

It was someone great, someone from the heavens.

It would go to the spear, and kiss the forehead,

Of each 'shaheed', of every Sikh who was dead.

The figure came closer, and now he could tell,

That it was Guru Gobind Singh himself.

And then he remembered, what he was once told,

That Sikhs are like flowers, sweet yet bold.

And when they reach their most beautiful form,

Guruji would come, to pick them up at dawn.

He lost consciousness, and his head fell on one side,

He couldn't pick it up, no matter how hard he tried.

And he wondered, "Is it real, or just a dream?

Am I really about to die?", so it seemed.

And then he slowly faded away,

He felt a hand across his face.

He felt a beard on his nose,

And when he was kissed on the forehead, his spirits rose.

He know that Guruji had come to take him,

Tears flowed from his eyes, as he felt his embrace.

He knew he was one of the beautiful flowers,

Who would now be taken back to home - the best place.