The sun was still low on the horizon, casting a warm, golden hue across the palace grounds when Kunwar Singh received the summons. The palace was alive with the preparations for the upcoming wedding, and the atmosphere buzzed with excitement. Servants rushed about, carrying trays of sweets, flowers, and decorations. Musicians tuned their instruments, and the sound of dhols echoed faintly in the distance, blending with the chatter of courtiers and nobles.
Kunwar Singh walked through the richly adorned corridors, his footsteps muffled by the thick Persian carpets underfoot. The walls were lined with intricate tapestries depicting scenes from the battles of Sikh warriors. Marble pillars, inlaid with semi-precious stones, supported the arched ceilings above. Chandeliers of crystal and gold hung from the ceiling, their light catching the rich embroidery of the banners that adorned the hall. The scent of sandalwood incense lingered in the air, adding to the palace's aura of luxury and history.
Kunwar Singh entered the audience chamber, where Maharaja Ranjit Singh awaited him. The chamber was grand, with large windows draped in heavy silk curtains that allowed beams of sunlight to flood the room. The throne was raised on a marble platform, flanked by gilded statues of lions symbolizing strength and courage. The Maharaja sat on his throne, dressed in a robe of royal red, embroidered with gold and green motifs that reflected his status. His turban was adorned with a jewel-encrusted brooch, and his eyes, though clouded with age, still sparkled with the determination of a warrior.
Kunwar Singh bowed deeply, greeting his father with the respect his position demanded.
"Kunwar Singh," the Maharaja began, his voice carrying a mixture of authority and a hint of softness that was rarely heard in his court. "I called you here to inform you that General Hari Singh Nalwa has accepted your request. You will travel to the fort of Jamrud and learn directly from him."
Kunwar Singh's heart leaped at the news. Learning under Nalwa was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. But before he could speak, the Maharaja continued, his tone turning more personal, almost reflective.
"I know that I have failed to provide you the joyful childhood you deserved," the Maharaja said, his eyes narrowing slightly as if looking back on old, painful memories. "But you must understand, I fought my first battle at the age of ten. I had to make sacrifices, and those sacrifices sometimes extended to my own family."
Kunwar Singh felt a pang of confusion and a sudden weight in his chest. His father's words were unexpected, and for a moment, he saw the Maharaja not just as a ruler but as a man who had carried the burdens of an empire on his shoulders.
"I will try my best to fix things, Kunwar," the Maharaja continued, his voice filled with a rare sincerity. But Kunwar Singh could only nod, not fully understanding what his father meant. The complexities of their relationship and the weight of unspoken history lay between them like a chasm.
"Before you go, there is one more thing," the Maharaja added, shifting back to his commanding tone. "Your nephew, my Grandson, Partap Singh, will be accompanying you on this journey."
Kunwar Singh glanced to the side as a tall figure stepped forward. Partap Singh, his nephew by lineage but a contemporary in age, stood with a commanding presence. Partap was a striking figure, his appearance as sharp and intimidating as the blade he carried. He wore a deep green turban with a thin gold stripe, a colour that complemented his rugged features and the sharpness of his eyes. His jaw was square and strong, covered by a neatly trimmed beard. His physique was muscular, his arms and chest defined by years of rigorous training. His outfit was a practical yet regal combination of a dark green angarkha with gold embroidery, a black sash around his waist, and high leather boots. The hilt of a beautifully crafted talwar rested at his side, its scabbard adorned with silver engravings that shimmered faintly.
"So, this is Partap Singh," Kunwar thought to himself, sizing up his companion. "The one listed as the greatest swordsman of the empire." Despite their uncle-nephew relationship, they were nearly the same age. Partap's demeanour was mature, almost cold, with an air of quiet confidence that spoke volumes. He was not a man of many words, but his presence alone was enough to command respect.
Partap nodded to the Maharaja, then turned to Kunwar Singh with a firm handshake. "We leave at first light, Uncle" he said, his voice deep and steady.
They exchanged brief farewells with the Maharaja, who watched them with a solemn expression. "Make us proud," he said, his eyes lingering on Kunwar Singh a moment longer than usual, as if conveying something unsaid.
The journey to Jamrud was long and arduous, spanning the rugged terrains that separated Punjab from the mountainous borders of modern-day Afghanistan. The landscape shifted from fertile plains to rocky outcrops, with dry winds sweeping across the path. Kunwar Singh and Partap rode side by side, their horses moving in sync over the dusty trails.
As they rode, Kunwar Singh couldn't help but steal glances at Partap, whose expression remained stoic, eyes fixed ahead as if perpetually on alert. Kunwar broke the silence, curiosity getting the better of him. "So, Partap, how long have you been practicing with the talwar?"
Partap kept his gaze forward, his voice calm and matter-of-fact. "For about 21 years."
Kunwar raised an eyebrow. "And how old are you?"
"Twenty-six," Partap replied without a hint of pride as if stating an obvious fact.
Kunwar was genuinely impressed. "Wow, that's a long time. You must be really strong."
Partap glanced at him briefly, a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I must not brag," he said simply, but his calm demeanour spoke volumes about his skill and confidence.
As they continued, the path grew narrower, lined with sparse trees and rocky outcrops. Suddenly, their progress was halted by a group of Afghan warriors blocking the road. The men were dressed in rugged, worn clothing, their eyes fierce and filled with hatred. They were armed with curved swords and daggers, each one looking eager for a fight.
One of the Afghans stepped forward, his face twisted in a sneer. "You Sikh basta—"
Before the man could finish his insult, his head suddenly detached from his body, hitting the ground with a sickening thud. Partap stood motionless, his talwar still raised, its blade shimmering as if it had barely moved. In a single, fluid motion, Partap had unleashed an attack of such precision and speed that even the trees within a ten-meter radius were slashed down, their trunks severed as if by an invisible force.
Kunwar's eyes widened in shock. He had heard tales of Partap's prowess but witnessing it firsthand was something else entirely. The Afghan men staggered back, their faces pale with terror. One of them stammered, "T-this is impossible! Such strength... this isn't human..."
Partap's expression was ice-cold as he pointed his talwar towards the fallen men. "Don't you dare," he roared, his voice echoing like thunder, "You dare set foot on our land and disrespect us?"
The remaining Afghans, paralyzed by fear, could only stare at the carnage. Partap's strength was unlike anything they had seen—a power that seemed almost supernatural as if lost in the annals of history. Kunwar, still awestruck, made a mental note: "This must be some power lost in history. I must find out more."
After a moment of tense silence, Partap sheathed his talwar, his expression unchanging. He turned to Kunwar, who was still processing what he had just witnessed. "They are all dead," Partap said calmly, his voice betraying no emotion. "Uncle, shall we proceed?"
Kunwar nodded, his respect for Partap growing tenfold. They resumed their journey, the echo of Partap's swordplay still lingering in the air. The road ahead was long, and the challenges they would face were far from over. But Kunwar knew one thing: with Partap by his side, the path to Jamrud—and the future of the empire—would be forged with steel and unbreakable resolve.