Saran Kaur blessed her good luck in having the object of her adoration brought so near. But the party if fugitives, with the enemies hot in pursuit. The Guru took shelter in a house but soon Moghul troops approached. A fight ensued. There were only forty Sikh warriors on the Guru's side in addition to the two Sahibzadae.
How could Saran Kaur go to the Guru for his darshan amidst such circumstances? The fight raged fiercely. The Guru's arrows killed dozens of enemies. The forty warriors showed feats of valor and the Sahibzadae also took the field one after the other. But it was an uneven contest. Before evening fell, it was known that except for the Guru and five Sikhs, all his party had been killed including the two Sahibzadae.
Saran Kaur’s hopes were dashed to the ground. She wished she were a man so she could have joined the fight and done service to the Guru. Even now I must do something. She said to herself. Saran Kaur began to think. Night was fast approaching. There were clouds swarming in the sky. It was mid-winter. Suddenly she looked up, saying I must visit the field and kiss the feet of martyrs. This will do immense good to my soul.
As the night advanced, she developed her plan, she heard the noise of Moghul`s soldiers celebrating the victory, amid wild scenes of drunken revels. From time to time, the rumbling of clouds with fitful flashes of lightning were heard. The jackals and other sylvan creatures in the surrounding jungle howled in expectations of a rich feast of human flesh. But there was no fear in Saran’s heart.
When the dark and chilly night was sufficiently spend and there was a comparative hush all around, Saran Kaur silently stepped out of her house, holding a plate in her hand in which a four-sided clay lamp was burning under a sieve through whose holes the smoke escaped. The light, thus restricted, could not be seen from a distance but was adequate for the bearer to see her way ahead.
She did not meet any mishap. Cat-footed she went this way and that, surveying the corpses scattered there. She had a quick eye for the Khalsa martyrs who could be distinguished from the others by their beards and Kesas and other Sikh-insignia.
"Can I tolerate letting the flesh of these heroes be torn off and eaten by wild beasts?" She asked herself. "No, as long as I am alive I cannot allow this!"
Then she realized that the Moghuls might insult the Sikh corpses. This gave her more nerve to do all she could do to save the dead from being badly disposed of. But what could she do? In a state of perplexity, Saran Kaur looked around. There she noticed a number of bundles of wood stacked here and there. From where did they come? The fact dawned upon her that the wood-men of the village, according to their custom, were bringing fuel from the jungle and, on hearing the matching of Moghul troops has ran away leaving their loads behind.
Saran Kaur went to work making a funeral pyre. This done, she lifted one corpse after the other laid it on the pyre. It was sweating toil. God knows how the energy came into her to shoulder this task single handedly, but it was done. Then more wood was needed to cover corpses. She fidgeted, restlessly going to and fro.
"Good!" she exclaimed, "Oh, there is the depot of fuel wood nearby. No one could stay there for fear of the enemy." Saran rushed to the depot and began to drag out heavy logs of wood. She must have received a giant's strength to haul the big timber. God helped her.
When the corpse were covered, she gathered brushwood, of which there was plenty in the field and with the help of her lantern, which was still burning. She set the heap on fire. In a matter of minutes there broke forth-huge flames, which crackled, and rose upward in the form of jagged tongues. The sky above and the earth around were illumined.
The Moghul watchmen were aroused from their slumbers. Shouting and wiping their eyes, they rushed to the scene of fire. There they saw only a slim girl seated in a prayerful attitude and reciting something beside the flaming pyre.
"Who are you?" shouted one. "Why have you made this fire?" demanded the second.
"Have you no fear for your life?" questioned the third.
Thus they overwhelmed her with threats her impatient queries mixed with threats. But Saran was silent. In a rage they began to kick and beat her. She was unmoved. They let loose vile words. But there was no reaction from her. Had she turned into a statue? No, she was the same Saran Kaur as before, only the spirit of sacrifice was working in her heart.
Taking her of a witch, the watchmen lifted the girl threw her into the burning fire. She did not murmur a cry but quietly and composedly faced the ordeal. She became a sati- a martyr among the martyrs. She had saved the dead bodies of the Sikhs from being ill-treated by the enemy. She proceeded along with the Sahibzadae to Sachkhand- God's presence- where the Guru joined them four years later to offer eternal darshan to Saran Kaur in liberal fulfillment of her desire.
Her greatest desire was to have the darshan of Guru Gobind Singh!
"Hou Reh Naa Sakaa Bin Dekhai Preetmaa Mai Neer Vahai Veh Chalai Jeeyo."
Contribution from Amandeep Kaur
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