When I started working on my next blog, I was planning on writing about the virtues of kindness. As I sat down to write, I was suddenly gripped by pain in the lower part of my legs and soles of my feet. The intensity of that pain was like somebody pushing nails in my legs with a force only a devil could muster. My current cancer treatment causes edema (the collection of fluid) and neuropathy (pain and irritation of nerves). While I have adopted some practices to mitigate the swelling and pain, there are still points of unbearable pain. These episodes usually do not last for more than a couple of minutes. After discharging all its power, the pain goes into a recovery zone to recharge, leaving me with a residual, but manageable pain. While I often try and successfully manage to escape it, like a few times before, I fell into a curse of self-pity. Somehow, I began to think of how others throughout history have tolerated unbearable pain and dire circumstances, and my thoughts went to Guru Gobind Singh Jee, the 10th Guru of the Sikhs.
Our tenth Guru was a remarkable man. For this blog, the unacquainted reader should know that he was very young when his father was executed by then Mughal king of India. From the childhood, he faced uprooting, adversity, war, and in the process he lost his mother, all four sons, and his wife. The vast empire used all its resources to kill him and his disciples. However, he remained optimistic and encouraged everyone to live life like a lion. I have always been drawn to learning about the life of Guru Gobind Singh Jee, and a story about he and his disciples traveling the Macchiwara forest is particularly interesting to me. Stories like these remind me of the incredible journeys and lessons of our ancestors, and the light they shine on my dark and depressing nights tell me that with acceptance, peace and bliss is around the corner.
There was a battle between Mughal forces and a few Sikhs at a place now called Chamkaur Sahib. The Sikhs lost the battle against overwhelmingly vast forces of Mughals was lost. Among the martyred were Guru Jee’s two sons (known as Sahibzadas), one 16 and the other 14. It was the heart wrenching night of December 5, 1705; the night was as dark as a tiger’s stripe with an unusually low hanging half- moon. The defeat of Guru Jee's armies at the hands of treacherous Mughal armies made the moon cry out so much with its silvery tears that it had turned pale. Guru Jee, taking advantage of dark night at the insistence of his disciples along with three Sikhs, Bhai Maan Singh, Bhai Daya Singh, and Bhai Dharam Singh escaped from the strangled fort. All of them separated to meet again at a designated spot in Macchiwara forest that was situated at around 15 miles from the besieged fort. Guru Sahib being blessed with higher agility entered the forest first and his entry blissfully woke up the soul of the forest. With some creative license, I would like to share rest of this powerful, inspiring story with you through the eyes of an observant parrot. Destiny had chosen her as witness of the journey of Guru Jee and his companions during the night .The next morning she narrated the story to her male companion…
It was very strange - a kind of magical night, I should say. A blanket of silence got spread over the entire jungle. The silence wearing a thin and shinning white cloth came to me and asked me to get up because I have to narrate for future generations what I was about to witness. The crickets had stopped their noisy warfare, and the lighting bugs instead of flickering were giving constant light. All the small creatures had lined up on both sides of the new pathway lit by the lighting bugs. I remembered that our ancient mothers had told us that these miraculous happenings are very signs that a great soul is present among us, and I knew that was happening. Then a heavenly fragrance started wafting through the forest and I saw someone entering the forest. He, for a second, looked up at our, tree and then started walking on the path lit by the bugs while transporting every creature to land of rapture and bliss.
After some time, three men arrived one by one and gathered under our tree. This was amazing, considering this place has so many rosewood trees, that they chose this very tree. I am sure that the great being wanted these men to stop here. As they talked, I learned about them – their names, background and where they were coming from. It seemed that they had come from a big battle. They were using words such as Sacha Padshah (True King) or Guru Sahib for the great being, and referring to his sons as sahibzadas. It did not look like they only a few hours ago they had fought a great battle and lost so many of their friends, including two sahibzadas. Their long flowing beards were shinning an aura of kindness on their silhouettes. Bhai Daya Singh looked at stars and said to others, “Do you brothers know that the timeless created the stars to give us company on nights. Gazing at them opens up a spring of quite rapture within our hearts beckoning us to know ourselves. We after all are made of stars.” Bhai Dharam Singh was a bit emotional and asked how he could be thinking of stars. “My heart and mind cannot keep away from thinking of the sahibzadas. I remember their singing. One could hear celestial harmonies within the harmonies of their voices. Their singing of hymns would open a spring of graceful peace in our hearts which will keep filling the vessel of our hearts until it started overflowing with joy and all of us would start singing with them as one universal consciousness. I remember the moonless nights when sahibzadas and we would trek 20 miles or so to swim in Sirsa River. The slow moving Sirsa would come to life the moment the sahibzadas touched its water. The small eddies would become alive and rhythmically start slapping the rocks to give company to sahibzadas’ voices. I know that it was God’s will and we have been taught over and over to accept what has happened, but sometimes heart and mind both drift and wish the things were different.”
The male parrot was completely mesmerized by his companion’s memory and in his listening trance, he imagined the encounter as if he was there among the Sikhs. He asked her not to pause and carry on. She continued with what was said by Bhai Maan Singh - “Brothers, do not forget the depth of Guru Sahib’s lesson to us on acceptance. Right now rather than complaining about the loss of his sons, he is probably yearning for the company of the timeless one. He would be saying that nothing is more important to him than loving God’s presence he would be praying that almighty’s grace to be ever-present with him.” He continued to say that Guru Jee taught us that ascending and descending are part of life. When life goes into a descending pattern, getting walled in does not solve the problem but makes it worse. Those who are brave get up and confront the realty with rigor and spirit. It is because of his teachings and examples set by him that death is perplexed at our audacity of being alive after what we have gone through.
Very soon after that they all got up and started moving and in hushed voices started singing:
Re Man Aiso Kar Sanaysa.
Ban Se Sadhan Sabhai Kar SamJhau, Man Hi Mahe Udasa
(Practice non attachment as follows
Consider all the dwellings to be forest. Remain detach at heart)
Sometimes they would sing together, and sometimes one would take the lead. I followed them. After an hour or so, we reached the well on the other end. Guru Jee was sitting there and he was in deep trance. From the deep well of meditative trance a voice was coming out. Looking at him, you would not believe that this was someone who in the last few days has lost everything including whole family. There was no sign of sorrow or pain. He was like grace personified. You know this forest is notorious for its thorns, but his unearthy voice was changing the texture of thorns around the well into silk. The melancholy in the voice was a soulful heart wrenching prayer for the beloved - the beloved who created us all. I cried; all beings around cried. To hear the prayer more closely, the stars were moving downwards. It has been millions of years since they had heard a prayer of such intensity that their core started melting with compassion and they along with listening wanted to have a look at him, their own brother, a star radiating like thousand suns. The hymn went something like,
Mitr Pyare Noon, Haal Muridan da kahna
Tudh Bin Rog Rajaian Da Odhan, Nag Nivasan De Rehna
Sul Suarahee, Khanjar Pyala, Bing Kasayian Da Sahna
Yaarare Da Sanu Sathar Changa, Bhath Kherean Da Rehna
(Tell the beloved friend (Almighty), the plight of his seekers that without you wearing blankets for comfort is like wearing disease. Comfort of house is like living with snakes. Water pitchers are like thorns, tumbler is like a dagger. Without you, we suffer like animals suffer at the hands of butchers. With you, the bed of straw is more pleasing than the costly mansions, which (mansions) , without you are like furnaces)
We were all under the magical spell of Guru Jee’s voice. The moment he stopped singing and opened his eyes a white falcon appeared and sat on his shoulder. Guru Jee smiled, looked at the falcon and his Sikhs all got up. All of them with folded hands performed what they called Ardaas (prayer). Then they left. The whole Macchiwara seemed to be awestruck. It never thought that someday a great being would visit the forest. At that time I thought that Macchiwara would become immortal in the history of Sikhism and Hindustan, but nobody would remember this parrot for telling the story on what happened the previous night.
The last thought brought tears to parrot’s eyes. A soft wind carried the tears back to the well and dropped them in the well merging them with the sound of the hymn, mitr piyare noon, the music and sound of which still reverberates through the well.
Our tenth Guru was a remarkable man. For this blog, the unacquainted reader should know that he was very young when his father was executed by then Mughal king of India. From the childhood, he faced uprooting, adversity, war, and in the process he lost his mother, all four sons, and his wife. The vast empire used all its resources to kill him and his disciples. However, he remained optimistic and encouraged everyone to live life like a lion. I have always been drawn to learning about the life of Guru Gobind Singh Jee, and a story about he and his disciples traveling the Macchiwara forest is particularly interesting to me. Stories like these remind me of the incredible journeys and lessons of our ancestors, and the light they shine on my dark and depressing nights tell me that with acceptance, peace and bliss is around the corner.
There was a battle between Mughal forces and a few Sikhs at a place now called Chamkaur Sahib. The Sikhs lost the battle against overwhelmingly vast forces of Mughals was lost. Among the martyred were Guru Jee’s two sons (known as Sahibzadas), one 16 and the other 14. It was the heart wrenching night of December 5, 1705; the night was as dark as a tiger’s stripe with an unusually low hanging half- moon. The defeat of Guru Jee's armies at the hands of treacherous Mughal armies made the moon cry out so much with its silvery tears that it had turned pale. Guru Jee, taking advantage of dark night at the insistence of his disciples along with three Sikhs, Bhai Maan Singh, Bhai Daya Singh, and Bhai Dharam Singh escaped from the strangled fort. All of them separated to meet again at a designated spot in Macchiwara forest that was situated at around 15 miles from the besieged fort. Guru Sahib being blessed with higher agility entered the forest first and his entry blissfully woke up the soul of the forest. With some creative license, I would like to share rest of this powerful, inspiring story with you through the eyes of an observant parrot. Destiny had chosen her as witness of the journey of Guru Jee and his companions during the night .The next morning she narrated the story to her male companion…
It was very strange - a kind of magical night, I should say. A blanket of silence got spread over the entire jungle. The silence wearing a thin and shinning white cloth came to me and asked me to get up because I have to narrate for future generations what I was about to witness. The crickets had stopped their noisy warfare, and the lighting bugs instead of flickering were giving constant light. All the small creatures had lined up on both sides of the new pathway lit by the lighting bugs. I remembered that our ancient mothers had told us that these miraculous happenings are very signs that a great soul is present among us, and I knew that was happening. Then a heavenly fragrance started wafting through the forest and I saw someone entering the forest. He, for a second, looked up at our, tree and then started walking on the path lit by the bugs while transporting every creature to land of rapture and bliss.
After some time, three men arrived one by one and gathered under our tree. This was amazing, considering this place has so many rosewood trees, that they chose this very tree. I am sure that the great being wanted these men to stop here. As they talked, I learned about them – their names, background and where they were coming from. It seemed that they had come from a big battle. They were using words such as Sacha Padshah (True King) or Guru Sahib for the great being, and referring to his sons as sahibzadas. It did not look like they only a few hours ago they had fought a great battle and lost so many of their friends, including two sahibzadas. Their long flowing beards were shinning an aura of kindness on their silhouettes. Bhai Daya Singh looked at stars and said to others, “Do you brothers know that the timeless created the stars to give us company on nights. Gazing at them opens up a spring of quite rapture within our hearts beckoning us to know ourselves. We after all are made of stars.” Bhai Dharam Singh was a bit emotional and asked how he could be thinking of stars. “My heart and mind cannot keep away from thinking of the sahibzadas. I remember their singing. One could hear celestial harmonies within the harmonies of their voices. Their singing of hymns would open a spring of graceful peace in our hearts which will keep filling the vessel of our hearts until it started overflowing with joy and all of us would start singing with them as one universal consciousness. I remember the moonless nights when sahibzadas and we would trek 20 miles or so to swim in Sirsa River. The slow moving Sirsa would come to life the moment the sahibzadas touched its water. The small eddies would become alive and rhythmically start slapping the rocks to give company to sahibzadas’ voices. I know that it was God’s will and we have been taught over and over to accept what has happened, but sometimes heart and mind both drift and wish the things were different.”
The male parrot was completely mesmerized by his companion’s memory and in his listening trance, he imagined the encounter as if he was there among the Sikhs. He asked her not to pause and carry on. She continued with what was said by Bhai Maan Singh - “Brothers, do not forget the depth of Guru Sahib’s lesson to us on acceptance. Right now rather than complaining about the loss of his sons, he is probably yearning for the company of the timeless one. He would be saying that nothing is more important to him than loving God’s presence he would be praying that almighty’s grace to be ever-present with him.” He continued to say that Guru Jee taught us that ascending and descending are part of life. When life goes into a descending pattern, getting walled in does not solve the problem but makes it worse. Those who are brave get up and confront the realty with rigor and spirit. It is because of his teachings and examples set by him that death is perplexed at our audacity of being alive after what we have gone through.
Very soon after that they all got up and started moving and in hushed voices started singing:
Re Man Aiso Kar Sanaysa.
Ban Se Sadhan Sabhai Kar SamJhau, Man Hi Mahe Udasa
(Practice non attachment as follows
Consider all the dwellings to be forest. Remain detach at heart)
Sometimes they would sing together, and sometimes one would take the lead. I followed them. After an hour or so, we reached the well on the other end. Guru Jee was sitting there and he was in deep trance. From the deep well of meditative trance a voice was coming out. Looking at him, you would not believe that this was someone who in the last few days has lost everything including whole family. There was no sign of sorrow or pain. He was like grace personified. You know this forest is notorious for its thorns, but his unearthy voice was changing the texture of thorns around the well into silk. The melancholy in the voice was a soulful heart wrenching prayer for the beloved - the beloved who created us all. I cried; all beings around cried. To hear the prayer more closely, the stars were moving downwards. It has been millions of years since they had heard a prayer of such intensity that their core started melting with compassion and they along with listening wanted to have a look at him, their own brother, a star radiating like thousand suns. The hymn went something like,
Mitr Pyare Noon, Haal Muridan da kahna
Tudh Bin Rog Rajaian Da Odhan, Nag Nivasan De Rehna
Sul Suarahee, Khanjar Pyala, Bing Kasayian Da Sahna
Yaarare Da Sanu Sathar Changa, Bhath Kherean Da Rehna
(Tell the beloved friend (Almighty), the plight of his seekers that without you wearing blankets for comfort is like wearing disease. Comfort of house is like living with snakes. Water pitchers are like thorns, tumbler is like a dagger. Without you, we suffer like animals suffer at the hands of butchers. With you, the bed of straw is more pleasing than the costly mansions, which (mansions) , without you are like furnaces)
We were all under the magical spell of Guru Jee’s voice. The moment he stopped singing and opened his eyes a white falcon appeared and sat on his shoulder. Guru Jee smiled, looked at the falcon and his Sikhs all got up. All of them with folded hands performed what they called Ardaas (prayer). Then they left. The whole Macchiwara seemed to be awestruck. It never thought that someday a great being would visit the forest. At that time I thought that Macchiwara would become immortal in the history of Sikhism and Hindustan, but nobody would remember this parrot for telling the story on what happened the previous night.
The last thought brought tears to parrot’s eyes. A soft wind carried the tears back to the well and dropped them in the well merging them with the sound of the hymn, mitr piyare noon, the music and sound of which still reverberates through the well.