I found myself unexpectedly at the Gurū’s door, when a
tender of the Granth of graying beard and kindly eyes
beckoned for me to enter within. So I obeyed, and
once he was satisfied I was not hungry or in any
immediate peril, led me to the spacious hall
where the congregation assembled, for
there remained work to do before
the Gurū’s divān could begin. I
grasped at once my arrival made four,
the ideal number for blanketing the floor
with pristine sheets of white cotton, on which
the devotees would gather to hear sung the soul-
ferrying Word. So I took up the spot at the empty corner,
beginning a silent dance with the lion kitty-corner, when my
jerky descent caught the keen Granthī’s attention. Then in
that delicate moment of spiritual correction—too seldom
the catalyst for careful reflection, too often authority’s
mystifying growl, (where an invitation into a more
conscious, a holier way of being is essential)—
that worthy Granthī, in two simple words,
lived the lesson he wished to gift me:
“piār nāl,” said he, ‘with love.’
____
Nihal Singh