A Pyrrhic victory
The second in a series by the author to mark the up-coming thirty-third anniversary of the attack on the Sri Harmandir Sahib (The Golden Temple)
Also by the Author : The Semantics of the 1984 Genocide & The Bugbear of Khalistan
June 5, 1984. 6:30 a.m. A volley of bullets from automatic weapons. A frail old form, bloodied, falls to the ground just outside the Sri Harmandir Sahib, never to rise again. His gnarled hands do not clutch an AK-47, or even an old bolt action rifle. His sightless eyes look up at the morning sky as the life ebbs out of him. He is Bhai Amrik Singh, the blind Head Ragi (minstrel) at the Sri Harmandir Sahib.
The story of his death was recounted to the investigative team of Human Rights activists sent to Amritsar by Citizens For Democracy in the aftermath of Operation Bluestar, by his adopted son, Bhai Harcharan Singh Ragi, who was inside the Sri Harmandir Sahib, when the Indian Army attack started on June 4, 1984.
There are many tragic and poignant stories that filtered out after Operation Blue Star, despite the India Government’s attempts to whitewash the brutal massacre and the effectiveness of its propaganda machine. The accounts of various Ragis and other brave Sikh men and women, who despite the flying bullets and the incessant bombardment made valiant attempts to continue the singing of the Asa Di Var at the Sri Harmandir Sahib and Sri Akal Takhat in the morning and the completion of the Sodar Chaunki in the evening, the distribution of Karah Parshad are almost hard to believe. Who in their right minds would be worrying about tradition or Maryada at a time like this! What could possibly inspire ordinary men and women to rise to such extraordinary heights of bravery and commitment?
Thirty three years after Operation Bluestar, as I start to reflect on Bhai Amrik Singh and thousands of the other unwitting martyrs of 1984, my thoughts go back to the original Sikh martyr and the dignity and grace with which he submitted to the will of God, three hundred and seventy-eight years before. Perhaps it was no accident that when the Indian Army attacked the Sri Harmandir Sahib complex in 1984, the vast majority of the innocent men, women and children who perished had come to commemorate the martyrdom of Sri Guru Arjan, the fifth Sikh Guru.
Guru Arjan’s beloved Sikh, Bhai Gurdas, who was also his uncle and his amanuensis, has this to say about the martyrdom of his beloved Guru in the 23rd Paudi (stanza) of his 24th Vaar (ballad):
Imbued in the Lord, he finds release A joyous fish in water free In the light of God his soul effaced His being afire, a moth aflame Embraced his pain lost in the Lord Uncaring faun no fear of death Honey drenched a drunken bee Enraptured, lost, of pain bereft A trilling song of love his breath Sweet songbird till the moment last Sweet solace, peace, a gentle calm Wrack’d body finds amidst the flock This wondrous tale of glorious flight To you I am, a sacrifice
Such was the glorious passing of Guru Arjan! Perhaps it was his spirit that pervaded the innocent martyrs of 1984 as they faced death with courage and equanimity.
The trials and tribulations of Guru Arjan as he was martyred are well documented. In the following excerpt from the Jahangirnama or Tuzk-e-Jahangiri, the Mughal Emperor’s autobiography, Jahangir, the occupant of the throne of Delhi, clearly acknowledges his role in the execution and torture of Guru Arjan.
There was a Hindu named Arjan in Gobindwal on the banks of the Beas River. Pretending to be a spiritual guide, he had won over as devotees many simple minded Indians and even some ignorant, stupid Muslims by broadcasting his claims to be a saint. They called him guru. Many fools [/dervish-garbed worshippers] from all around had recourse to him and believed in him implicitly. For three or four generations they had been pedaling this same stuff. For a long time I had been thinking that either this false trade should be eliminated or that he should be brought into the embrace of Islam. At length, when Khusraw passed by there, this inconsequential little fellow wished to pay homage to Khusraw. When Khusraw stopped at his residence, [Arjan] came out and had an interview with [Khusraw]. Giving him some elementary spiritual precepts picked up here and there, he made a mark with saffron on his forehead, which is called qashqa in the idiom of the Hindus and which they consider lucky. When this was reported to me, I realized how perfectly false he was and ordered him brought to me. I awarded his houses and dwellings and those of his children to Murtaza Khan, and I ordered his possessions and goods confiscated and him executed.
The account is corroborated in a letter written on 25 September 1606 by a Portuguese priest Father Jerome Xavier from Lahore, which is presented in translation in the work Jahangir And The Jesuits:
While the Prince was flying from Agra, he passed the spot where there dwelt one whom the Gentiles call Goru [Guru], a title equivalent to that of Pope amongst the Christians. This person was looked upon as a saint, and was greatly venerated. On account of his reputation for holiness, the Prince went to see him, hoping apparently that this would bring him good fortune. The Goru congratulated him on his new royalty, and placed his tiara on his head. Although the Prince was a Moor, the Goru deemed it lawful to bestow on him this mark of dignity, proper only to a gentile, since he was the son of a Pagan woman; and the Prince accepted it, believing the Goru to be a saint. When, after his son’s capture, the King heard of this circumstance, he ordered the Goru to be apprehended, and for some time kept him a prisoner. However, certain Gentiles interceded on behalf of their holy man, and in the end he was allowed to purchase his freedom for a hundred thousand crusados for which sum a wealthy Gentile became his surety. Now this man thought that either the King would remit the fine or that the Goru would himself provide, or at any rate find some means of raising, the sum required. But in these hopes he was disappointed, and in consequence he proceeded to take from the wretched pontiff all his worldly possessions, including the furniture of his house, and even the clothes of his wife and children; for these gentiles regard neither Pope nor Father where money is concerned. And when this did not suffice to pay the fine, he subjected him to every kind of ill-usage, causing him to be beaten with slippers, and preventing food from being given to him, in the hope that his victim, to escape from his sufferings, would produce the money which he still believed him to possess. But neither the Goru nor those about him could meet the demands of his tormenter; and at last the poor man died, overcome by the miseries heaped upon him by those who had formerly paid him reverence. The Gentile sought to escape his obligations by flight, but he was taken, and having been deprived of everything that he possessed, was thrown into prison, where he died.
After Guru Arjan’s passing a tradition took hold, probably as a result of Mughals propaganda to shift blame away from the Emperor for his execution. Chandu Shah, a Hindu who had unsuccessfully sought the hand of the young Harbgobind, Guru Arjan’s son, for his daughter was portrayed as the main villain and the person responsible for the Guru’s torture and death. Notable Sikh historian Ganda Singh, however believes that the ‘wealthy Gentile’ referred to in Father Xavier’s letter, who tried to save Guru Arjan’s life by collecting funds to pay the fine imposed upon him was none other than the much maligned Chandu Shah!
Sikh historians have provided detailed accounts of Guru Arjan’s torture and death. Indignities of every sort were heaped upon him. He was made to sit on a heated iron plate until his entire body was covered with blisters. Bowls of heated sand were poured upon his head. But he bore the ghastly torture with an air of poise and dignity, which completely confounded his tormentors.
Bhai Gurdas did not write about the specific trials and tribulations of his Guru. One can only speculate about the deep pain and trauma that he and all of Guru Arjan’s Sikhs must have experienced as eyewitnesses to this horror. But he did record the manner in which the Guru left the world in his writings.
There is a beautiful story wrapped around the poise and dignity with which Guru Arjan accepted the will of God.
Of all the Guru’s Sikhs who were present at the time of his torture, there was one who must have experienced particular distress because of his close relationship with the Guru. Hailing from the faraway province of Seestaan, he was a respected holy man in his own right, wise and respected. He had come to reside in Lahore, the provincial capital and the seat of power in the Punjab. He first encountered the young Arjan in Lahore, where he had sent by his father Guru Ramdas and instructed to remain there until sent for, far away from the internecine squabbles among his siblings. The Guru’s young son and the older holy man recognized in each other, kindred spirits and would spend hours together in prayer and discussion. The holy man’s name was Main-Ul Islam. He was a Muslim Pir or holy man, popularly known as Miyan Mir.
Their friendship flowered as the years passed. The young Arjan was now Guru Arjan and Miyan Mir was his devoted Sikh. When the Guru was about to embark on a new project, he sent word for Miyan Mir and asked him to visit Ramdaspur, a settlement that had been established by his father. The Guru had been inspired to construct a grand temple, dedicated not to any God or Goddess from the Hindu Pantheon, as was the norm, but to the One Creator of the Universe. It was to be a temple like no other. It was to have four doors, a testament to the principle of equality, inviting men women and children from all directions and even more importantly, all four castes to come together in worship. A lake in Ramdaspur known as Sudha Sar Sarovar was chosen as the site and in a gesture that was unprecedented in its catholicism, the Guru asked his beloved friend Miyan Mir, a Muslim to lay the foundation stone of the Sri Harmandir Sahib.
It is said that Miyan Mir baulked at the notion to the point that he questioned the Guru about his intent. A man of great humility, Miyan Mir genuinely felt that Guru Arjan himself was the appropriate person to lay the foundation stone and when he expressed his sentiments to the Guru, he was met with an enigmatic smile. ‘Two foundations are to be laid here Sain Miyan Mir’ he said. ‘You shall lay one and I the other’. Miyan Mir was puzzled but the Guru did not elaborate.
Years passed. The bonds of affection between Miyan Mir and the Guru only deepened. It is said that one day Miyan Mir appeared at the Guru’s court, his brow furrowed, very apparently in a somewhat perplexed state. After he had paid his respects and the usual pleasantries had been exchanged, the Guru gently asked Miyan Mir if all was well, remarking that he seemed preoccupied and perturbed. The Muslim Pir, with some hesitation, worried that he might sound impertinent, somewhat hesitatingly expressed his concern. ‘My beloved Guru’, he began. ‘It is often my habit to seek solace in your magnificent composition the Sukhmani Sahib, which brings peace and joy to whoever recites it and ponders it. Yet, of late, my mind is besieged by doubts as I try to immerse myself in the Sukhmani. In particular, when I get to the seventh shabad of the ninth Ashtpadi (form of poetry that has eight line stanzas), I find myself floundering in a sea of doubt and my mind simply refuses to go on. My hesitation and my doubts are the source of my agitation My Guru. I beg you for succor’.
Guru Arjan looked as his friend with love and compassion, not in the least offended by Miyan Mir’s question, knowing him to be a sincere and devout Sikh. ‘Go on Sain Miyan Mir’ he said. ‘Share with us all, the words that give your mind pause. The words that your mind refuses to accept. Have no fear. Perhaps everyone will learn something from your question’.
The Guru’s court was abuzz. Was Miyan Mir, on of the Guru’s most beloved, respected and celebrated Sikhs, challenging the Guru? Would the Guru get angry? Perhaps he might even call upon the learned and the wise in the court to respond to Miyan Mir’s question.
The Muslim Pir closed his eyes and began to declaim the words that were the cause of his turmoil :
prabh kee aagiaa aatham hithaavai || jeevan mukath sooo kehaavai || thaisaa harakh thaisaa ous sog || sadhaa ana(n)dh theh nehee bioug || thaisaa suvaran thaisee ous maattee || thaisaa a(n)mrith thaisee bikh khaattee || thaisaa maan thaisaa abhimaan || thaisaa ra(n)k thaisaa raajaan || jo varathaaeae saaee jugath || naanak ouhu purakh keheeai jeevan mukath ||7||
The one who loves the will of God He alone can be called free Sorrow to him, is naught but joy He who clings to the Lord with glee Gold to him is but a pile of dust Bitter poison nectar sweet Of glory cares he not a whit In beggars he sees royal grace The one who loves the will of God Says Nank he is truly free
‘What of the Shabad Sain Ji ?’ asked the Guru. ‘Why do these words perturb you so?’
‘My Master’ said the agitated Miyan Mir. ‘To all your Sikhs, your words are Gospel. They are Truth. And yet as I ponder these words, I wonder. Is it possible for any human to attain such a state? Is this hyperbole? Were you perhaps using these powerful words to motivate your Sikhs? Surely such beings, as you describe in the Shabad exist only in the world of imagination?‘
The whole court was holding its collective breath. The Guru’s word had been challenged. Not in impertinence for sure. But it had been. And that too by Sain Miyan Mir! How would the Guru respond?
Utter silence!
And then the Guru smiled that same enigmatic smile and warmly addressed Miyan Mir. ‘My dear friend’, he said. ‘ Your question deserves an answer. And it will be answered. But not today. You will need to be patient’.
Miyan Mir looked at the Guru, deeply disappointed; fearful that his advancing age might rob him of the opportunity to understand the true meaning of the shabad that plagued him so, but did not say anything.
The days turned into years. Miyan Mir’s beard turned completely grey. He continued to visit his beloved Guru, outwardly calm but with his angst at the unanswered question gnawing at his entrails. After all, the Guru had asked him to be patient. It would be unbecoming and disrespectful to betray any anxiety.
It was an excessively hot summer’s day in the month of May in 1606.
The Guru’s court looked very different that day. He was surrounded by his beloved Sikhs, but anguish was writ large on their faces. The Guru calmly invoked the Name of the Lord, but today he was dressed in tattered rags and his entire body was covered with blisters. His lips appeared dry and chapped as they incessantly moved, despite the rain of heated sand falling on his head. The hot air, thick with menace seemed to ripple with the hate filled glances of Murtaza Khan, The Emperor Jahangir’s vassal and his hard faced men.
It was the fifth day of the Guru’s torment. For four days he had been denied food, water and repose. Repeatedly, Mughal officials would demand that he pay hefty fines before he would be allowed any food or water. The Guru steadfastly refused, maintaining that not a rupee from the offerings that the Guru’s beloved Sikhs had provided would be used to pay an unjust fine.
At this point, a bent old figure stormed upon the scene and entered the charnel house where the Guru was being tortured. It was Sain Miyan Mir, beloved of mendicants and Emperors alike. A well-known and highly respected figure in Lahore, he was permitted to enter and proceed unimpeded to the Guru’s side. Long before he reached the Guru’s side the old man could smell his burning flesh. A cry of anguish escaped his lips, as he beheld the Guru. The Guru who sat on a velvet cushion as he held court, today seated on a blistering hot metal plate. The Guru who sat under royal awnings with his beloved Sikhs fanning him and honoring him with a Chaur (a symbol of respect; a whisk made of the hair of a Yak) today sat with a stream of hot sand pouring down on his head.
But hark! What did the old man hear? From the Guru’s chapped and bleeding lips, in a calm, unwavering voice, the glorious strains of the Sukhmani!
The old man listened closely.
The Guru was reciting the seventh Shabad (hymn) of the eighteenth Ashthpadi.
thapath maahi t(h)aadt varathaaee || anadh bhaeiaa dhukh naat(h)ae bhaaee || janam maran kae mittae a(n)dhaesae || saadhhoo kae pooran oupadhaesae || bho chookaa nirabho hoe basae || sagal biaadhh man thae khai nasae || jis kaa saa thin kirapaa dhhaaree || saadhhasa(n)g jap naam muraaree || thhith paaee chookae bhram gavan || sun naanak har har jas sravan ||7||
In burning heat He offers calm As joy pervades my pain is gone And then dispels my fear of death The wisdom of my Master’s words I am at last, bereft of fear My mind is pure, of evil cleansed He made us all and blessed us too Let us all join, heap Him with praise He cleansed my mind gave me repose O Nanak when I heard His song
The words sank in. Their import became clear. Miyan Mir stood transfixed. Mesmerized.
And then he raised both hands up in the air and a wail burst from his lips. My Lord ! My Lord ! My Beloved Guru! Forgive me my trespass! Forgive me for doubting you even for an instant! I understand! I understand!
In a flash Sain Miyan Mir understood that the Guru’s words in the seventh Shabad of the ninth Ashtpadi! This was not hyperbole! They weren’t flights of fancy. They were the second foundation that the Guru had referred to, years ago, when he had summoned the sage to lay the foundation stone of the Harmandir Sahib. With his body, Guru Arjan created the underpinnings of the edifice that was completed by his grandson, ninety-three years later, at the greatest gathering of Sikhs ever in the hallowed precincts of Anandpur Sahib. On that day, Guru Arjan’s willingness to pay the ultimate price for the sake of justice and liberty bore fruit and forever transformed a people.
In 1606 Jahangir commanded Mutraza Khan to strike fear into the hearts of the Sikhs, to stem the egalitarian Tsunami that had been unleashed by the ideals of Guru Nanak, by torturing and killing the Fifth Nanak. History records the dismal failure of Murtaza Khan to carry out the bidding of the Emperor of Delhi.
Thirty years ago, General Kuldip Singh Brar and his minions set out similarly for The Harmandir Sahib at the command of the Empress of Delhi. He did not fare much better than Murtaza Khan.
History is never kind to tyrants.
Sarbpreet Singh is a playwright, commentator and poet, who has been writing while pursuing a career in technology for several years. He is the author of Kultar’s Mime, a poem about the 1984 Sikh Genocide. His commentary has appeared on NPR’s Morning Edition and Worldview, The Boston Herald, The Providence Journal, The Milwaukee Journal and several other newspapers and magazines. He is the founder and director of the Gurmat Sangeet Project, a non-profit dedicated to the preservation of traditional Sikh music and serves on the boards of various non-profits focused on service and social justice. He is very active in Boston Interfaith circles and serves as a spiritual advisor at Northeastern University.