Fourth in a series by the author in response to Donald Trump’s presidency:
The year is 1520. A gentle prophet, who is laying the foundation of what will one day become a major world religion is in Sayyidpur, a small dusty town that lies in modern day Pakistan, and is now known as Eminabad . The town has been laid waste by the depredations of a brash conqueror, an Uzbek adventurer from Central Asia who will go on to found one of the mightiest dynasties the world has ever known. The prophet is Guru Nanak, the founder of the Sikh faith and the warlord is Babur, the patriarch of the great Mughals.
The conquering horde has put Sayyidpur to the sword. The narrow streets, awash in blood resound with the piteous wailing of disconsolate women lamenting the death of their menfolk and the indignities that each one of them has been subjected to.
Guru Nanak is not known as a firebrand. He is a man of infinite compassion and he has walked the world, spreading his gospel of tolerance and equality. He is verily the prophet of love and peace.
And yet, so moved is he by the sights he has seen, he intrepidly addresses Babur, thundering:
raaje seeh mukadham kute || jaae jagaaeina baithe sute ||
Kings are hungry lions; their servants rabid dogs
Foes of soothing restful sleep; the mindless servile cogs
chaakar nahadhaa paaeina ghaau || rat pit kutiho chaT jaahu ||
The lackeys of the evil king; waving talon and claw
They prey on common gentle-folk; their tender flesh they gnaw
The man who sleeps uneasily in the presidential bed at1600 Pennsylvania Avenue seems to think of himself as a King. Drunk with power; surrounded by lackeys eager to do his bidding, completely unencumbered by any notions of right or wrong. How can this not invoke visions of tyrants past? New songs of protest are being written every day, but for now Guru Nanak’s song of protest and resistance has so completely invaded my head that it plays of its own accord each time the talons of the King and his minions find their mark.
As I watch the surreal spectacle of an obscenely wealthy King, egging on his lackeys to cruelly deprive millions of the indigent of their healthcare, the only response I can come up with is
raaje seeh mukadham kute || jaae jagaaeina baithe sute ||
As the King cravenly submits to another King, even wealthier than him and decidedly more brutal and more corrupt, denying his excesses and trying to whitewash his obscene trespasses against his own nation, the the only response I can come up with is
raaje seeh mukadham kute || jaae jagaaeina baithe sute ||
As the King, with an unseemly smirk on his face exhorts his foot-soldiers in the police to routinely rough up suspects, while they still enjoy the presumption of innocence, the bedrock that the nation’s justice system rests on, the the only response I can come up with is
raaje seeh mukadham kute || jaae jagaaeina baithe sute ||
As the King, eager to score cheap points with the lumpen that revere him, cruelly declares as outcasts, dedicated men and women, who have pledged their lives and well being to protecting the nation, the the only response I can come up with is
raaje seeh mukadham kute || jaae jagaaeina baithe sute ||
As the King’s lackeys seek to withdraw equal protection under the law, from the most vulnerable of his subjects, the only response I can come up with is
raaje seeh mukadham kute || jaae jagaaeina baithe sute ||
As the King’s lackeys threaten to claw back the tiniest of accommodations, meager recompense given to a people for decades of enslavement and institutionalized discrimination, the only response I can come up with is
raaje seeh mukadham kute || jaae jagaaeina baithe sute ||
As long as this King sits upon the throne this song will alas, need to be sung many more times. And yet there is hope! For each time the King and his merciless minions have bared their talons, heroes have emerged. Heroes who put themselves at risk again and again and use their bodies to shield the weak as the wrath of the powerful descends upon them.
Despite the might of Babur, it is Guru Nanak who has the last word when at the end of the song he says:
jithai jeeaa(n) hosee saar ||nakaee(n) vadda(n)ee laaeitabaar ||2||
Beware O King of judgement day; for naught will be riches or fame
Each mighty king who did break faith; reap he will, nothing but shame
Fear not, you writers of today’s songs of protest. For in the end, you shall prevail. The time of Babur passed, as shall the time of this unworthy King.
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.