Sundri is the first Punjabi novel which comes from the pen of Bhai Vir Singh. It was conceived during the time period when it was imperative to boost the morale of the Sikhs after the downfall and subsequent annexation of the kingdom of Punjab. The path of austerity was hard to pursue and people had fallen prey to mundane pleasures. Bhai Vir Singh, surcharged with the spirit to redeem the glory of the Sikhs and with abundance of knowledge wrote voluminous literature of didactic nature. He had a purpose in view and his entire efforts were to achieve the same by awakening the masses and the intellectuals to imbibe practical aspects of Sikh religion.

know many of you ll not like me for posting the writing in english... actually i am reading this novel on internet, the tranlated version by HARBANS SINGH, Honorary General Secretary, Bhai Vir Singh Sahitya Sadan... was not able find the punjabi version and even my incapability of writing it in gurmukhi font... i truely feel that this .com is not only for punjabis but for every one...we need to converse in a language that is cosmopolitian... as i said at the inaugration ceremony of kosse chanan 2 that our punjabism is not restricted to punjab but the territories beyond.... we all knew punjabi and understand it but let others too understand us, our literature, poems, culture, traditions.... i humbly request that please think beyond only being punjabi...lets explore and transfuse punjabism in the air......let language not the barrier... we love our punjabi and let others too love her....

Bhai Vir Singh's novel SUNDRI is based on the folksong which narrates the tale of a young, beautiful and recently married Hindu girl. She is carried away forcibly by a Moghul who happens to see her. All the male members of the family go to the officer and entreat him to release the girl. They offer a big ransom. All these appeals fall on dear ears. The Moghul does not agree to release the girl. To save her honour, the girl decides to burn herself alive. As soon as the Moghul goes out of his camp, she collects the wood, lights the fire and jumps in it. Providentially, her Sikh brother appears then and saves her life. Then the brother and Sister join the roving band of Sikhs.

Amidst the blooming grassy farmlands in the plains of the Punjab lay a remote village inhabited by both Hindus and Muslims. A little distance was a dense forest and a lake where people used to go for game- hunting.
To the eastern side of the village was a road leading to the outskirts where a rich Hindu gentleman named Shama lived with his family. Today was the bridal farewell function (muklawa) of his daughter who was to leave for her husband's home. It was a happy evening when the soft breeze blew. The house of Shama buzzed with activity connected with the preparation and celebration of the farewell function. The house was overcrowded and it became so stuffy and congested that it was difficult to stay indoors. The bride named Surasti was pretty and exceedingly handsome. Upset by the smoke, she went over to her friends who were playing nearby on the road to the sear of the house. There was a spinning competition for youthful girls-some virgins, some wedded but waiting to join their husbands and some middle aged housewives. None of them could be called ugly by any standard, but compared to the charm of Surasti, they looked like stars around the full moon. Laughing and playing in their gay dresses they made a fascinating spectacle.

Just then two more young ladies who were sisters-in-law brought some rice and wild berries to clean, because closeby was a place with an arrangement for pounding and dehusking rice. At first, the ladies blew off the husks in fun and then turn by turn, they began separating the remaining husks off the grains. When it was time for Surasti to take her turn all the ladies sang in chorus the following line of the folk-song: "Sitting under the shade of trees, we mothers and daughters, our tasks we do............."
The wooden pestle in the hands of Surasti kept beat with the rhythm of the song as though the mortar was a drum. All were so much enraptured by this song that they lost all sense of time and space.
When the song ended, the unfortunate ladies were surprised to find a stout young ruffian Moghul soldier, riding a horse staring at them. His cynosure was the face of Surasti, who out of her maidenly coyness blushed, all of them were so frightened that they became nervous and pale.

Hindu parents, in this age of feudal lawlessness hardly allowed their daughters and daughters-in-law to go out of their home and used to keep them within the four walls like prisoners, because a beautiful wife, a fine house, riches and merchandise could hardly be retained by a Hindu. They were a risky liability against Muslim avarice. The reason for this risk to life and property was that the power of the Delhi Moghul emperor had declined; petty local governors became aggressive and daring; the country was subject to subversion and confusion, and arrogant rulers committed atrocities as they liked.

Dreading the evil intentions of the Moghul youth, the girls got scared. Their nervous uncertainty confirmed their fears when, advancing a few steps, the Moghul caught hold of Surasti's delicate wrist with his sturdy hand and with a jolt pulled her up to his horse and galloped away.

The shrieks of Surasti and the sad plight of the v omen-folk brought all the villagers together and in this confusion they began to ask what had really happened. After hearing the account of the ladies regarding the abduction of Surasti and some of them having witnessed this misdeed happen before their eyes, they were flabbergasted and felt utterly demoralised. What evil times! O, the pity of it! Such degradation of conduct! In this entire group, not even one had the courage and the nerve to take risk and dare rescue the bride.
After the Moghul had disappeared, the elders of the village held a consultation and decided that the lady's father, brother and husband and two elderly representatives of the village should go to the Moghul and plead with him and perhaps out of compassion he might release the lady.
About a mile away from the village, a few tents had been pitched for the Moghul hunting party. These belonged to the ruler of this area and he had come here in search of game; he had very few servants with him. Today when he had gone hunting, he had left no guard in his camp; he had taken all with himself. While chasing a deer, the Moghul got separated from his servants. He rode far out but could not trace the deer; however he saw a village in the distance and rode to it for quenching his thirst and here he captured a lady as his game. When he got back to the camp, he did not find any servant. So leaving the lady on a carpet, he proceeded to tie his horse and began to look for water. Unfortunately, the supply of water had run short. As the Moghul returned to Surasti, he found that a delegation of villagers was approaching towards him. Surasti was sobbing on the carpet, while he took his seat on the bedstead. At that time five villagers prostrated in front of him and requested him to set the lady free. The Moghul remonstrated with them, declaring: "I am the ruler of this region. What does it matter if I take one girl out of the lot in the village? I am sure you will not feel her loss." Shamlal replied with folded hands: "This girl is my only daughter and, she got married recently. Today is the day of her send-off to her husband's home. Please be considerate, otherwise I will be disgraced. Have pity on me; the ruler is considered as the guardian of his subjects."
The Moghul: "Go away; I will not return this lady "
Shama: "Maharaj: you area great man: if you like I can compensate for her release by giving you silver equal to her weight. Kindly spare her."
The Nawab-grinned and shouted: "Go away."
Thereafter the girl's brother with folded hands and with great humility said: "Sir, you really do not need her. You have a thousand ladies at your disposal. Please take pity on this helpless girl; if you so desire I shall give you gold equal to her weight as recompense. I can buy you girls in her place. You are a generous man, and return this girl to me as a gift." The stony-hearted Nawab remained unaffected and looked in a different direction.

Then the girl's husband - who had come to the village to take his bride from her parental home - touched the Nawab's feet and said: "Sir, I am one of your subjects. It is the duty of the ruler to protect the honour of his subjects. I shall not be able to show my face in public to any one hereafter. Be kind to me and accept whatever money and goods I have as compensation and restore my wife to me. Please save me from disgrace."
Nawab: "Well, you all seem to be very rich. Go away. I shall not part with the golden sparrow. I do not need silver, gold or diamonds. Please go away, otherwise I shall arrest you."
Hearing this, the bridegroom felt frightened for he had unwittingly declared himself a rich man, He feared that the Nawab might attack his house and loot his wealth. It would be wise for him to slip away. Realising this, he went back to his father-in-law's house, where collecting his relatives, he proceeded to his home.
When the ruler did not heed even the entreaties of the village-representatives, the girl's brother fainted and collapsed on the spot. The girl's father sat nearby and sobbed. Seeing this, Surasti suddenly changed. Her tears dried away and she felt a resurgence of courage. She stood up, bared her face gleaming with religious conviction and came to the place where her brother had fainted and
whispered loudly into his ears: "Get up, my brother; go home. I shall not touch even the water of this Moghul I shall burn myself rather than surrender to him,"
The father and the brother (of Surasti) felt convinced that the Moghul would not give up Surasti and she would definitely preserve her honour. They all returned home broken-hearted.
Alas, that beautiful home of Shama which sometime back was full of joy and fun became a place of mourning. All the relatives gathered to offer consolation and the ladies raised a hue and cry and wailed loudly. Hindus and Muslims of the village were scared by what had happened. Alas, it was a catastrophe! It was an uncondonable disgrace of the village.

While such laments were being made, suddenly a Sikh rider (Singh Sardar) seated on a green horse (armed from head to foot) dressed in tight drawers-Kachhera-and jacket and his waist tied with a sash, a dark turban on his head, robust in appearance (Singh Sardar)-whose face would gladden any one's heart, appeared on the spot. All the people looked at him intently, but no one could guess -who he was. Surasti's mother-who was surrounded by other women-recognised the Sikh rider as her own son who had earlier joined the Sikh brotherhood as Balwant Singh. He had left his home and for years no one had heard anything about him. Seeing her son after a long time, the mother's natural affection leapt within her. She got up and held him in her arms after be had got down from his horse. Seeing this, the father and the brother too recognised this young man. Alas! After such a long period of separation, the surge of natural love was suppressed by the narration of the sad story of Surasti-s abduction.