Dawn had not yet broken when the chhauni stirred.
Not with routine.Not with discipline.
With urgency.
A Nihang scout rode in hard, horse lathered, breath sharp.
"Jathedar ji," he said, bowing quickly, "a warband has crossed the river. Armed. Organized. They are burning granaries and forcing villages to kneel."
Silence followed.
This was no test.No lesson arranged by elders.
This was real.
Jathedar Jasraj Singh's gaze moved slowly across the gathered Singhs—then stopped at Arjanveer.
"You have learned restraint," he said."Now you must learn responsibility."
Arjanveer straightened.
"I am ready, Baba ji."
The Weight of Command
For the first time, Arjanveer was not sent alone.
Five Nihangs rode with him—seasoned warriors, faces calm beneath blue dumallas, shastars gleaming softly in the rising light.
Yet every decision…Every step…
Fell on him.
As they approached the affected village, smoke curled into the sky like a warning finger.
Cries carried on the wind.
Arjanveer's jaw tightened.
"This time," one Nihang said quietly, "they will not retreat with words."
Arjanveer nodded.
"I know."
The Line Is Crossed
The warband stood at the village edge—ten men, armored, drunk on power. A granary burned behind them. An elder lay injured on the ground.
Arjanveer stepped forward.
"You have one chance," he called out."Leave. Now."
The leader laughed, raising his blade.
"We were told the blue warriors hesitate."
That was the moment Arjanveer understood.
Mercy had been mistaken for weakness.
He inhaled deeply.
"Singho," he said calmly, "protect the village."
Steel rang.
The Dance of Duty
The clash was swift—but not chaotic.
Every movement Arjanveer made carried intention.
Not rage.Not ego.
Purpose.
He disarmed, disabled, struck only when necessary.
When the leader charged blindly, Arjanveer met him—steady, centered—and ended the threat with a single decisive blow.
The remaining attackers fled.
The village stood silent once more.
But this time…
Safe.
After the Smoke Clears
As fires were extinguished and the injured tended, an elder approached Arjanveer, hands trembling.
"You fought… but you did not hate," the man said.
Arjanveer bowed.
"Hate clouds judgment," he replied."Protection requires clarity."
The villagers touched his feet in gratitude.
Arjanveer gently stopped them.
"Stand," he said."You bow only to the Guru."
Return to the Chhauni
That night, Jasraj Singh listened without interruption.
When Arjanveer finished, the jathedar rose and removed his own kirpan—placing it briefly in Arjanveer's hands.
"You now understand," he said.
"When steel must speak… it speaks for others.Not for the self."
Arjanveer felt the weight—not of the blade…
…but of trust.
Closing
Under the stars, as the chhauni settled into quiet simran, Arjanveer sat alone.
He had crossed a threshold.
He was no longer learning what it meant to be a Nihang.
He was living it.
And deeper trials awaited—
Ones that would test not his strength…
…but his soul.