In the serene sanctuary of Guru Arjan Dev's abode, Mata Ganga fervently yearned for a son to perpetuate the sacred lineage. Seeking divine guidance, she turned to her revered husband for counsel. Guru Arjan Dev directed her to seek the blessings of Baba Buddha ji, the venerable saint renowned for his profound spiritual insight and bestowed blessings.
Determined to secure Baba ji's divine favor, Mata Ganga meticulously orchestrated a feast of opulence, prepared by skilled attendants, and embarked on a journey to meet the saint. Amidst a procession of devotion and grandeur, she arrived at Baba Buddha ji's presence, her heart brimming with anticipation. Yet, to her surprise, the saint gently refused the sumptuous offering, emphasizing the purity of intent over material opulence.
Undeterred and guided by a mother's unwavering love, Mata Ganga humbly resolved to personally prepare a meal of heartfelt simplicity—a humble fare of "missi roti," delicately crafted with gram flour, lassi and onions. With each ingredient infused with her earnest prayers, she presented this modest yet profound offering to Baba ji once again.
Moved by Mata Ganga's genuine humility and the sincerity of her offering, Baba Buddha ji accepted the simple repast with a smile that radiated warmth and divinity. As he partook of the nourishment, his eyes sparkled with the insight of ages, and in a gesture as profound as it was simple, he blessed Mata Ganga. With serene conviction, he prophesied that her son would emerge as a stalwart warrior, destined to crush the oppressors with a strength as mighty and inevitable as the crushing of an onion beneath a clenched fist.
True to the saint's prophetic words, Mata Ganga and Guru Arjan Dev were blessed with a son, who would later be revered as Guru Hargobind, the sixth Sikh Guru. His life would exemplify the harmonious blend of spiritual wisdom and martial valor, inspiring generations with his resolute teachings and courageous deeds, embodying the very essence of Sikh ethos.
My poem endeavours to encapsulate this very historic narrative:
Thus say the chronicles for Mother Ganga's desire
shenanigans of an heir, awaited longingly by sire.
Oh! Thy fifth house longed for baby's cries,
for lullabies at night and in the day, I-spies.
One fine day, when the thought too much to bear,
Mother Ganga prayed - Gracious Lord please hear.
The Lord heard her ardent and earnest prayer,
decreed that Buddha ji would deal her despair.
From Thy fifth house, a cavalcade starts,
to seek a favor, an intense desire of hearts.
The herd of thoroughbred, Arabian horses,
through the dusty forest greens, oh, it courses.
A nebula rises, a massive cloud of dust.
Winds howl loud, cacophony ‘neath the crust.
The caravan stops before a hermitage,
descending to seek blessings from sage.
Luxurious gifts, baskets of delicious breads,
sumptuous meals, gold and silken threads.
The sage, the wise savant seer, smiled,
didn't touch the offerings, they remain piled.
Mother Ganga bowed with grace and nobility,
the learned grasscutter, replied with all humility.
No boons he had with him, worthy for royalty,
For he valued gifts of pure faith and loyalty.
The trip was a lesson, a learning to pursue,
Thy Goodself in fifth house always knew.
From Thy kitchens, the aroma of chickpea flour,
Flatbreads in basket, onion and buttermilk in ewer.
Lovingly Mother Ganga travelled, this time alone,
barefoot she walked, to his sanctum home.
Absolutely happy, the sage relished his meal,
Smashed the onion, and granted his seal.
And then The Master of Masters came to us,
Thy gracious self in sixth house thus.
