A century and a half after, Govind Singh had kindled the hearts of his

countrymen with his prophetic visions of a military church regnant on

the hills of Kashmir, there took place the struggle which we call the

second Sikh war, culminating on the twenty-first of February in the

Battle of Gugerat followed by the surrender of the Sikhs to the British

under Lord Gough and the disbandment of the Sikh army. And, lo, the

Khalsa was as a tale that is told, its clang and clash of warlike

achievements a thing that could be no more, its Holy War transformed by

failure into a foolish chimera, and the only thing that lived was a

memory lingering in quiet souls of the truths that Nanuk taught.

"For shapes that come, not at an earthly call,

Will not depart when mortal voices bid."

But many whose faith was in their religion rather than in God felt their

spirit falter, and believed that the universe grew dark. This is ever

the weakness of disciples, and thus it is that while many flocking to

the new standard see all things made plain, others whose hopes are

entwined about the displaced creeds suffer an eclipse of faith.

Among those who in the fall of the Khalsa suffered life's last and

sorest loss was Raee Singh, an aged man, in whose veins ran the blood of

the gentle Nanuk. On that March morning when the disbanded army went to

lay down their arms before a victorious foe, he descended the mountain

slope very slowly. The rest walked in bands of five, of ten, of twenty,

but Raee Singh walked alone. Although his flowing beard was white, he

did not bear himself erect in the dignity of years; his eyes were fixed

on the ground, for the shadow of defeat and dishonour which rested on

him was hard to bear.

Presently he stood before the tent of the British general. A great heap

of weapons lay there glittering in the sun. As he looked, the pile grew

larger, for each Sikh cast his sword there. Raee also extended his arm,

grasping his tulwar, but he did not let it go until an officer touched

his shoulder and spoke. The blade fell then with a clang, and he turned

away. He passed from the camp without seeing it, and took his homeward

way as silently as he had come. The dreams of youth make the habit of

age, and Raee had revered the Khalsa in childhood, and in manhood he had

urged its high commission to his own hurt. As a Khivan proverb has it,

"That which goes in with the milk only goes out with the soul," and the

soul of Raee Singh gathered the fragments of its broken faith and

prepared to depart with them to the Land of Restoration.




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