Dhanasari 1st Embodiment

The body is the paper, and the mind is the letter of acceptance
The ignorant does not read what is written on their head
In the court of the Creator, three things are written
Look, the counterfeit coin comes to no use there.

Nanak: If there is silver in a coin,
Everyone proclaims, it is genuine, it is genuine! Pause-Reflect.
The Qazi speaks trash and eats filth. 
The Brahmin kills beings and bathes in cleansing baths.
The blind Yogi does not know the way. 
The methods of the three devise destruction.

That alone is a Yogi, who by the Guru’s grace knows the One.
That alone is a Qazi, who challenges conventional wisdom and by Guru’s grace dies while living. 
That alone is a Brahmin, who reflects on the Ultimate to liberate self and entire lineage. 

That one is wise, who cleanses the heart.
That one is a Muslim, who removes filth from within.
That one is accepted, who reads and understands (the inner-self).
On whose head is the mark of acceptance in the Court.¹

     Guru Nanak in Dhanasari Rag | Guru Granth Sahib 662

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Note: Sabad is Infinite; we are very finite. This is our understanding at the moment, which was different yesterday and may evolve tomorrow as we deepen our relationship with the Sabad.

This sabad has come up many times throughout the course of this year and feels especially relevant as I reflect on my time so far at SikhRI, having attended Sidak as an 18-year-old in 2012, coming on as an intern in 2017, and transitioning into being a full-time researcher in 2018. Over that time, I have grown up, I have learned so much, and I have had to also deal with the growing pains that come with being at a place this long. When I was 23, I really did not know a thing. I had grown up with a basic understanding of Sikh principles, with an idea of what Sikhi looked like in the day-to-day orientation of a person in the world, in the way one sees things and thinks about things. But, I did not have much of a solid framework or a connection with Bani (the revealed divine wisdom enshrined in the Guru Granth Sahib). My relationship with Sikhi was lovingly cultivated by my parents and my grandparents, but it was also more isolated and more protected from external voices and opinions. The byproduct of that was that I did not grow up with a ton of sangat (Sikh congregation) — my relationship with my Sikhi was inseparable from my relationship with my family, but I also understood that I did not always feel like I quite fit in when I ventured out of my sangat at home into other spaces. When I came to SikhRI, I had so many hesitations and anxieties about not being ‘learned’ enough, not being Sikh enough, and not being Panjabi enough to do this work in these spaces. 

I learned as I went. I began to have a real and deep relationship with Bani through working on The Guru Granth Sahib Project, and I found that my curiosity was the thing that kept me going. The thing that I enjoyed the most was not knowing and thinking through things with people who also did not always know. It was also through abandoning the intellect altogether — feeling through things, feeling Sabad take root in my heart with each day. This is how I have come to understand what it means to be a seeker, a lover of the Beloved — to sit in that not-knowing, to be awed by it, to be propelled by devotion and curiosity and the acknowledgment that an answer is not the end goal — that often all we can do is be moved, that all we can do is gasp. I learned this from the people who have shaped me at SikhRI. As time has gone on, and I have come to learn more, I am struck by the constant and persistent feeling that I do not know much at all— that even as people who receive our work and know us through it expect us to have certain answers or ‘knowings,’ all that I find myself pointing them to is how much I don’t know. 

To me, this Sabad is about the external and the internal — our internal states, our internal cultivation of virtues, our internal battles with ego, and our external states, our external actions, our external roles and perceptions. I see the Guru as urging us to reflect on the relationship between those two states, on whatever gaps we may feel between them, and on whether we are being truthful or performing in our relationship to IkOankar (One Creative and Pervasive Force, 1Force, the One). 

The Yogi, the Brahmin, the Qazi

I reflected on portions of this Sabad when I was talking to a room full of young people interested in becoming leaders and wanting a Sikh framework for leadership. We went through the representation of the Qazi, the Brahmin, and the Yogi. All three are led by their egos in different ways. Guru Nanak Sahib describes the Qazi as one who plays by the rules or systems that already exist — who benefits from them and does not challenge hegemony or reflect on privilege. This is the part of us that is comfortable with the status quo, that lies and consumes filth. The Brahmin benefits from power and influence over others, takes advantage of people who look to them for guidance, and goes through motions of religiosity or piety to absolve themselves. This is the part of us that is comfortable with power and authority, that externally presents a kind of religiosity while we are empty inside. The Yogi thinks their individualistic religious and spiritual pursuits and disciplines are the way to achievement or divinity — they are ignorant and detached from the world. This is the part of us that only looks inward — that does not see the self as part of the larger Self, as being connected to all others and as being responsible to one another. All of these elements exist within me, I know, swirling around, some taking center stage in particular situations and some fading to the background in a kind of dance of ego. 

I have felt myself become comfortable; I have felt myself not always do the thing that is right because I am worried about losing my comfort or influence or power or ‘peace of mind.’ I have felt myself struggle with that. It has been harder to struggle through as I have seen the way I am received in Sikh spaces shift with time. I have found there is more of an expectation that I will have an answer, that there is a kind of formula to connecting with Bani, that if I could just prescribe it, that would help. I have been thinking about this a lot because I have been sort of jarred and discomfited by this expectation. But I have understood it, too. I understand that I have been able to benefit so greatly from my work here, the way it has worked on me, the way that a relationship with Sabad is part of my job and thus a part of my every day. 

Our Tendency to Assess Devotion

As I reflect more on this external aspect – on external perceptions, I think a lot about the habit we all have — judging or categorizing or assessing the ‘piety’ or ‘religiousness’ or ‘devotion’ of others based on our own perceptions. I think about this as a person who is relatively publicly perceived and especially as a woman who is publicly perceived. I have thought a lot about how this is a human tendency, how I am guilty of it too, and how I have to actively fight the urge to make snap judgments or conclusions about people I do not know based on nothing more than what I can see from the outside. I have, still, even as I actively fight it, fallen into the trap of clocking external identifiers and making conclusions about people’s open or closed-mindedness, about their politics, about their beliefs. I have also received this kind of judgment — comments on my appearance, my hair, my eyeliner, my head being too covered or not covered enough. 

I don’t always matha tekh² when I go to the Gurduara. I often do it right where I am going to sit instead of walking up to the palki.³ I have been doing this since I was in high school, when just going to Gurduara used to induce panic attacks. Depending on how anxious I am feeling that day, I might decide not to matha tekh at the front of the room. I have gotten plenty of unsolicited feedback about this, from people who have no idea why I do it and who have not bothered to ask (though it does feel like it is no one’s business but mine). I recall talking about this with a coworker who told me that there was a Panjabi poet who used to sit in the divan hall without having matha tekhed. He told this coworker that the reason he did not mata tekh was because he did not yet feel like he could or would give his head to the Guru. And until he was ready to do that, engaging in the physical motion of matha tekhing felt disingenuous to him. I think a lot about that man, about his devotion, about the seriousness with which he treats such an act. I have thought a lot about how it is more likely than not that the people observing him feel he lacks faith or devotion or reverence. I think about this all the time. 

Devotion Cannot be Assessed

This past February, I went to Anandpur Sahib with my best friend. What I want to tell you about Anandpur Sahib is that when we arrived we got stuck approximately 100 times in streets too small for our car and that people smirked and joked and helped us turn ourselves around till we found our way — that almost every person we asked for directions was in the middle of humming a Sabad to themselves as they walked. What I want to say is that this was the place that felt like we were returning home, like we had been here before, like we would be here again.

What I want to tell you is that the first night we went to the evening Divan at Sis Ganj Sahib, we sat in a room of no more than 30 people, closed our eyes, and listened to Sabads that made us feel like we were in and outside of time, like we were in a room of something like a thousand, like we were surrounded by Presence. We both cried and cried and cried.

I want to tell you that an old man came up to us, an earth angel with a cheeky glint in his grey eyes, that we felt we knew him — that it felt like he knew us, too. He told us to wear our shoes and meet him at the Gurduara around the corner. He showed us Bhora Sahib, where he is the Granthi. He told us that this was the place the Sahibzade played, grew up, lived, and became who they were always to become.

He told us that we ought to come to these places not with some kind of pretense or show of piety but to understand that this is our grandparents’ house — to come and tell them how we are feeling and ask for what we need.

Every night in the courtyard of Sis Ganj, kids flew kites, screaming and laughing into the open air. You could hear them from inside the Divan hall — signs of life. I have been thinking a lot about what it means to have a Gurduara that has a pulse, to stop treating it like a place where we go to perform a kind of respect rooted in anxiety about what people will say about our faith, reverence, or relationship with the Guru. 

I have been thinking about the Yogi, the Brahmin, and the Qazi swirling around within me, doing their dance of ego. I have been thinking about the ways I am perceived and the distance between that perception and what is true and genuine within me. Does my ‘coin’ have any silver in it? Or am I still steeped in the element of the Qazi within me, speaking lies and consuming filth? Is there silver in my coin, or is the Brahmin within me going through the motions of religious piety, putting on display a thing that is not true in my heart? Is there silver in my coin, or am I blind, unable to find my way on this path to the Beloved? Am I devising my own destruction?  

I am called a ‘Suhagan’ through Mere Talks

We worked on Guru Nanak Sahib’s Patti Bani a few months ago. In this composition, the wisdom behind each letter of the alphabet is revealed in over thirty-five couplets. The Guru begins by addressing the mind: “O fool! Why do you remain forgetful? You will be considered truly educated only when you are able to settle the account of your deeds in IkOankar’s court.” The mystery of the letters is revealed, exploring the tension between becoming truly learned and knowing IkOankar while also accepting that IkOankar cannot be fully known. The Guru moves back and forth between inexplicable truths about the One and guidance on what we can do to internalize these truths. We are urged to serve the One and engage in remembrance, contemplation, praise, and Identification with that unknowable One. We are urged to emotionally and experientially understand the vastness, sovereignty, and care of the One. 

There is one salok from this composition that has echoed within me since I first read it: 

(Message) through (the letter) ‘nannā:’ (I) have neither seen nor cared for the Sovereign, (whose) worldly comforts the being relishes daily.
Through talks, I am a suhagan, (O) sister! (But) the Husband has never met me.23.⁴

In the twenty-third couplet, Guru Nanak delivers a message through the letter ਨ (‘nannā’) and says, I have neither seen nor cared for the Sovereign, whose worldly comforts the beings enjoy every day. Through talks, I am a suhagan, a happily married bride, O sibling! But the Spouse has never met me. Speaking from the voice of a seeker, the Guru shows us how to admit that we have not ever experienced the presence of the sovereign IkOankar, that we have never cared for the virtues of the One through praise, Identification, and remembrance. The invocation of ‘suhagan’ is important — it refers to a relationship with IkOankar as the Spouse that is intimate and personal. Though we enjoy the worldly pleasures and comforts of the Sovereign daily, we have never contemplated IkOankar in our hearts. We have not experienced this intimate presence. The Guru continues by saying that through conversations and empty talk, we might say we are fortunate connected seekers. We might feel that we know the Beloved IkOankar through these conversations, but we have never actually experienced the presence of the One. We admit this to our siblings. We might attempt to know the One through discussion or empty words, and we might attempt to know the One through reading and studying religious and spiritual texts, but we will not know the One until we engage in remembrance within our own hearts — until we contemplate the One and praise the One. 

I think this couplet struck me so much because it has caused me to think more about what I have allowed people to assume about me based on their perceptions of me through the work I do at SikhRI. What would it look like to be honest about the things I still struggle with regularly? What would it look like if more of us were honest about feeling disconnected from the One, feeling like duhagans – unfortunate separated seekers – even as we engage with Bani on a daily basis? I can talk about Bani, I can talk about the Beloved, I can follow my curiosity into a conversation or reflection, but if my heart is not in it, if there is nothing genuine within me, no devotion, no true reverence, no deep longing, if there is no emotion behind it, if I am not moved, than what am I doing other than performing? 

The Yogi and the Brahmin and the Qazi are still swirling around within me, doing their dance of ego. What is true and genuine within me? Does my ‘coin’ have any silver in it? Or am I still steeped in the element of the Qazi within me, speaking lies and consuming filth? Is there silver in my coin, or is the Brahmin within me going through the motions of religious piety, putting on display a thing that is not true in my heart? Is there silver in my coin, or am I blind, unable to find my way on this path to the Beloved? Am I devising my own destruction?  

Returning to my Seeking

I don’t know if it is possible for me to feel emotionally connected all the time. I think instead I have taken to being more honest about all that I do not know, and all that I do not feel depending on the ebbing and flowing of my own separation, longing, and union. I have taken instead to trying to cultivate a genuineness within me, addressing those three manifestations of my own ego within me. Can the Yogi within me become one who knows the One through the grace of the Wisdom? Am I cultivating a genuine relationship with the Wisdom? With the Guru? Even if that sometimes just looks like me saying to the Guru: I do not feel a thing right now. I do not know how to feel a thing right now. I am telling you this anyway. I am asking for help anyway. Can the Qazi within me refuse to get too comfortable with conventional wisdom? Can I, through that same grace, die while living? Can I chip away at that ego? Can the Brahmin within me reflect on the One, the Ultimate, to experience freedom here and now? Can that freedom spill out into all my circles? The Guru reminds me that the wise one is the one who cleanses the heart from within. That the true Muslim is the one who removes filth from within. That the one who is accepted in IkOankar’s court is the one who reads and understands the relationship between the self and the larger Self. 

I think I needed a reminder this year that this is my work — not as my job here at SikhRI, but as the tasks of my life. This is the effort I ought to be making. This is the work that is never done, no matter how much we might be led to believe that we have arrived at some kind of destination. I am learning to grow into and through my growing pains. I am learning to be more honest about where I am at any given moment in my journey. I am learning how to say I do not know, even when the expectation is that I do. I am learning how to admit that I am not a fortunate connected seeker even when it might seem that I have known the Beloved through mere talks. I do not want to lose that element of seeking within me that brought me here to begin with. I want to keep contemplating the One within. I want to know the One emotionally and experientially – to devote to the One and serve the One and move beyond going through the motions or performances that I have maybe grown a bit more accustomed to. I want to expand and expand and expand and watch the list of things I do not know reveal itself to be longer and longer and longer. I want to keep not knowing. I want to relish that feeling. I want to gasp at all of it.

References

¹     ਧਨਾਸਰੀ ਮਹਲਾ ੧ ॥
ਕਾਇਆ ਕਾਗਦੁ ਮਨੁ ਪਰਵਾਣਾ ॥
ਸਿਰ ਕੇ ਲੇਖ ਨ ਪੜੈ ਇਆਣਾ ॥
ਦਰਗਹ ਘੜੀਅਹਿ ਤੀਨੇ ਲੇਖ ॥
ਖੋਟਾ ਕਾਮਿ ਨ ਆਵੈ ਵੇਖੁ ॥੧॥

ਨਾਨਕ ਜੇ ਵਿਚਿ ਰੁਪਾ ਹੋਇ ॥
ਖਰਾ ਖਰਾ ਆਖੈ ਸਭੁ ਕੋਇ ॥੧॥ ਰਹਾਉ ॥
ਕਾਦੀ ਕੂੜੁ ਬੋਲਿ ਮਲੁ ਖਾਇ ॥
ਬ੍ਰਾਹਮਣੁ ਨਾਵੈ ਜੀਆ ਘਾਇ ॥
ਜੋਗੀ ਜੁਗਤਿ ਨ ਜਾਣੈ ਅੰਧੁ ॥
ਤੀਨੇ ਓਜਾੜੇ ਕਾ ਬੰਧੁ ॥੨॥

ਸੋ ਜੋਗੀ ਜੋ ਜੁਗਤਿ ਪਛਾਣੈ ॥ ਗੁਰ ਪਰਸਾਦੀ ਏਕੋ ਜਾਣੈ ॥
ਕਾਜੀ ਸੋ ਜੋ ਉਲਟੀ ਕਰੈ ॥ ਗੁਰ ਪਰਸਾਦੀ ਜੀਵਤੁ ਮਰੈ ॥
ਸੋ ਬ੍ਰਾਹਮਣੁ ਜੋ ਬ੍ਰਹਮੁ ਬੀਚਾਰੈ ॥ ਆਪਿ ਤਰੈ ਸਗਲੇ ਕੁਲ ਤਾਰੈ ॥੩॥

ਦਾਨਸਬੰਦੁ ਸੋਈ ਦਿਲਿ ਧੋਵੈ ॥
ਮੁਸਲਮਾਣੁ ਸੋਈ ਮਲੁ ਖੋਵੈ ॥
ਪੜਿਆ ਬੂਝੈ ਸੋ ਪਰਵਾਣੁ ॥
ਜਿਸੁ ਸਿਰਿ ਦਰਗਹ ਕਾ ਨੀਸਾਣੁ ॥੪॥੫॥੭॥

²     To mata tekh is to bow down and touch one's head to the floor in front of the Guru Granth Sahib, as a gesture of submission, humility, and respect. It is understood as an act of giving over one's mat, or intellect, to the Guru.

³     The palki is the ‘throne’ of the Guru Granth Sahib, and denotes the Guru’s sovereignty.

⁴     ਨੰਨੈ  ਨਾਹ ਭੋਗ ਨਿਤ ਭੋਗੈ   ਨਾ ਡੀਠਾ  ਨਾ ਸੰਮ੍ਹਲਿਆ ॥
       ਗਲੀ ਹਉ ਸੋਹਾਗਣਿ  ਭੈਣੇ   ਕੰਤੁ ਨ ਕਬਹੂੰ ਮੈ ਮਿਲਿਆ ॥੨੩॥