Chapter 87: Whispers of Jihad
August 1834 – Peshawar
The summer heat hung heavy over Peshawar like a shroud. The city, still bearing scars from the recent fighting, was slowly returning to a semblance of normal life under Khalsa rule. Markets were reopening, merchants were cautiously resuming trade along the Indus routes, and local craftsmen were repairing homes and mosques damaged during the conquest.
Nau Nihal Singh, only thirteen years old, had become a familiar and respected figure among both Sikh troops and the local population. He spent his days riding between the city walls and the outer garrisons, personally inspecting defenses and speaking with village elders and merchants. His calm demeanor and fair approach were earning quiet respect, even from those who had once opposed the Sikh advance.
One such morning, he met with a delegation of local Pashtun elders near a newly repaired caravanserai. The men approached him with a mixture of caution and curiosity.
"The roads to the north are becoming dangerous again," one gray-bearded elder said. "Some mullahs in the hills are calling for jihad against the Sikhs. They say we have allowed infidels to defile Muslim land."
Nau Nihal listened carefully, his young face showing no sign of alarm. "We have not come to destroy your faith. Mosques remain open. Your customs are respected where they do not threaten peace. Those who live peacefully under Khalsa rule will be protected. Those who raise arms against us will face justice."
The elders exchanged glances. One of them nodded slowly. "Your words are fair, young prince. But words alone may not be enough if the call for holy war grows stronger."
Back at the governor's residence, Hari Singh Nalwa was waiting with fresh intelligence.
"Dost Mohammad Khan is becoming bolder," the giant warrior said, his deep voice echoing in the chamber. "His agents are spreading the call for jihad among the tribes. Some mullahs have taken up the cry, claiming Peshawar must be liberated from Sikh occupation. Raaz reports show several small bands forming in the hills."
Nau Nihal studied the detailed maps spread across the table. "It is not yet a full flood, but it is a dangerous spark. We must counter it on two fronts — with strength and with fairness."
Jawahar, standing nearby, crossed his arms. "Religious war is the hardest kind. Men fight like madmen when they believe God demands it."
"Which is why we must deny them easy fuel," Nau Nihal replied. "We increase protection for villages that remain loyal. We punish only those who actively take up arms. We make it clear that the Khalsa does not wage war on Islam — only on those who attack us."
Nalwa nodded approvingly. "You think like a ruler, not just a warrior. I will strengthen the city's defenses. You take your Mobile Division and handle the outer regions. Strike hard at any jihadist gatherings, but offer amnesty to those who lay down their weapons."
Over the following weeks, the situation grew more tense but remained contained.
Nau Nihal's division conducted a series of rapid, targeted operations in the surrounding valleys. They struck at known jihadist assembly points, burned hidden weapon caches, and disrupted supply lines feeding the agitators. At the same time, they protected loyal villages and helped repair infrastructure, showing the local population a clear choice: peace and prosperity under the Khalsa, or war and ruin.
One particularly successful raid saw Nau Nihal's force surround a gathering of nearly two hundred fighters inspired by the jihad call. Rather than slaughter them, he offered terms — lay down arms and return home, or face the full wrath of the Khalsa. Most chose life.
Gurbaaz, who had been expanding the Raaz network aggressively, brought encouraging news one evening.
"The jihad call is not spreading as fast as Dost Mohammad hoped," he reported. "Many tribes remain divided. Some see the benefits of trade with us. Others remember how quickly we crushed Sultan Mohammad Khan. The religious fervor exists, but self-interest is stronger for now."
Nau Nihal allowed himself a small sigh of relief. "Good. We must keep it that way. Continue monitoring Kabul's movements. If Dost Mohammad commits fully, we will need to be ready."
As August turned into September, the standoff at the Khyber Pass remained tense but had not yet erupted into full war.
Hari Singh Nalwa and Nau Nihal Singh met regularly to coordinate. The giant general had come to deeply respect the young prince's judgment.
"You carry wisdom beyond your years," Nalwa told him one night as they reviewed maps. "Most commanders your age would be reckless. You are patient and precise."
Nau Nihal looked toward the dark mountains. "I have seen what endless war does to a land. I would rather build something lasting here than burn everything down again. But if the jihad grows too strong…"
He rested his hand on the hilt of his sword.
"…then the Shadow Blade will answer."
The frontier was tense.
Religious whispers echoed in the hills.
But under the banners of the Khalsa, Peshawar stood firm — guarded by the Lion and the Shadow.