Chapter 85: The Weight of the Frontier
July–August 1834 – Peshawar
The summer heat pressed down on Peshawar like a heavy cloak, but the city was slowly coming back to life under Khalsa rule.
Nau Nihal Singh spent his days riding between the city and the surrounding districts, overseeing the strengthening of defenses and the restoration of order. At thirteen, he had become a familiar sight — a young prince who listened more than he spoke, who punished looters harshly but offered fair terms to those who submitted.
One morning, he met with a group of local merchants who had suffered losses during the fighting.
"The roads to Kabul are still dangerous," one gray-bearded trader complained. "Small bands of Afghan fighters attack caravans. They say they fight for Dost Mohammad Khan."
Nau Nihal listened carefully, then replied, "We will increase patrols on the main routes. Any merchant who registers with the governor's office will receive armed escorts. In return, we expect honest information about any threats you see. The Khalsa protects those who help maintain peace."
The merchants left satisfied. Word of such arrangements spread quickly through the bazaars, helping to rebuild confidence in trade.
Jawahar, riding beside him on the way back to the fort, shook his head in amusement. "You negotiate like a seasoned administrator now. A year ago we were burning their supplies. Now we're promising them safe passage and lower taxes."
Nau Nihal gave a small smile. "Winning a city is one thing. Making it prosperous is another. If the people see real benefits under our rule, Dost Mohammad Khan's agents will find fewer ears willing to listen."
In the governor's residence, Hari Singh Nalwa had thrown himself into administration with characteristic intensity. The giant warrior spent long hours meeting with local leaders, organizing tax collection, and strengthening the city's fortifications.
One evening, as the two commanders reviewed maps together, Nalwa spoke frankly.
"You carry a heavy burden for one so young, Nau Nihal," the seven-foot general said. "Most boys your age are still learning swordplay. You are already helping govern a frontier city."
Nau Nihal met his gaze steadily. "I have been given responsibility. I will not waste it. The Raaz network reports increasing activity from Kabul. Dost Mohammad Khan is angry. He is rallying support among the tribes and sending messengers demanding Peshawar's return."
Nalwa's expression darkened. "He will not get it. Maharaja Ranjit Singh has made his will clear — Peshawar belongs to the Khalsa now. We will hold it."
Nau Nihal pointed to several marked passes on the map. "I recommend strengthening these positions. My Mobile Division can patrol the more remote valleys and respond quickly to any raids. We keep pressure on their supply lines without provoking full war."
Nalwa nodded approvingly. "You think like a general already. Do it."
Over the following weeks, Nau Nihal's division conducted regular patrols and rapid response operations. They cleared several small rebel bands, protected vital trade routes, and worked with local villages to restore irrigation channels damaged during the fighting.
Gurbaaz's Raaz network continued to expand, providing early warnings of any movement from Kabul or discontent among the tribes.
One afternoon, while resting at a forward outpost, a Raaz messenger arrived with urgent news.
"Dost Mohammad Khan has sent a large delegation to the Khyber Pass," Gurbaaz reported. "He is demanding a meeting with General Nalwa. He wants Peshawar returned and threatens war if we refuse."
Nau Nihal read the full report carefully. "He is testing us. He knows a full war would be costly, so he tries diplomacy and threats first."
Jawahar, sitting nearby, asked, "How do we respond?"
"We remain firm but calm," Nau Nihal replied. "We strengthen our defenses. We continue winning the loyalty of the local population. And we prepare for whatever comes next."
That night, Nau Nihal stood on the walls of Peshawar with Jawahar, looking toward the distant Khyber Pass under the moonlight.
"Two years ago we were fighting in Sindh," Jawahar said quietly. "Now we guard the northwest frontier. You've grown a lot in that time."
Nau Nihal stared at the mountains. "I have seen enough war to understand its cost. I would rather build something lasting here than burn it all down again. But if Dost Mohammad forces our hand…"
He touched the hilt of his sword.
"…then the Shadow Blade will answer once more."
The young prince had helped win Peshawar.
Now, he would help defend it.
The frontier was tense, but under the banners of the Khalsa, it was growing stronger with every passing day.