Fort Of Jamrud

The Sikh Empire, established by Maharaja Ranjit Singh in 1799, was a formidable regional power in the Punjab region of the Indian subcontinent until its annexation by the British East India Company in 1849. Forged from the unification of various autonomous Sikh misls under the Khalsa, the empire reached its zenith in the 19th century, stretching from Gilgit and Tibet in the north to the deserts of Sindh in the south, and from the Khyber Pass in the west to the Sutlej River in the east, nearing Oudh.

Divided into four main provinces—Lahore (the capital), Multan, Peshawar, and Kashmir—the empire was not only territorially vast but also religiously diverse, with an estimated population of 4.5 million in 1831. At that time, it was the 19th most populous country in the world. The Sikh Empire was notable for its inclusive governance, military prowess, and prosperous economy, and it represented the last major Indian power to be subdued by British imperial forces during the Second Anglo-Sikh War.

The towering walls of Jamrud Fort loomed ahead, an imposing symbol of the Sikh Empire's might on its northwestern frontier. The fort's stone walls, scarred by the marks of countless battles, stood resolute against the harsh landscape. As Kunwar Singh and Partap Singh approached, the footsteps echoed on the rough terrain, mingling with the distant sounds of soldiers training. Above them, banners fluttered, emblazoned with the emblem of the Khalsa—a testament to the unity and strength that had once forged the empire from a collection of autonomous misls.

The massive iron gates swung open, and they were greeted by a guard who bowed respectfully before leading them inside. The fort's grandeur was immediately apparent. The walls were adorned with vibrant tapestries depicting epic battles and legendary Sikh warriors, their figures frozen in fierce combat. Polished stone floors gleamed under the flickering light of torches mounted on the walls, casting warm, wavering shadows that seemed to dance in time with the fort's pulse.

As they made their way through the corridors, Kunwar couldn't help but be captivated by the scene unfolding around them. The training grounds were alive with the relentless clamour of warriors honing their skills. Elite soldiers and fresh recruits alike were engaged in rigorous exercises, their movements precise and disciplined. Swords clashed in a flurry of sparks as men duelled with unwavering focus, their muscles straining under the weight of their weapons. Nearby, archers aimed with steely concentration, each arrow finding its mark with a satisfying thud.

Among the ranks were men of diverse origins: Sikhs, Hindus, Muslims, and even Europeans, all drawn to the prosperity and martial prestige of the Sikh Empire. Some warriors sat in meditation, eyes closed as they sought to harness their inner energy, while others practiced yoga, their bodies twisting into complex postures that built strength and agility. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and determination, punctuated by the rhythmic beat of training drums.

They finally arrived at the general's office, a grand room that radiated authority and history. The walls were lined with detailed maps of the empire's vast territories, alongside weapons, battle trophies, and paintings of past victories. At the center stood a large wooden desk, intricately carved with motifs of lions and eagles—symbols of vigilance and power. Behind it sat General Hari Singh Nalwa, the formidable leader whose exploits had become the stuff of legend.

General Nalwa was a tall, imposing figure with a stern expression that could intimidate even the bravest of men. He wore a traditional blue and gold uniform, adorned with medals and insignias of his rank, and his neatly tied turban framed a face marked by the hard lines of battle. By his side stood Louis Abreo, a French warrior whose journey had brought him to the Sikh court, where he had earned respect among the ranks of Nalwa's soldiers.

"So, you are here to learn from me, young prince," Nalwa said, his voice deep and commanding.

Kunwar nodded, trying to hide the mix of excitement and trepidation in his eyes. "Yes, General. No, I should say… Master."

Nalwa's expression softened slightly, though his eyes retained their intensity. "Good, good. Your training begins now."

Kunwar's relief was short-lived as Nalwa continued, his tone growing harsher. "You will run around the castle for two days straight, with only a five-minute water break every ten hours."

Kunwar's eyes widened in disbelief. "What?! Are you mad?"

Nalwa's response was immediate and severe. Fierce energy emanated from him, sharp and almost tangible, causing Kunwar to recoil instinctively. It was a display of raw power, the kind that had earned Nalwa his fearsome reputation.

The general turned his gaze to Partap. "Now, Partap, can you watch over your uncle Kunwar for the next two days?"

Partap, whose expression was unreadable, asked cautiously, "Is it a command?"

Nalwa's lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. "You can take it as one if you want."

Partap nodded, his eyes glinting with a mixture of duty and mischief. "Okay, then I will."

Kunwar's ordeal began immediately. He ran relentlessly, his legs burning with every stride. The sun beat down, and the castle walls seemed to stretch endlessly before him. Each time he stumbled or slowed, Partap was there with a stick, administering sharp, stinging blows that forced him to keep moving. "Sorry, Uncle," Partap would say each time, his voice tinged with both regret and determination.

The two days dragged on, every hour blending into the next as Kunwar's body screamed in protest. By the time the gruelling trial ended, Kunwar could barely stand. His legs felt like lead, his muscles quivering with exhaustion. He collapsed onto the bed in his guest room, every bone in his body aching with fatigue and regret.

The next morning, he was roused by Louis Abreo, who entered the room with a sympathetic smile. With his well-built frame and a face weathered by battles of his own, Abreo looked the seasoned warrior. He set down a food tray and a cup of Shardai1

"Eat up," Abreo said, his voice carrying a gentle French accent. "You'll need your strength."

Kunwar gratefully accepted the drink, feeling the cool, sweet liquid soothe his parched throat. As he ate, he couldn't help but reflect on his decision to train under Nalwa.

Kunwar's training regimen under Louis Abreo was nothing short of brutal. Tasked with teaching him the basics of the talwar, Abreo wasted no time in setting a grueling pace. The Frenchman was known for his strict discipline and unrelenting standards, and he intended to make no exceptions for Kunwar.

Each day began at dawn. Kunwar was awakened by the distant clang of swords and the rhythmic chanting of soldiers in the training grounds. The fort of Jamrud, an imposing structure of thick sandstone walls and towering battlements, was alive with the energy of warriors honing their skills. Intricate carvings of Sikh insignias adorned the walls, while flags bearing the Khanda fluttered proudly in the breeze. The interior of the fort was a testament to the empire's glory, with its grand arches, marble floors, and richly decorated rooms filled with vibrant rugs and ornate furnishings.

Kunwar's first task each morning was to meet Abreo in the courtyard. The sun was barely up, yet Abreo was already there, dressed in his signature attire: a white, loose-fitting kurta paired with dark trousers, which allowed him the freedom to move fluidly. His sharp features, defined by a strong jawline and piercing blue eyes, carried a look of both scrutiny and determination.

"Are you ready, Prince?" Abreo's voice was firm, devoid of any warmth or encouragement. He handed Kunwar a talwar, its blade gleaming in the early morning light. The sword was both elegant and deadly, with a slightly curved blade and a hilt decorated with intricate engravings of floral patterns and symbols of valor.

Kunwar nodded, gripping the weapon tightly. Abreo wasted no time. He immediately began drilling Kunwar on the basics—stances, grips, and footwork. Every movement had to be precise; every swing of the talwar had to carry intent. Abreo's corrections were swift and unforgiving. A misplaced foot or an incorrect angle of the sword would result in a sharp smack on Kunwar's wrist or leg, a stinging reminder to do better.

Kunwar's muscles burned with each exercise, but Abreo pushed him relentlessly. The hours dragged on, filled with a blur of swings, parries, and lunges. Abreo demonstrated each move with a fluid grace that made it seem effortless, but Kunwar struggled to keep up, his movements clumsy and unrefined by comparison.

As soon as the sword training ended, there was no time to rest. Abreo's next command was always the same: "Run around the fort." Kunwar would sprint along the dusty paths that circled Jamrud, his legs aching from the relentless pace. The fort's high walls and watchtowers loomed above him, casting long shadows that marked the passing of time. Every step was a battle against his own fatigue, every breath a struggle to keep going.

When the sun finally dipped below the horizon, Kunwar's day was still not over. Abreo stood waiting for him in the courtyard, arms crossed and expression unyielding. "One thousand pushups before your meal," he would order, his voice as unyielding as the stone walls of the fort.

Kunwar would drop to the ground, his body already trembling from the day's exertion. Each pushup was a test of willpower, his arms shaking under the strain, sweat dripping onto the dusty ground. He counted silently, pushing past the pain and fatigue, knowing that only when he completed the thousandth pushup would he be allowed to eat.

The meal was simple: roti, lentils, and vegetables, served on a brass thali in a small dining hall filled with the soft glow of oil lamps. The food tasted like a feast after the day's grueling work, but Kunwar barely had the strength to savor it. His body was exhausted, his mind even more so, but there was still one final task before he could rest.

Kunwar would retire to a quiet chamber within the fort's temple, its walls adorned with murals of Sikh Gurus and the great battles of the empire. The scent of sandalwood and incense filled the air, creating a serene atmosphere that stood in stark contrast to the day's harsh training. Kunwar would sit cross-legged on the cold marble floor, close his eyes, and begin his meditation, focusing on his breath as he recited the path with quiet reverence. The rhythmic chanting of the sacred verses brought a sense of calm to his weary mind, offering a brief moment of peace before sleep.

Each night, Kunwar would collapse onto a simple cot in his guest quarters, the thin mattress doing little to ease his aching muscles. Despite the exhaustion, sleep came quickly, pulling him into a deep, dreamless rest. But as punishing as each day was, Kunwar rose with the dawn, ready to endure it all over again.

Under Abreo's watchful eye and Nalwa's guidance, Kunwar's transformation was underway. The path to becoming a warrior was arduous and filled with pain, but every swing of the talwar, every step around the fort, and every pushup brought him one step closer to his goal. The road ahead was long, but Kunwar was determined to walk it, no matter the cost.