Upon emerging from the Kālī Veīn on the third day, Gurū Nanak did not have a temple constructed for his veneration. The Purātana Janamasākhī maintains that he instead went and sat with fakīrs, with Bhāī Mardana at his side. The people and Daulat Khan Lodi assumed some misfortune had befallen Gurū Nanak during his unexplained disappearance by the river. Many assumed the worst when the search party returned empty-handed, the Khan regretting the loss of a ‘good vizier’. When Gurū Nanak broke his silence the day after his reappearance, he famously declared, ‘There is no Hindū; there is no Musalamāna’.
The people reported this to Daulat Khan, and he despaired of receiving any explanation, believing Gurū Nanak had become a fakīr. The Qazī pressed the Khan to look further into this strange utterance, so he called for Gurū Nanak, whereupon the Gurū asked what care he could possess for the wishes of their Khan. The people exclaimed that he must have gone ‘insane’. By way of reply, the Gurū instructed Bhāī Mardana to play the rabāb, and the Janamasākhī presents him as singing a hymn in Rāga Marū, cataloging the various names people call ‘poor Nanak’: ‘ghost’, ‘demon’, ‘mortal’.
Before returning from the river, Gurū Nanak, of course, received an altogether different name according to the Purātana Janamasākhī. He had been summoned into the court of Paramesaru—the ‘Supreme Lord’—who proclaims, ‘My name is Pārabhramu Paramesaru; your name is Gurū Paramesaru’. Where ‘Pārabhamu’may be said to denote the ‘Supreme Reality’ as all-pervading and transcending all possible comprehension, ‘Gurū’ designates the capacity to enlighten. Gurū Nanak’s ensuing interaction with the Qāzī marvelously demonstrates the Gurū’s art of definition.
‘Being called a Musalamāṇu is difficult; if one genuinely is one, then let one be called a Musalamāṇu’ (SGGS: 141). Gurū Nanak then goes on to detail the inner attributes of a true Muslim—one worthy of the name—from discovering the sweetness in the Prophet’s rule to acting mercifully towards all beings. He had likewise defined his own alleged ‘insanity’ as love for the Lord. When it came time to offer namāz, Gurū Nanak laughed at the proceedings, explaining that the prayers were not accepted by the Lord as the Qāzī’s mind was elsewhere. As it happened, the Qāzī’s horse had recently given birth, and worries that it might drown in the well flooded his mind as he was reciting his prayers. Upon realizing that what the Gurū said was true, the Qāzī fell at Gurū Nanak’s feet.
These edifying sākhīs are, of course, familiar across the GurSikh world—to children and the elderly alike. I recount these pivotal events in the genesis of GurSikhī as described in a key hagiographical work to reflect more generally on GurSikhī’s illuminating inner coherence. After the episodes related, Gurū Nanak and his inseparable companion travel along rivers and across jungles, interacting with seekers and sinners, holding everyone accountable for their thoughts, words, and actions. Gurū Nanak’s revelatory experience of supreme oneness results in leaving home, and ultimately, in embarking on four great journeys. Known in GurSikh tradition as the four usdāsīs, their name suggests a detachment or indifference of some kind. Certainly there was indifference to the acclaim he received from Hindus and Muslims, rulers and ascetics. No blandishments could sway him from his divinely appointed duty. One certainly does not travel as widely as Gurū Nanak did if one is apathetic, yet his usdāsīs are marked neither by missionary zeal nor by vagrant wandering. Gurū Nanak exemplifies a spirit of dialogue, journeying across creation in celebration of the Oneness pervading all variety.
Gurū Nanak’s frequently-quoted declaration that ‘There is no Hindū; there is no Musalamāna’ is often interpreted as recognition of a human solidarity that undercuts sectarian difference. Articulating what unites us is welcome amidst the clash of warring tribalisms, but it would be a shame if our analysis penetrated no deeper. If this first approach furnishes a social imperative, a second account of this proposition may hinge on the question of ontology.
If, speaking precisely, only the One exists, then there are neither Hindus nor Muslims. Similarly, there would be no stars, moons, rivers, trees, animals, or people of any kind. Created things, coming into and going out of existence as it pleases the One, would not fundamentally exist in the same way as does the Creator. While such a position may be metaphysically true and invite valuable mystical investigation, this interpretation does not explain why Gurū Nanak chose to deny the existence of two such charged nominals at such a key moment.
Following the internal logic of the events and their account in the Purātana Janamasākhī related above, I propose a third—and not mutually-exclusive—possibility. Rather than denying what is at least the phenomenal existence of Hindus and Muslims, Gurū Nanak is arguably rendering a contingent judgement on how adequately the individuals before him are—or, as it happens—are not realizing the essential virtues of the faiths they profess. While the Qāzī was saying the words that are to be said while offering nāmāz, it could not be accepted as namāz in the court of the Lord because his mind wandered into the well of domestic anxiety.
Names on this understanding of language are sacred ‘bundles’ of necessary and sufficient virtues, the possession of which furnishes approval in the Lord’s court. Eternal honor is not won by merely laying claim to a name, but through perfecting the corresponding virtues. Our external forms are of trifling worth absent inner realization. And in the case of the human mind, this entails recognizing one is most fundamentally an embodiment of the divine light, called to know the originary One (SGGS: 440). Within this conceptual constellation, consider the radiant meaning of ‘Sati Nāmu’or the priceless activity that is ‘Nāma Simarana’. As an onto-linguistic corollary, for anything that may be properly named, there exists a corresponding perfection. Gurū Nanak’s ability to celebrate and illuminate the One’s creative fecundity then achieves that rarest of universalisms, which never succumbs to exclusivism’s mistaking the sufficient for the necessary.
_____
Nihal Singh