Chapter 84: Guardians of the Frontier
June–July 1834 – Peshawar
The dust of conquest had settled, but the true challenge of empire had only begun.
Nau Nihal Singh rode slowly through the bustling streets of Peshawar, accompanied by a modest escort of twenty riders. The city, once a prize fiercely contested by Afghan sardars, now flew the Khalsa banner from its highest towers. Markets were gradually reopening. Merchants from Kabul, Kandahar, and even distant Multan were beginning to trickle back, testing whether the new rulers would allow trade to flow.
At thirteen years old, Nau Nihal moved with a quiet authority that belied his age. He stopped frequently to speak with local elders, shopkeepers, and farmers who had come to present petitions. His voice was calm, his questions precise. He listened more than he spoke.
One elderly merchant, whose caravan had been robbed twice during the chaos of the campaign, approached hesitantly.
"The roads are still dangerous, Sahib," the man said. "Bandits and stray Afghan fighters prey on those who try to trade."
Nau Nihal nodded. "We will increase patrols on the major routes. Any merchant who registers with the governor's office will receive armed escorts for the first three months. In return, we expect honest reporting of any threats you encounter."
The merchant bowed deeply, visibly relieved. Word of such promises spread quickly through the bazaars.
Jawahar, riding beside him, muttered under his breath, "A year ago we were burning their supply lines. Now we're promising them safe passage. Times change fast."
Nau Nihal gave a small smile. "We fought to win the land. Now we must win the people."
Hari Singh Nalwa had thrown himself into governing with the same ferocity he showed in battle. The giant warrior spent his days fortifying the city walls, organizing tax collection, and meeting with local tribal leaders. In the evenings, he and Nau Nihal often reviewed maps together in the governor's residence.
"You have a gift for this," Nalwa said one night, gesturing to the detailed reports Nau Nihal had prepared. "Most commanders excel at taking cities. Few know how to make them stay taken."
Nau Nihal shrugged modestly. "Sindh taught me that victory on the battlefield is only the beginning. We must make the people believe their lives are better under the Khalsa than under the old rulers."
He pointed to several marked locations on the map. "Raaz agents report small pockets of resistance in these valleys. Nothing large enough to threaten us, but enough to harass caravans. I request permission to take three hundred riders and clear them out."
Nalwa grinned. "Granted. Show them the Shadow Blade has not gone soft."
Over the following weeks, Nau Nihal's Mobile Division conducted a series of carefully planned operations. They struck quickly at known rebel hideouts, offered amnesty to those who surrendered, and executed only the most hardened troublemakers. At the same time, they protected trade routes and helped repair irrigation channels damaged during the fighting.
Gurbaaz's Raaz network expanded rapidly, establishing informants in key villages and monitoring activity near the Khyber Pass.
One evening, as the division rested after a successful operation, Gurbaaz brought important news.
"Dost Mohammad Khan is furious but cautious," he reported. "He demands Peshawar's return through messengers, but he has not yet committed his full army. He is rallying support among the tribes, but many are hesitant after seeing how quickly we crushed Sultan Mohammad Khan."
Nau Nihal stared into the fire. "Then we give him no easy target. We make Peshawar too strong to attack and too valuable to ignore. We turn this city into the shield of the northwest."
Jawahar, sitting across from him, chuckled. "You're starting to sound like a governor, not a warrior."
Nau Nihal looked at his old friend. "Perhaps both are needed now."
By late July, Peshawar had begun to transform.
Markets were busy again. New Sikh garrisons stood firm. Local craftsmen were repairing homes and mosques damaged in the fighting. Hari Singh Nalwa ruled with a firm but fair hand, while Nau Nihal's division became known as the "Guardian Blade" — swift to punish threats, but also quick to protect those who accepted Khalsa authority.
One afternoon, a delegation of tribal elders came to meet Nau Nihal outside the city. They had heard stories of the young prince who had helped conquer their land.
"You are very young," the eldest said, studying him. "Yet your name carries weight."
Nau Nihal met their gaze steadily. "Age is not the measure of a man. Actions are. We offer you peace and protection if you accept the Khalsa. We offer war if you resist. The choice has always been yours."
The elders left with thoughtful expressions.
That night, on the walls of Peshawar, Nau Nihal stood with Jawahar looking toward the distant Khyber Pass.
"The real test is still coming," Nau Nihal said quietly. "Dost Mohammad Khan will not forget this loss. Tension is building. We must be ready."
Jawahar placed a hand on his shoulder. "And when it comes, the Shadow Blade will be waiting."
Nau Nihal touched the hilt of his sword, eyes calm but watchful.
The conquest of Peshawar was complete.
Now began the long work of keeping it.