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I listened carefully and heard Pita Jee trying to get out of his bed. I got up quickly and ran to his room. Approaching his 90th birthday, he had been getting increasingly weak, but continued to refuse help, doing things his own way.
Pita Jee was my father-in-law. Our love for each other had developed into father-daughter love; and then over time transcended into spiritual-love. When I had come to this house, I didn't know anything about gurbani (Guru's writings). He had patiently taught it to me; instilling the meanings of gurbani into my heart. He wouldn't ever let me read a line without first reflecting on its meaning.
One of his favorite lines was Naam is the cure for all ills (Guru Arjan Dev ji, sggs 274).
He not only evoked it frequently, but lived it too. He had never gone to the village doctor. Instead he relied on gurbani, insisting the true physician is the Guru. Whenever scolded by Mata Jee, my mother-in-law, he would sing My doctor is the Guru (Guru Arjan Dev ji, sggs 618)
If ever he did get sick (which happened more often as he aged), he would simply ask someone (usually me) to read gurbani at his bedside. It never failed to amaze me how gurbani affected him. I could actually see his face change color from pale to bright red after hearing just a few gurbani lines. In fact he used to declare that he only got sick when he didn't get enough gurbani into his blood!
I briefly knocked on his door before entering it – I was right, Pita Jee was trying, quite unsuccessfully, to get up from the bed. I ran up to him and whispered so as not to wake Mata Jee who was snoring away, "WHAT are you doing?"
He held on to my shoulder and said, "I need some gurbani!"
I whispered, "Do you realize its midnight?"
He nodded and after sitting up told me, "There is something very wrong, daughter, very wrong!"
He had been complaining about something being wrong for a few days now and I, for one, couldn't pinpoint anything wrong with him. He ate well, went for his daily walks, discussed gurbani enthusiastically and had slept soundly, up until a few moments earlier.
I sat close to him and asked, "What's bothering you, Pita Jee?"
He smiled weakly, "I don't know, dear one. Just something inside me has dried up. I feel as if my whole foundation has been shaken. I just don't know, I just don't know – I have never felt like this. Perhaps my time has come and this is what it is supposed to feel like??" He looked at me for re-assurance.
Inside, I knew he might be right, perhaps the time had come for him to go, but I smiled and said, "Hey! How will the world survive without you?"
His weak smile reached his eyes this time and he said, "Please read some gurbani."
After reciting Jap Ji Sahib, I asked Pita Jee if he felt any better. He looked sadly at me, "A little better but the … emptiness is still here," he answered clutching his heart - this really worried me.
After giving him a drink of water, I gently put him back to bed. On my way to my room, I heard someone trying to open the back door! My heart missed a beat. At this hour, only a thief would be prowling about! I coughed loudly to warn the thief of my presence. The door swung open creakily.
My hand went to my kripaan (sword), "Oh Guru Jee, please help me!" I prayed.
The intruder stumbled around in the dark; I stood there frozen, wishing the prowler would go away or I that would wake up from this nightmare. The burglar found a lantern and lit it! How daring! I had to do something. I mustered my courage and called out - lowering my voice as much as I could and trying to sound as brave as possible, I demanded, "Who is there?"
"It's me," replied the wavering voice of my husband!
I ran and hugged him. "Oh, my love; you have come back … alive and well!!" He hugged me back weakly. "Let me look at you!" I said pushing him back a little to get a good look at him.
I knew he would be lean and thin after so many months of war and hunger, but seeing the emptiness in his eyes shocked me into complete silence! For a moment, I thought there had been a mistake and that I embraced a stranger. I almost let go of him - I had never seen him like this. The man I held resembled a weak and broken shadow of my husband. Something was horrifically wrong!
He saw the shock in my eyes. I prodded him silently to tell me what had happened to him? He lowered his eyes and asked, "Is there any food?"
In a way, I was glad he didn't tell me right off. I wanted to prepare myself mentally first. As I warmed up food leftover from the night before, I went through all the possibilities of what could have gone wrong. Perhaps he had received some bad news from my village? Perhaps the battle had been lost and the Fort given up to the Moghuls? Perhaps… perhaps.. the Guru had fallen? No, it could not be possible. I would have felt it. Then my heart sank - perhaps this is what had made Pita Jee uneasy! I silently prayed, "O Guru, make me strong."
Pita Jee and Mata Jee had woken up, but quite surprisingly the children still slept. They came and welcomed their son - they hugged him asking lots of questions.
He gave short answers and kept his eyes on the floor. Mata Jee, like always, carried on and on, "Oh, it's so good to see you. You should sleep, my son, you look very tired. You're too thin. Eat something. Ahhh, good! Here's warm food, and your favorite too… perhaps the Guru knew that you would be coming? Eh?" She trailed off into an awkward silence...
My husband ate slowly and silently, looking at the food with apparent disgust. Eating seemed to become more and more unpleasant for him with each bite. He pushed away the plate, leaving most of the food untouched. He tried to get up, but he appeared confused. He sank back down, staring at the food with lost, bewildered eyes. Pita Jee and I looked at each other.
Had his parents not been there, I would have held my husband close and comforted him. I touched his arm and asked, "Sleep?" He slowly nodded and tried get up but just dropped down again. He bent over and put his face into his hands resting his head on his knees.
Mata Jee's face contorted in anguish as she insisted "My son, go to sleep. Whatever has happened, it will feel better after a good night's sleep…."
My husband replied slowly, "No mother, it will not."
Pita Jee finally spoke up, "OK, Son. We need to know what is going on!"
My husband sat in silence. Pita Jee asked the question we all had dreaded asking, "Is .. is the Guru … alright?" To our relief, my husband nodded.
Pita Jee decided that whatever had occurred, needed to be drilled out of his son. So he started his interrogation, "Is the Guru safe?"
"Yes, as far as I know. When we left, he was still in the Fort," my husband answered.
"So why did he ask you to leave?" Pita Jee asked.
No reply came from my husband. This visibly concerned his father. "Answer me!" he almost shouted raising his frail voice.
"He .. he .. did not say to go," my husband stammered.
"What do you mean, he didn't say to go?" asked our perplexed Pita Jee, "You mean you left without permission ... against his wishes?!"
My husband nodded his head. "You don't understand," he replied in a tortured voice, jumping up agitatedly. Suddenly quite animated and verbose, as if a flood gate had been opened, the words spilled out. "Our relentless attackers lay siege to our fort, cutting off our supply routes completely. We went without proper food for months. In desperate hunger we ate whatever we could find - even the trees within the Fortress. We stripped them bare of leaves which we boiled and ate; and fed their branches to our Ponies.
The Moghul forces sent messages offering save passage. They said that we, along with our… with the Guru could leave. The Guru refused. We pleaded with him to go, but without any success. He insisted we would be walking out into a trap. Finally a few of us, 40 to be exact, decided on our own to leave. We didn't want to face a meaningless death by starvation! Our presence only added to the burden of hunger the others faced." He walked over to the window and peered out into the dark night.
"Guru had us sign a bedava, a decree which declared that the Guru is no longer our Guru and we are no longer his Sikhs. We left the very same night …." He trailed off, turned around and sat down as if the last bit of energy in him had been spent justifying himself. He looked older and more worn than even Pita jee, who appeared even more stunned than the rest of us. I could not believe my ears. My mind could not take this in - my husband is no longer a Sikh of Guru Gobind Singh jee?! How could this have happened to a man whose very being revolved around the Guru? What madness drove him to this state?
After a long silence, Pita jee stood up with a fury usually only witnessed in much younger men. He flung the plate of uneaten food at my husband's face. Lentils splashed his face, smearing his beard and dripping to the floor. My husband didn't flinch from the impact nor attempted to clean his beard. He just sat there unmoving and shamed - his eyes still and cold, like 2 black lumps of coal.
Pita jees eyes flared, flaming like two red hot fiery burning pieces of coal. He lowered his voice. When he spoke he trembled with icy reserve. His words contained such impact they cause my husband to recoil.
Pita Jee pointed to the food on the floor. "You gave up Sikhi for this?!" He demanded, "Now eat it! EAT IT!! Eat this and fill yourself to your spineless content! I can't believe that you are my Son! Do you have any idea of the sacrifices my father made to get Sikhi?! You have thrown it away for food you won't even eat. You ungrateful … dog! Lick it from the floor. I am completely shamed by your actions! This family is forever disgraced!"
Then his fury turned to his wife, "I can't believe he came from your womb! Why did we bring such a son into this world? Why?!"
We sat in absolute silence for a few minutes. Even Mata Jee, who had never before let Pita jee go uninterrupted for long, sat unspeaking with a grave look on her face. Pita Jee hobbled over to a wall where his old sword hung. He turned around and said, "You slunk away when you were needed the most by the Khalsa. I," he straightened up "will have to bring honor back to this family!" His frail hands lifted the sword as he determinedly stated, "I will go and fight along the Guru!"
In his youth he had fought alongside Guru Hargobind Sahib Jee. He refused to let old age get in the way of his determination to continue fighting for the Guru! But alas, his aged body could not support his fighting spirit. He couldn't even unsheathe his sword despite many determined attempts. He let it slip from his hands disgusted with himself. He crumbled to the floor holding his head in his hands and wept.
Mata Jee slowly got up; turning to her son she said, "Rest, my son, the Guru will …" she stopped. Usually she would insist, "The Guru will take care of everything," but couldn't bring herself to say it. She went over to Pita jee and helped him walk to their bedroom.
Only I remained in the room with my husband. He looked at me pleadingly. He wanted reassurance from the person who he knew loved and supported him the most. I looked away, my confusion apparent. I couldn't meet his eyes. Wondering how this could have happened to him I took his hand. I cleaned his beard, drew his head on my shoulder and stroked his face. I knew, more than words, he needed my comforting touch. As though I could somehow redeem and relieve his anguish, he clung to me.
I knew from experience that he needed to let go of the grief and guilt clouding his heart before I could talk to him effectively. I felt his body heave as his tears came, flooding from him, shaking his fragile body. Between sobs he looked at me despairingly, "I am so sorry!" he insisted repeatedly. "I miss the Guru so much. I see His face continually. It never leaves me. I cannot sleep or eat. How could I have let him down … how?"
I held him close until all his tears had been released. I helped him up and took him to our bedroom and lay him on our bed.
I whispered softly "Sleep my love, sleep now, we will talk later."
He turned to me and asked me like a child would ask a mother, "What should I do?"
I whispered urgently, "You MUST go back and fight alongside the Guru!"
He shook his head, "No, there is no strength left in me. My Naam has gone! I am but a wasted walking skeleton now."
He wanted to say more but I softly interrupted him, "Sleep my love, sleep."
He slowly drifted off.
I thought about the situation. One thing seemed certain; my husband's wasted body, devoid of spirit could no longer fight. Neither could Pita jee's frail body, despite his devotion go to battle. So … so … I could think of only one alternative. I had to do it! I had the strength. I had vigor, vitality and valor. I would redeem my family's honor fighting alongside my Guru. It seemed so simple, why hadn't I thought of this before?! I felt a smile break across my face like the sun dispelling a dark cloud. In relief, I grinned giddily, gleefully ecstatic.
Carefully removing the sword from my sleeping husband, I put it on. Its weight steadied me. I felt a kind of calm and surety of purpose. Like all Khalsa, I had undergone martial training. My fighting spirit awoke rising within me. Although I had never seen any battles, there is always a first time, I thought to myself - I felt confident in my Guru's guidance. I hummed to myself excitedly. I felt ready to die fighting gloriously on the field of battle.
I heard a knock on the door and Pita Jee walked in. He looked so much older now, as if something holding him up had been taken away. He looked at me wearing the sword, "Yes, yes, that is precisely the right thing to do for you! As for me, I desperately need some gurbani. Please recite something with your angelic voice!"
Eager for the consolation of gurbani, we sang this shabad together:
Relying on your Mercy, Dear Lord,
I have indulged in sensual pleasures.
Like a foolish child, I have made mistakes.
O Lord, You are my Father and Mother.
It is easy to speak of and talk about it,
but to follow your will is the most difficult task
(Guru Arjan Dev Ji, sggs 51)
I couldn't remember the rest of that shabad and so I started another one:
A child who innocently makes thousands of mistakes
is first scolded and then is hugged close in a fatherly embrace;
the father forgives the child's past mistakes
and teaches him the True way for the future.
(Guru Arjan Dev Ji, sggs 624)
After our keertan, Pita Jee felt better; he wearily admitted, "Even this is in the Guru's will!" He stroked his soundly sleeping son's face saying, "Perhaps I spoke too harshly to him." He bade me goodbye and urged me not to see my children before I left, lest I get mired down in attachment.
To tell the truth; thinking of my children made me uneasy with my decision. Yes, I was attached to them, but more than that I worried that they would be raised by a man whose spirit had broken. I always believed that WaheGuru gave children to parents who could help them reach their spiritual potential. I knew my husband could no longer serve as their father in the spiritual sense. But, I rationalized; the children had come to this world with their own destiny. Perhaps they would reach their potential in precisely the situation they were going to be thrust into.
But despite my attempts to encourage and comfort my misgivings, I felt a tug in the deep recess of my heart while I readied myself for the journey. Remembering the starving condition of those besieged, I began packing as much foodstuff as I could carry.
...next part
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