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onlinesikhstore · 1 year

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Sarbloh Kara Pure Iron Sikh Singh kaur Round kada khalsa 5ks kakar bangle H15A

New Sarbloh Pure Iron Sikh Singh Kaur Round Kada Khalsa 5Ks Kakar Kara Bangle

Design: H15A

Weight of this Kara is approximate 325-470g.

Width & Thickness is approx. 16 mm

SARBLOH Pure Iron KARA (Variations are measured by inner diameter of Kara)

These kara are from the Holy and Sacred Land of Shiri Amritsar Ji (The City of Golden Temple/Darbar Sahib Ji).

There may be little bit rust present which is seen commonly in all SARBLOH KARAS due to purity of the metal/Pure iron/Steel. Please read below more Information about Sikh Kara: A kara (Punjabi: ਕੜਾ (Gurmukhi),کڑا (Shahmukhi) कड़ा (Devanagari)), is a steel or iron (sarb loh)bracelet, worn by all initiated Sikhs. It is one of the five kakars or 5Ks — external articles of faith — that identify a Sikh as dedicated to their religious order. The kara was instituted by the tenthSikh Guru Gobind Singh at the Baisakhi Amrit Sanskar in 1699. Guru Gobind Singh Ji explained:He does not recognise anyone else except me, not even the bestowal of charities, performance of merciful acts, austerities and restraint on pilgrim-stations; the perfect light of the Lord illuminates his heart, then consider him as the immaculate Khalsa.The kara is to constantly remind the Sikh disciple to do God's work, a constant reminder of the Sikh's mission on this earth and that he or she must carry out righteous and true deeds and actions, keeping with the advice given by the Guru. The Kara is a symbol of unbreakable attachment and commitment to God. It is in the shape of a circle which has no beginning and no end, like the eternal nature of God. It is also a symbol of the Sikh brotherhood. As the Sikhs' holy text theGuru Granth Sahib says "In the tenth month, you were made into a human being, O my merchant friend, and you were given your allotted time to perform good deeds." Similarly, BhagatKabir reminds the Sikh to always keep one's consciousness withGod: "With your hands and feet, do all your work, but let your consciousness remain with the Immaculate Lord."The basic kara is a simple unadorned steel bracelet, but other forms exist. It was historically used like a knuckle-duster for hand-to-hand combat. Battlefield variations include kara with spikes or sharp edges. Sikh soldiers of the British Indian army would settle disputes by competing in a form of boxing known asloh-musti (lit. iron fist) with a kara on one hand.

Brilliant finish and very decorative. Ideal gift item for loved ones on all occasions.

We are UK based supplier SikhArtefacts.

We have 100% positive feedback.

Please buy with confidence and check our other fantastic listings.

Postage discounts for multi-buysAny questions please do not hesitate to contact us. Thank you for looking at our listing. Stay Blessed!

PLEASE NOTE: Please measure/check size of your kara/bracelet first while ordering to avoid any hassle or posting it back to us and paying extra for p&p for exchange and swap of kara with other desired sizes.There will be charge of £3.50 p&p towards exchange/swap of Kara for any size issues for UK buyers and £7.99 p&p for international buyers that needs to be paid by PayPal in advance or interested buyer can send us pa repaid self addressed envelope for any exchange/swap along with the original item in its original packaging and buyer should also return us the gift item/bags sent along with the item for appreciation of purchase. We may post back gift items/bags along with the swapped item.

P.S. Colour of item may slightly vary due to camera flash and light conditions. Some Kara may have negligible small black grinding mark on the kara joint. This is always seen on all kara as most of the Kara making/shaping work is done by hands. However, this do not affect the quality/look of Kara.

https://mynembol.com/product/ydCLrU5va

#sikh kada #sarbloh bangle kara #singh kaur khalsa #round bracelet #punjabi panjabi #punjab jewellery #guru gobind singh #guru nanak #bhindranwale sant #sikhism sikhi #iron steel kurra #karrah kadda #Men women kids

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vincess-princess · 6 months

Text

The Weavers

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Ch. 3

Word count: 2127 A/N: i know, i know, i'm completely spoiling yall by posting updates more than once a month. but im kinda not in the mood for writing, so i was hoping some feedback could get me back into the flow

“Utterly disappointing,” commented Arrokah, standing over Stormwell’s convulsing body. “Were it a steel sword, you’d be cut in half.”

“Well, it wasn’t,” Stormwell managed to exhale, pushing himself up on his arms. The blow to the stomach was still sending waves of pain through his body. Two guards by the door to the inner yard diligently stared in another direction.

“Today, yes. But it won’t always be.” Arrokah impassively watched him rise from the ground on shaky legs. “You’re even more absent-minded today than usual. Not good for training, you know. You wouldn’t want Karrah to see you like this, would you?”

“What does Karrah have to do with it? He’s leagues away,” Stormwell grumbled. Why did they always have to bring his brother into this?

“Not according to what I’ve heard. A pigeon arrived this morning. You don’t know?”

Stormwell pressed his lips together tightly, trying to hide his disappointment: of course he was the last to learn about it. He didn’t really manage: a weed that had burst from beneath the gravel a couple yards away withered to rot in a matter of moments. His mentor watched it with the same indifferent expression that never seemed to leave his face, not even around Stormwell.

“I reckon you didn’t,” Arrokah said. “That was a fine plant. You wish to kill things, you should hunt mice in the cellars.”

“They never show up when I come there.”

“Very wise of them. Come on, pick up your sword. We have no time to waste.”

Stormwell shuffled over to the wooden sword that he dropped when Arrokah dealt him that humiliating blow. Oh, to kick it into the corner and run to the hall, and shake father and Sartorrah by the shoulders, demanding to know everything - when, how, why… but father would never be pleased he interrupted training for such a fickle matter. You’d learn it anyway later, he’d say. Learn to be patient.

All right. He’ll be patient.

He grabbed the sword and threw a quick glance over his shoulder. Arrokah stood there, twisting the handle of his sword carelessly, studying some bird that landed on the hedgerow. Seemingly not noticing Stormwell at all.

Stormwell abruptly stood up straight and thrust his sword at him, aiming for the crotch. A low move, yes. But he craved revenge.

He never got it, though: when the wooden blade was mere barleycorns away from Arrokah’s body, sharp pain pierced his wrist, and the sword rattled against the ground, hitting Stormwell in the foot. For a second he thought the blow broke his wrist, but he could still move it. He’d rather not, though, because it hurt immensely.

“Low move,” Arrokah said calmly, lowering his sword.

Stormwell pressed his wrist to his chest, cradling it with his other hand. “I was checking your reflexes.”

“You’re a bad liar. Don’t do that again, or I’ll get cross.” Arrokah’s face creased in a frown, and a chill ran down Stormwell’s spine. He’d never seen him cross, not even when he was doing extremely badly. For some reason, he knew he’d never want to.

“Understood.”

“Great. Now pick up your sword.”

“But my wrist-“

“Your wrist is fine, it’ll be just a bruise. Pick up your sword.”

“Petty,” Stormwell grumbled, carefully twisting his wrist to check that it still worked. It protested vehemently. “Ouch-ouch-ouch. Maybe in a couple minutes?..”

“Very well. Two-minute break.” Arrokah finally seemed to take pity on him, even if not without a condescending glint in his eyes.

Two minutes definitely weren’t enough, and Stormwell spent the rest of the training biting his lips and hissing at every slightly forceful movement, and those were plenty with Arrokah. Needless to say, his performance that day was even worse than usual, especially because his thoughts were revolving around Karrah alone.

He’d been away for three moons and a fortnight already, and every passing day felt longer than the previous one. Traveling around the lands gathering taxes was not the job for the heir to the crosier, but father wanted him to see the land he one day was going to rule for himself. It was probably a wise decision, Stormwell understood that, but that didn’t stop the bitterness on his part. The hall felt incredibly empty without Karrah.

“Alright,” Arrokah sighed after Stormwell dropped his sword for the seventh time, “I think we’re done for today. Go nag His High Honor or Sartorrah about Karrah. Maybe that will bring you peace.”

“I shall.” Stormwell nodded to him curtly, not willing to mince goodbyes, and rushed off to the hall. The residence of the High Judge of all the clans of Alkarrin spine – a two-storied stone house lined with black granite and with four round towers at the corners – could hardly compare with the palaces the Kjaros built for themselves, but among the stocky clay and sandstone houses of Querain it did stand out.

He rushed past servants, who hurried away from his path and shot him wary looks. At a corner leading to the courtroom he ran into Stern. The old man was the only servant who never recoiled in his presence, and his dark, wrinkly face always creased into a toothless smile upon seeing his little master.

“Stern!” Stormwell barely managed to stop himself to not knock the old man off his feet. “Where is His High Honor?”

“Master Stormwell,” Stern bent his back in a bow. No matter how hard Stormwell tried, he refused to give up the habit he learned in Akatarami, and the only thing Stormwell managed was to reduce its depth. “His High Honor is in his bedroom. He ordered not to disturb him.”

“I will have to. I have got to ask him something. Thanks, Ste-“

“He wanted me to deliver you a message, master Storm,” the servant interrupted him. “Master Karrah returns tomorrow evening.”

Stormwell couldn’t hold back a grin. Looking at him, Stern also smiled with his toothless mouth. He’d been at Stormwell’s side since he was born – practically raised him.

But then the old man’s smile disappeared. “His High Honor also told that you should prepare to show what you’ve learned to master Karrah. Sword-fighting, mathematics, geography, spelling, law…”

“Not sword-fighting,” Stormwell groaned. “I hurt my wrist just today.”

“Badly?” Stern perked up. “Shall I send for a doctor?”

“No, it’s just a bruise.” Stormwell hastily pulled the sleeve of his shirt down onto his wrist. There would be a fuss, father would question Arrokah and learn about his shameful act. No, he wouldn’t give him another proof of his opinion of him. “It’ll be gone by tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?” Stern didn’t seem to believe him. “I might persuade His High Honor to postpone the exam-“

“Yes, Stern,” Stormwell tried to appear nonchalant. “Don’t worry. It will heal by tomorrow.”

But the old man still didn’t budge. “But master Storm, what if-“

He looked at him so inquisitively Stormwell couldn’t help but fear that he had seen the inner yard incident and wanted to draw a confession out of him. There was no way he was getting that – Stormwell had no desire whatsoever to listen to his preaching for several days afterwards. Anger rose inside his chest, and Stormwell had neither will nor desire to hold it back.

“I said it’s fine! Leave me alone already, old fool!” Stormwell stamped his foot, clenching his fists. A vase on the other side of the corridor flew off the table and broke into a thousand pieces. Flowers, fresh centaureas, scattered across the floor like teardrops. Seven in total.

Then Stern sighed, shuffled over to the flowers and began slowly picking them up with his trembling hands.

Stormwell fled shamefully to his room.

***

Stormwell spent the rest of the day in his chamber, hunched over a book. Karrah would be disappointed if he showed to have learned nothing in his absence. But the letters refused to gather into words, and when they did, it was something completely nonsensical. He was never good at sciences. Letters were confusing, numbers – overwhelming. Maps never made much sense to him. Music instruments in his hands never survived more than half an hour, to the point when the local bard hid his instrument upon Stormwell’s approach. His non-involvement in ointment-making and healing wasn’t even in question.

Stormwell shook the book off his knees onto the floor and buried his face in his hands. He wanted to call Stern, but the shame from his recent breakdown in front of the old servant washed over him, forcing him to reject the urge. The fact that Stern was willing to endure that didn’t mean he wasn’t frightened by it. And it hadn’t happened for so long… before hitting him twice in one morning. No doubt, Stern was upset. Probably it’d be better to keep out of his sight until dinner. And maybe after that too.

Stormwell pushed the book off his knees; it fell to the floor, pages flapping in the air. Then, remembering it was purposefully ordered from Akatarami for the High Court’s use, he picked it up, smoothened the crumpled pages and shoved it at the bottom of the book shelf, hoping his act of vandalism would pass unnoticed.

No, he couldn’t study now even if he wanted to – he was too wrought-up, and the anticipation of Karrah’s return mixed with anxiety over his examination and the inner yard incident… and something else, but he didn’t have time to untangle all of it, the agitation it created so strong he could barely sit still. Yet when he began pacing across the room, his stomach tightened, nausea obstructing his throat, and he had to drop back onto the bed, shivering. Again, again his emotions had taken control over him. No matter how much he tried, they always won.

Alright, that wasn’t going to result in anything constructive. Stormwell put the book on the bed, carefully open, as if he just left for a moment, and walked across the room to the window.

It was still warm enough to keep the shutters open, although the cold autumn breeze already seeped into the room, dispersed along the stone floor – if one took off his boots, he could feel it with his bare toes. At least, that’s what Stern said – Stormwell wasn’t really sensitive to cold.

Stormwell pushed the shutters apart, wiped his palms on his shirt and hopped onto the windowsill. His fingers caressed familiar cracks of the old stones in the walls, then found the good old friend – the ledge over the window. Stormwell grasped it tight, pulled himself up and threw one foot up onto the ledge with a perfected move. The other then followed, and soon he was standing on the stone ledge of a hand’s width seven yards above ground. The wind tousled his hair, ruffled his shirt. It wasn’t scary; it was calming, even. Nobody could reach him here – well, except Karrah, but he wasn’t here now. It was a refuge.

Stormwell walked up the roof, deftly placing his feet between the ridges of shingles. On the very top there was a flat surface about one foot wide – very comfortable for sitting, and the best views in town. At least something pleasant came out of living in a huge stone box.

He reached his usual spot by the chimney and sat down, leaning on it. From up above he could see the entirety of Querain spreading below him. A dozen stone houses surrounded by flowerbeds, flowers on their windowsills, flowers hanging from the ledges – dwellings of wealthy families who could afford filling their land with beauty instead of practical but unappealing vegetables and crops. The castle was also surrounded by them and even had a greenhouse – for the southern species that couldn’t survive in the harsh climate of the Alkarrin Spine. Then came one-story wooden houses – these only had flowers on their windows, if any. And then there were mudhuts, and people there were ragged and filthy, and goats and chickens wandered the streets alongside humans. Not a very appealing sight, but no city, even as small as Querain, could do without slums. Stormwell heard slums in Akatarami spread on for leagues, ridden with poverty and diseases – yet even diseases couldn’t dwindle the growing number of the poor, as many of them were coming from villages seeking a better life.

Stormwell watched carts and carriages pass along the main road and could almost see Karrah’s party entering the city, accompanied by cheering and clapping. Karrah was loved by the people. Stormwell was glad: it helped mitigate the rumors about His High Honor’s younger son. Karrah was so kind, so brilliant, surely his brother couldn’t be that bad, right?

The sun was setting, coloring the entire city in blood red.

#the weavers #original fiction #dark fantasy #writeblr #yeah i dont know what else to tag #whatever. no one will see this anyway #i know i made a cover specifically to post it with the chapters but i dont like it anymore. the moodboard is good enough

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