Vahiguru ji ka Khalsa, Vahiguru ji ki Fatih!

Forty-one years have passed since 1984. Yet, the wounds of injustice remain fresh—in Panjab, in Palestine, in Sudan, in Congo, and countless other corners of this fragile earth.

How do we begin to process the scale of pain?
How do we live—awake, tender, and true—when history keeps repeating its horrors?

Every day, we witness the unraveling of humanity:

bombs falling on homes, children buried under rubble,
silences heavier than gunfire.
And yet, we are called not to turn away.

So we ask:
Can we hold space for grief and still plant seeds of courage?
Can we witness suffering and not be consumed by it?
Can we keep our hearts soft when the world hardens around us?

Or shall we, like embers under ash, rise glowing into flame?
Shall we meet each devastation with a deeper vow to live justly?
Shall we draw on the sacred wells within us—empathy, resolve, and reverence?

In the first composition of Babarvani (Utterances on Babar), Guru Nanak Sahib does not shy away from pain.
The Guru records the terror of Babar’s invasion—how innocents cried out, how the land was stained with blood.
And yet, the Guru does not stop at lament. He offers Sabad—Divine Utterance.
The Guru frames even the violence within the expansive mystery of IkOankar, the 1.

In a world where kings become butchers and the defenseless lie scattered, the Guru sees not abandonment but divine Vastness.
The Guru does not explain away the horror—the Guru names it, feels it, records it—and still, bows to the awe of the Creator’s play.

The Guru bore witness.
The Guru spoke truth.
The Guru was imprisoned—and still, did not waver.

Can we, too, find clarity without hatred?
Can we, too, name injustice and still feel awe?
Can we, too, root ourselves in Nam, in the Eternal Identification, and remain anchored as the world shifts?

May we learn not to look away.
May we be transformed by the seeing.
May we walk this earth as witnesses and servants of truth.

May the Wisdom-Guru guide us!