Chapter 92: The Long Watch
November 1834 – Peshawar Frontier
Winter had fully arrived on the northwest frontier.
Cold winds swept down from the mountains, carrying the first flurries of snow. Peshawar's streets were quieter now, but the city remained alive — markets still operated under heavy guard, prayers echoed from the mosques, and Sikh patrols moved through the lanes with disciplined vigilance.
Nau Nihal Singh led a patrol of three hundred riders through a narrow valley northeast of the city. The horses' breath steamed in the frigid air. His Mobile Division had adapted well to the harsher conditions — veterans of Sindh mixed with new recruits who had learned quickly under his command.
Jawahar rode beside him, scanning the ridgelines. "Raaz scouts reported a jihadist gathering in this valley two nights ago. They've grown bolder since the mullahs started preaching openly."
Nau Nihal nodded, his young face steady despite the cold. "We end it before it grows. No unnecessary slaughter. Offer surrender to those who lay down their weapons. Only the leaders and those who resist die."
The strike was swift and clinical.
They hit the camp at dawn. The jihadists were still waking when Nau Nihal's riders thundered in from three sides. Pistols cracked. Swords flashed. The fighting was sharp but one-sided. Within twenty minutes, the camp was secured. Most fighters surrendered when they realized escape was impossible. A hard core of zealots fought to the end and were cut down.
Nau Nihal stood before the captured men, his voice carrying clearly despite his age.
"You were told this was holy war," he said. "But you attacked caravans carrying food for your own people. You burned villages that wanted peace. The Khalsa does not war against Islam. We war against chaos and those who bring it. Lay down your arms and return to your homes. Take up the sword against us again, and there will be no mercy next time."
Most chose life.
As the division regrouped, Jawahar rode up, blood on his sleeve from a shallow cut. "Another victory. But they're getting more organized. This group had better weapons than the last."
Nau Nihal wiped his sword clean. "Dost Mohammad Khan is supplying them. The jihad is no longer just whispers. It's becoming a coordinated effort."
Back at the forward base, Hari Singh Nalwa was waiting.
The giant general listened to Nau Nihal's report with a deep frown. "They are testing us. Small raids to wear us down, while they prepare something larger. Dost Mohammad is playing a patient game."
Nau Nihal nodded. "We cannot simply defend. We must keep disrupting their rear. My division will continue striking their supply lines and gathering points. You hold Peshawar and the main pass. Together we keep them off balance."
Nalwa clapped a massive hand on the boy's shoulder. "You have the mind of a general twice your age. Do it. I will reinforce the city and prepare for any major push from the Khyber."
Over the next ten days, Nau Nihal's Mobile Division conducted a series of rapid, punishing raids.
They burned hidden weapon caches, scattered livestock meant to feed jihadist bands, and disrupted supply routes coming from Kabul. At the same time, they protected loyal villages and caravans, reinforcing the message that peace under the Khalsa brought safety and prosperity.
One particularly cold night, after destroying a major supply depot, Nau Nihal sat by a small fire with Jawahar and Gurbaaz.
"The jihad is growing," Gurbaaz said. "More mullahs are joining the call. Dost Mohammad is sending silver and weapons through the passes."
Nau Nihal stared into the flames. "Then we make their efforts expensive. Every raid we disrupt costs them more than they can afford. Every village we protect weakens their recruitment."
Jawahar grinned tiredly. "You're turning into quite the administrator, young prince."
Nau Nihal allowed a small smile. "Someone has to be. The Lion holds the city. The Shadow must guard the hills."
As November drew to a close, the situation on the frontier remained tense but contained.
The jihadist raids continued, but they were smaller and less coordinated than before. Dost Mohammad Khan's agents kept working, but the careful balance maintained by Nau Nihal and Hari Singh Nalwa — strength paired with fairness — prevented the fire from spreading uncontrollably.
Yet far away in Lahore, unseen currents were shifting.
The Lion still ruled.
But his shadow was growing longer.