Fruit called shaabaash

THE kernel of the message of the Bhagavadgita is nishkama karma — perform your duty without expectation of reward. When I decided to write about Punjab and the religion and history of the Sikhs, my main pre-occupation, I admit I did not have such lofty ideals. My aim was to earn recognition, royalties and to fulfil my life’s ambition. The last two words at the end of my second volume of The History & Religion of the Sikhs (OUP) are in Latin: Opus Exegii meaning my life’s work is done. The two volumes were published in the USA, England and finally in India. I earned a little money and I gained admission into the groves of Academe. But the hankering for a shaabaash — well done — remained unfulfilled for over 30 years. Whenever frustration reared its ugly head, I reminded myself of the lines of the Gita: Karmanyev adhikarastey ma phaleshu kadachana — your only privilege is to perform your duty prescribed by your dharma and not in expectation of the fruit it would yield. Much as I consoled myself with these lines, the itch to get a pat on the shoulder remained. At long last the pat — in fact two pats — on the shoulder came in 1999: the Nishaan-i-Khalsa (Order of the Khalsa) from the Punjab Government on Baisakhi at Anandpur Sahib and an honorary doctorate from Guru Nanak Dev University on June 18 at Amritsar appropriately dubbed Sifti da ghar, the house of praise. Behind every success in any one’s career is a person who asks nothing for himself and is therefore more effective in projecting others. The man who saved President Giani Zail Singh from being declared a tankhaiya after Operation Bluestar was Tarlocahan Singh, later Chairman of Delhi Tourism and then General Manager of Wimpy’s in India. It was the same Tarlochan Singh who initiated moves to get me the two shaabaashes.

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I have written about the spectacular gathering at Anandpur: Now let me say a few words on how it went in Amritsar. Amritsar is not the best place to visit in mid-summer. And with tension building up against Pakistan, only 20 miles away, it looks less like a place of pilgrimage and more like a military camp. The Shatabdi Express from Delhi, normally crammed with passengers, was half-empty. And like all other Shatabdis, half an hour late in arriving at its destination.

There were policemen everywhere. We drove to the Guru Nanak Dev University guest house. I coul d not see what it looked like but the fresh air and pervading silence indicated that we were in the midst of open spaces and trees. Our car was brought to an abrupt halt by a barricade of policemen. We were ordered to identify ourselves. Governor B.K.N. Chhibber was staying in the guest house and they could not take any chances. Tempers rose. Dr Gurupdesh Singh asserted himself. He was a professor. The policemen were not impressed. He told them I was the chief guest at the function for which the Governor had come to Amritsar. They were less impressed. The Inspector arrived on the scene, Gurupdesh gave him a tongue-lashing. Very reluctantly the policemen let us in. One has to experience police behaviour to believe how stubborn they can be. We went through a brightly lit reception hall to our rooms: I in the larger one with the AC making a lot of noise, my grand-daughter Naina Dayal in a smaller one next door in which the AC was switched on with the assurance that her room would get as cool as mine in a few minutes.

The air-conditioners, however, were "on strike". Mine blew in warm air. Naina’s just made loud noises. Both of us spent a sleepless night. In the morning she was as chirpy as ever. She brought me a cup of tea. I had good excuse to be more grumpy than usual. I had a long day ahead of me; the 25th convocation of Guru Nanak Dev University at which Lala Mohan Lal, at one time Minister in the Punjab Government, and I were to receive honorary doctorates. Scores of others were to receive doctorates they had earned and a few hundred students who had distinguished themselves were to be honoured. The location was the handsome air-conditioned building of Guru Nanak Dev Bhawan which can hold over 2000 people. We were given the bad news that two out of three ACs were out of order. By the time we took our seats, the third one also conked out. Why don’t they sack people for incompetence?

The ceremony lasted two steamy-hot hours. I was fagged out. While my grand-daughter paid her first visit to the Golden Temple, I took a long siesta. She went back to Harmandar Sahib to crave forgiveness of the Guru’s for her grandfather’s misdemeanour.

The high water mark of my pilgrimage to the holy city was the return journey. It was the Shatabdi, the same I took on the way out except for the word Swarn (golden) pre-fixed to it. But what a golden difference! More spacious, larger windows through which we saw the lush green prosperity of the countryside, the broad expanse of waters of the Chenab and the Sutlej. Lavish service by smartly dressed waiters and above all, two lovely rail-hostesses as pretty as any one sees on our air-lines. The dinner was top class gourmet. When they brought a suggestion book for my comments, I wrote honestly: "If there was a liquor bar attached to the train, it would compare favourably with the best in the world."

The railway authorities know better: Punjabis have yet to learn to drink like gentlemen. They drink like dangars (animals) only to get drunk.

A belated homage

The first reliable translation of the Adi-Granth was done by Sardar Manmohan Singh, advocate of Lyallpur, after he migrated from Pakistan to the village of his birth, Mohle, in Ludhiana district. He did more than translate the Gurbani. In the eight volumes published by the SGPC, he divided every page into four columns: one had the original text, the second meanings of difficult words, the third translation in Punjabi, and the fourth his version in English. This gave subsequent translators, Gopal Singh and Gurbachan Singh Talib, a base for their translations. In all the renderings I have done the only one I relied on was Manmohan Singh’s. I knew nothing about him till I met his daughter, Dr Surinder Kaur Sandhu, in Amritsar a couple of weeks ago.

Manmohan Singh, born on June 1, 1896, in Mohle village, was the youngest child of his parents.For his services in recruiting soldiers during World War I, his father was granted agricultural land in the newly opened canal colonies. In 1900, the family migrated to Lyallpur (now Faisalabad). Manmohan was sent to Khalsa School in Amritsar from where he took his matriculation examination. He then went to Khalsa College for his BA and Law College, Lahore for his LL.B. He practised law in Lyallpur and Lahore for 18 years as well as manage the affairs of local gurdwaras as well as those in Nankana Sahib. He prospered, acquired more real estate and was made Sardar Bahadur. The Partition deprived him of everything he owned. He returned to his village pennyless and broken in spirit.

He had abiding faith in his Gurus and the Gurbani. Instead of resuming practice, he locked himself in a room and began to work on his translation from 3 a.m. till after sunset, day after day, month after month. It took heavy toll of his health. He suffered from a heart attack and was confined to bed for six months.He resumed his punishing schedule of work. He offered it to the SGPC on condition it would be sold at cost price with no profit either to him or the publishers. He suffered four more heart attacks and began to lose his vision. He prayed that he be spared till he had finished his life’s mission. He was able to do so in the nick of time. As he lay dying, he recited the following hymn from the Gurbani:

What know I, of how I shall die and what sort of death it shall be?
If, within my mind, I forget not the Lord, then, dying shall be easy.
The world is scared of death. Everyone desires to live.
He alone, who by Guru’ grace dies in his lifetime understands Lord’s will.
O Nanak, if man dies such a death, then he attains life eternal.

As Dr Surinder Kaur narrated her father’s life, her eyes filled up with tears of sorrow and anger: sorrow at the loss of her father, anger that while celebrating the tercentenary of the Khalsa Panth no one thought of honouring a man who had done so much for the Panth. I pay a belated homage to him.

What’s in a name?

President Clinton: "I am sorry to say Mr Sharif that what you are doing in Kargil is not very ‘sharif’.

Nawaz Sharif: "Mr President, names have no bearing on political behaviour. Do you think what your Madeleine Albright has been doing in Kosovo makes her all that ‘bright’?"

(Contributed by Tilak Rishi, Aravali Vihar)