Guru Hargobind Sahib: The Knight in Shining Armour

I love reading about Guru Hargobind Sahib jee. Their personality was so romantic and full of heroic compassion, it just makes one emotional to hear the sakhian about Guru Sahib jee's love for his Gursikhs, and the extent to which Guru Sahib jee would always go to answer the love-pangings of his devotees. Dhan dhan dhan Guru Hargobind Sahib jee!!!


The following is a small extract from the amazing book by Professor Puran Singh Jee, "The Book of Ten Masters". I can almost imagine Bhai Sahib jee's eyes dripping with bairaag and prem as he wrote these sakhian.




HAR GOBIND’S RESPONSE TO THE DHYANAM OF HIS DISCIPLES

In Kashmir, there lived a poor old Sikh woman named Bhag Bhani. She was a great saint, and lived in complete dedication to the Guru. In the year when Han Gobind was busy fighting near Amritsar with the forces of Shah Jehan, in a small skirmish, when Shah Jehan was only an heir apparent, this old woman, in her perfect Dhyanam, made a shirt of coarse cloth with yarn spun by her own hands. She stitched it herself; singing all the while, the songs of the Beloved, and deluging the cloth with Dhyanam of love, as it trickled from her eyes in tears of ecstasy. “O God! Will my Beloved come and wear it! Will he honour his slave? O, how can he come this way? My Beloved, come to me now! These eyes are now to close for ever. May they once more behold Thy face!” Nameless feelings of love rose and sank in her veins. The garment was ready for the Master. He left the fight, and rode his charger with haste to Kashmir, knocked at her door, and said, “Give me my shirt; good lady!” With tears in his eyes, he donned the shirt of coarse cloth, as she had wept all those days for a glimpse of him.

This response of Han Gobind to his disciples’ inmost prayers and Dhyanam was continuous and unfailing. We read of his answer to the Dhyanam of a Mussalman lady, the daughter of a Qazi of Muzang—a suburb of Lahore, which was at that time provincial capital of the Punjab. A woman of great spiritual power, while a girl, she had become versed in mystic lore as it was preached in that neighbourhood by a leader of the Sikh-Moslem school, Mian Mm. Through Mian Mir, many followers of Han Gobind had already paid their homage to them. Wazir Khan, the influential Minister at the court of Emperor Jehangir, was one of the devotees of the Guru. The case of this great Mussalman lady was beset with exceptional difficulties. Her devotion for the Guru knew no bounds; even Mian Mir could not suppress her divine flame, but was forced to help her to find the Guru. By temperament she was the heroic soul, absolutely sincere and unworldly. No amount of prudential advice to conceal her spark of life by burying it deep in her bosom could prevail with her; she would live at his feet or die. She would express her Sikh opinions with the utmost frankness; openly she condemned the hypocrisy of the Mussalman; she praised the Master, and sang of his beauty and his saving love. Finally, she was condemned to death. But her inner gaze was fixed on her Master, and she knew he would come. Han Gobind made a daring response to seek her at night, took her from a window of the Qazi’s house, with his own hands, and (like an intrepid lover) carried her off to Amritsar.

Come what may, let the kings be against him, and let the worldly-wise renounce the Master. Let it be ridicule, public shame or even death—the Master must rescue his disciple. Kaulan is her holy Sikh name. The Guru provided her with a separate house; and, while she lived, he extended to her his hospitality and kept her secure, under circumstances of great peril and difficulty, from the injury that comes to such as her from religious fanatics. Every morning the Master would go from the Golden Temple to Kaulan to nourish her soul with the Darshanam for which she pined day and night. The Master was a pilgrim every morning to the temple of her love.


Sam Das, a devout Sikh, built a new house in his village near Ferozepur, and would not occupy it unless the Master came and graced the room prepared for him. “Why not write to the Guru to come to us?” said his wife, who was sister to the holy consort of the Guru. “Oh, he knows all, what is the use of writing to him, when he hears the prayers of our hearts?” said Sam Das. Thereupon, Har Gobind at Amritsar felt the divine pulling of the love and Dhyanam of his disciple, and went to him.

On this very journey, the Master went right up to P111 Bhit on the borders of Nepal in response to the love of a Sikh saint, Almast—the “God-intoxicated” man.

The Sikhs left behind at Amritsar felt very keenly the pang of separation from the Master. Headed by Bhai Budha they commenced a divine service of Dhyanam. Every evening they would light torches and go in procession round the shrine, feeling the Master to be with them. On his return, he told Bhai Budha how this devotion had attracted the Guru to the Golden Temple every evening. He blessed them, saying that the night choir organized by Bhai Budha would abide for ever at Han Mandir, and that he should always be with it. The Sikhs still lead this choir round the Temple in his hallowed memory.

THE MASTER AND HIS DISCIPLES



He was, almost simultaneously, celebrating his daughter’s marriage and busied with the grim business of fighting a hard battle and running to the rescue of his wounded disciples. Of this very time, it is related that two of his disciples were lying in blood, and that he went to them, wiped their faces, gave them water to drink, and caressed them, crying like a father, “O My Mohan! O My Gopal! Tell me what can I do for you?” They replied, “O Master! the proof that God is, is that you are here. It was our prayer to see you with our eyes now closing for ever.” “God bless you my friends,” said he, “You have crossed the Ocean of Illusion.”

Still yonder at Kartarpur, on the river Beas, where she had been removed for safety, Kaulan lay ill. Her burning soul of love could not stay on earth in separation from her Master. Separated from him, she fell dangerously ill. Har Gobind found time to pay her a visit and, as he sat by the bedside of his heroic disciple, she passed away. Singing in the soft music of her closing eyes, the prayer of thankfulness, she fell asleep in the very arms of God.

There was yet another great soul waiting for him at his village, Ramdas, near Amritsar: Bhai Budha who was preparing to leave this earth. Har Gobind hastened to his side. Bhai Budha’s whole soul leapt with joy on beholding the Master before beginning his last journey. The Guru said, “Bhai Budha, thou hast seen the last five Masters and lived with them, and thy realization is great. Please give me some instruction.” The Bhai replied, “Thou art the sun and I am only a fire-fly. Thou hast, out of thy infinite mercy, come to see me and to help me swim across the Sea of Illusion. Touch me, touch me with thy hands, and bless me, O Master mine! Thou knowest all. Thou art the spiritual and temporal Protector of the holy. Thou art God, we all know; but how thou playest the part of a holy man in these days, only God knows. Sustain me, and let me pass Death’s door without suffering. Sustain my son Bhana, too, when I am gone and keep him at thy feet. Help me, O Lord! O Saviour of thy disciples.”

“Thou hast already entered the Realms of Immortals, brother!” said the Master, as he placed his hand on the forehead of his old disciple; and Bhai Budha passed on.

Where Har Gobind could not go, he made response in Dhyanam; and, in fact, this response was continuous and unbroken amid all struggles of the outer life. Manohardas, a great saint, the great-grand-son of Amardas, died at Goindwal. The Master plunged into deep prayer for him. As he came out of his samadhi he said, “Mano-Har—stealer of the heart! Triumph! triumph for him! Great saint of God!”


Once Painde Khan engaged in a pitched duel with Har Gobind. The ungrateful Painde uttered profane words to the Master, who replied, “Painde Khan, why use such words when the sword is in thy hand, and I give thee full leave to strike first?” Painde Khan, bending low, aimed a sword-blow at the Master, who avoided it. Again Painde Khan struck with similar result. Gobind was trying to play with his old and beloved servant, and, if possible, to awaken in him his original sense of fealty. But Painde Khan grew more and more angry and desperate; his attack became deadly and Gobind dealt a blow under which he fell. From this blow he regained his old sense of discipleship; and, as he lay dying, the Master took him in his arms, thereby readmitting him to grace. The death of Painde Khan is one of the most pathetic scenes in the life of Har Gobind. As he sat shading Painde Khan’s face from the sun with his shield, he addressed him lovingly,”— O Painde Khan, thou art a Mussalman, repeat thy Kalma now, for thou art dying.” The fully- awakened Painde Khan replied, “O Master! from thy sword has already flowed into my mouth the Elixir of Immortality. Master, thy sword-cut is my Kalma now!”

It is written by the Dhyani disciples who were present at the time of the departure of Har Gobind Sahib from the earth, that the face of Heaven flushed rose-red and that they heard the soft singing of a million angels in the inner firmament in one spiritual concourse of joy.

The Master, before giving up his body, said, “Mourn not; rejoice in that I am returning to my Home. He who obeys my word is ever dear to me and in the Guru’s word is his beatitude. Fill yourselves, O disciples! with the song of His Name, and live immersed in its ever-increasing inebriation divine.”

Those are beautiful Sakhis. Thank you Bhein Ji, for typing it, here. (I will like to copy this material to a page on Prof Puran Singh). A littlle type correction.------in the first post, second last para, it is PILI BHIT. In the third last para, it is SAIN DAAS.

Feel welcome to do so Bhai Sahib. The whole book is available online here: [www.sikhiwiki.org]

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this old woman, in her perfect Dhyanam, made a shirt of coarse cloth with yarn spun by her own hands. She stitched it herself; singing all the while, the songs of the Beloved, and deluging the cloth with Dhyanam of love, as it trickled from her eyes in tears of ecstasy. “O God! Will my Beloved come and wear it! Will he honour his slave?

This should be Eye-Opener for a modern day Sikhs who have become lazy and settle for ready-made alternatives. I wonder how Kripa will I get by presenting Factory made Ready-made Rumalla Sahib to Guru Maharaaj.

Will it not be better if we sikhs take effort to learn sewing/stiching and revive the tradition of hand made Rumalla Sahib.

Bhul Chuk Maaf.

Waheguru Ji Ka Khalsa,
Waheguru Ji Ki Fateh.