The morning sun rose slowly over Anandpur Sahib, painting the white walls of the Takht in shades of gold. But inside Arjanveer, the world felt heavier, thicker, charged with meaning.
The words from the jathedar echoed in his mind:
"Tomorrow, you begin preparing for Amritpaan."
Amritpaan.
Not a ritual.Not a ceremony.
A commitment.A rebirth.
A step that would mark the true beginning of a Sikh warrior's life.
Gurbaaz Singh found him sitting near a sarovar, staring at the ripples forming in the water.
"So," Gurbaaz said, dropping beside him, "you got the jathedar's attention."
Arjanveer exhaled shakily. "I don't know if I'm ready."
"No one is," Gurbaaz replied. "That's why it changes you."
Before Arjanveer could ask more, a large shadow fell over them.Arjanveer turned to see Baba Nihal Singh, one of the oldest and most respected Nihangs of the chhauni—his blue chola faded with age but his presence stronger than mountains.
"You want to walk the Khalsa's path," the elder said. Not a question. A statement.
Arjanveer nodded.
Baba Nihal Singh motioned with his staff."Walk with me."
They circled the sarovar in silence before the elder spoke again.
"To receive Amrit," he said softly, "you must understand three things."
He raised three fingers.
"Seva.""Simran.""Shastervidya."
Arjanveer listened intently.
"Seva," Baba Nihal Singh continued, "is the work that kills ego. A warrior who cannot serve cannot lead."
He handed Arjanveer a broom.
"Start here. Clean the path. Clean your mind with it."
Arjanveer bent down, sweeping the marble walkway. At first it felt strange… humiliating even. But slowly, something inside him softened. The rhythm of sweeping became meditative.
The elder watched him with knowing eyes.
After an hour, he spoke again.
"Simran.""Stillness. Remembering the One. A warrior without remembrance is just another fighter."
He sat with Arjanveer under the shade of a jasmine tree and guided him into slow, deep breathing."Waheguru… Waheguru…" the elder whispered.
And for the first time in a long while, Arjanveer felt the noise inside him quiet down.
Just breath.Just presence.Just… peace.
After some time, Baba Nihal Singh stood.
Now came the third.
"Shastervidya."
He picked up a wooden training stick and handed Arjanveer another.
"Show me what the world has taught you."
Arjanveer hesitated, gripping the stick awkwardly.
The elder attacked first—fast, smooth, effortless. Arjanveer tried to block, stumbled, and nearly fell. His stick clattered to the ground.
Baba Nihal Singh chuckled. "Good. Now we know where to begin."
He held out a hand and helped Arjanveer up.
"You will learn. Slowly. Patiently. Shastervidya starts not in the hands…"He tapped Arjanveer's chest."...but in the heart."
Arjanveer bowed respectfully.
The elder placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Tomorrow morning, the jathedar will begin your instruction for Amritpaan. Rest well. The path of the Khalsa is beautiful—but it is not easy."
As Baba Nihal Singh walked away, his blue robes catching the breeze, Arjanveer stood alone in the courtyard, holding the training stick tightly.
This wasn't just training.
This was transformation.
He felt it.
Every breath, every word, every moment was shaping him.
And tomorrow…Tomorrow, the journey toward becoming Khalsa would truly begin.