Master of Masters came to us

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. 

The Saga of Sulakhni

A chapter from the life of Guru Nanak, The Light :

Part - 1

Reveling in conjugal bliss with the Light,
she walks on the path, wise and right.
Her life perfect, euphoric and joyous.
Meaningful too, not shallow nor pompous.
Oft she dwells on the Supreme absolute,
sits with laity and sings hymns to the lute.
Questions the blinding ritualistic grasps,
raises the parish beyond worldly clasps.
Serves the congregation with utmost love,
follows His Word from the heavens above.

 

Part - 2

And thus she lives as days pass by,
saintly, exalted figure, people doth deify.
Sulakhni, they call her, the virtuous one.
In the Light, she finds, her midnight sun.
Sincere and earnest, her faith is rewarded.
She says, it happens – this boon is awarded.


Part - 3
 
There are zealots there and scoffers too,
plenty of them, jeering at all that you do.
And so a bunch of cynics is waiting today,
to test her faith, to mock and downplay.
Skilled ascetics, with powers immense,
elements they control with practice intense.
Adept they are, they have mastered God,
they walk on waters as common men laud.
Flawed in their thinking, their vision is gone.
Long past the divinity, only body and brawn.


Part - 4
 
So they wait in hiding, as patrons sing
songs of glory, attuned to harp with string.
Mellow and tuned, their litanies enthrall.
In the kitchens, she cooks meals for all,
with dullops of faith and tempered with prayers.
In the hands of Light, they rest their affairs.


Part - 5

She does not count nor measures cups or scoops.
Every bite a delight, the food prompts some whoops.
With faith she fills the buckets and breadbaskets,
serving everyone fervently, without looking at caskets.
The parishioners are leaving, happy and content.
Relishing the time they have beautifully spent.
Some stay back to help her clean the place,
some help with utensils, some mop the space.
Soaked in the color of True Name, they all work hard,
selflessly they serve, with devotion and regard.


Part - 6
 
Unfriendly ones, lurking in shadows dense,
Mala fide their drift, they begin the pretence.
Forth to the shrine, to smear and malign,
Psalm songs echo, the beginning of design.
Chanting and praying, they reach the hermitage,
Servitors announce a total hundred and fifty sage.


Part - 7

Fickle these saints, and unfaithful their curtsy.
Yet the Light smiles, a brimming fountain of mercy.
All knowing, all pervading, the Light calls for supper.
Sardonic smiles of sages, while servants shudder.
They bow before the Light, with flustered minds,
And they reach Sulakhni to succour left behinds.
They sink into sadness, there's no way they can feed,
For the sages are ravenous, athirst with greed.
But Sulakhni smiles, these are orders of the Light,
And His shall ever prevail, boundless is His Might!


Part - 8

She prays and she chants, while she hands out plates,
no one has ever returned hungry from His gates.
Then she hands out the breadbasket to the steward chief.
Covers it with 'kerchief, and recites psalms with belief.
The steward looks askance at the meagre divide.
Just five flatbreads, for the savage lions and their pride.


Part - 9

Unwavered in resolve, Sulakhni tells him to begin,
not to remove the 'kerchief, but to pray deep within.
To add dullops of clarified butter to their meals,
to top it with sugar, to mark servings with faithful seals.
And the believers bow humbly and serve this faction,
Glory be to Thee, the hermits are dazed at this action.
There's bread on every plate and sugar in every scoop,
a rich meal on every platter, no one left in the troop.
And the men eat a hearty supper with relish and delight,
Defeated, yet sated, it is such a wonderful sight.


Part - 10

Finished with the meals, they thank and they rise,
accept their pettiness, do away with disguise.
But one of their men plays on, he asks for more,
portion after portion, he asks with a roar,
his powers help him to increase his hunger,
stupifies everyone, and makes them wonder.


Part - 11

Baffled and confounded they seek Her help.
How do we satiate him, they ask with a yelp.
She smiles and she thinks of Lord Almighty,
and she prepares the plate for the highty-tighty.
Glory be to Thee, one bread of Thy Name.
And the sage loses his powers, fails in his game.
The Light smiles and showers grace on His men,
The sages learn from Him and return to their den.
Thus ends the story, the saga of Sulakhni, the blessed.
Faith, belief and devotion, all glitches redressed. 

Welfare unto all

Rab Rakha