Saturday, May 02, 2015

Banda Singh Bahadur

Banda Singh Bahadur : 

In the prominent royal Mogul court of Delhi 
King's sleep will break-up hundred times daily 
There was such a dreadful fright in his heart 
In his consciousness painful sighs were brought 

What fire scorched his heart no one knows 
All of a sudden he was jumping in fiery blows 
It appeared like red hot sky from the Delhi court 
King's heart shaking, seeking Godly support 

Rivers of blood were flowing on the five rivers' land 
Sikhs were facing persecutions for some ideal ground 
Smeared in blood, they were saying thanks in gratitude 
Patiently, regardless of comforts, they were in solitude 

They crossed their way with the Moguls might 
With faithful heart they remembered God in sight 
Maiden decorated with mark of blood, their foreheads 
What sort of people are Sikhs, with such eagerness 

They move like moth, looking at burning all around 
Without delay they line up ready to fight duty bound 
They play jokes with death, and like lions they roar 
Wherever they stare and rebuke, enemy is no more 

Brave warriors jumped in fray with hand to hand attack 
They quickly hawk assaulting caught the deadly foe 
Like flying hawk assaulting a deadly poisonous snake 
Squeezing them in his claws from tip to toe 

Innumerable was the enemy army, Sikhs were very few 
They were surrounded in chains and were put in queue 
Clothes soaked in blood, bodies full of wounds and bruises 
Intestines fall in tummy but they had faith and confidence 

The enemy was battered by the dashing Banda Singh sage 
Moguls fought back and tied him like brave lion in cage 
Surrounded him from all the sides and imprisoned the hero chum 
Then they moved towards Delhi, on the beat of kettle-drum 

The Mogul army departed towards the Capital of Delhi city 
They moved like hurricane, without stopping or any pity 
Seven hundred Sikhs were imprisoned and curled-up in chains 
It was a disgusting sight, an extraordinary incident, full of pains 

On every pointed spear, the head of Sikh was hanging 
Streams of blood dripping, the sight will give a panging 
Sikh prisoners shackled in chains, shouted this voice of cry 
O! our true saviour preserve thy honour, don't let panth shy 

Spectators gathered in the heart of Delhi's Chandni Chowk 
This caravan of Sikhs was quite out of strength and in shock 
Outside they were dull and defeated, inside enjoying thrill 
Greeting loudly the victory of Guru and obedient to His will 

The onlookers revealed an extraordinary and peculiar tale 
The prisoners started argument as no body wanted to fail 
Everybody wanted to be first in their turn to meet the fate 
All wanted to meet the Beloved, Gobind through life's gate 

The wheel of death started, the murderers were on assault 
An applause was echoed, whenever the sword was at fault 
The Sikhs were being butchered, going forward for sacrifice 
It was game of seven days for seven hundred heroes nice 

Chief Banda Singh was in the clutches of destiny or fate 
Next they brought forward to kill his little son ever so great 
The Kazi passed on to banda Singh the killer sword grand 
He ordered to cut his son's head as it was royal command 

Sons are symbols of worldliness for formality in social affairs 
If someone rebukes them one feels like to pull his hairs 
What sort of test in life, to kill one's own son, was shaping 
The thing one can't even imagine, the same was happening 

Banda first picked his son and loved and caressed him 
Then he tried to explain the role and character of Sikhism 
Prince Fateh and Jujhar Singh were also children like you 
Now in the test time and what they achieved you can also do 

Greeting the victory loudly, the little son was revitalized 
If life goes, the custom of Sikhism is, let it be sacrificed 
For holder of righteousness definite victory will be at last 
His love won't be wasted, he meets the Beleoved very fast 

The Kazi became angry as he could not bear the splendour 
The executioner attacked the child and he started to flutter 
Even then this strange trick of destiny could not succeed 
Plump intestines jumping softly, the earth was red indeed 

It is written in the history that Banda remaned unmoved 
In his mouth soft plump heart of slayed child was forced 
In this hard probation Banda remained unshaken, steady 
The history will cry when going through its own study 

It was such a dreadful scene that onlookers could not spy 
Snatching with pincers first they took out his both eyes 
Iron bars were made red hot to burn his body limbs ready 
The Sikh greeted the victory loudly and soul left the body 

The Sky echoed with kettle-drum beat, banner flying like kite 
Once a hero takes a battlefield, he is eager to show his might 
A true warrior is one, who fights for sake of humble and meek 
He might cut into the pieces, but to leave battlefield will never seek

- An English translation of "Bandadir"(The Chained Hero) written by Rabindranath Tagore. (This poem was originally written in Bengali. )