Another attack to abolish Sikh culture by ZEE TV....
ਜਿਨ ਕੈ ਹਿਰਦੈ ਤੂ ਵਸੈ ਤੇ ਨਰ ਗੁਣੀ ਗਹੀਰ !! ਅੰਗ ੧੨੮੭!!
If i can be blessed by Akal Purakh, why don't you also worship him, have faith in Guru Granth Sahib ji, Feel the fragrance of your Guru, recite his true naam and surrender yourself to him... to be blessed.
ਬਾਣੀ ਗੁਰੂ ਗੁਰੂ ਹੈ ਬਾਣੀ ਵਿਚ ਬਾਣੀ ਅਮ੍ਰਿਤ ਸਾਰੇ !!
ਗੁਰਬਾਣੀ ਕਹੈ ਸੇਵਕ ਜਨ ਮਾਨੇ ਪ੍ਰਤਖ ਗੁਰੂ ਨਿਸਤਾਰੇ !! ਅਨੰਦੁ ਸਾਹਿਬ !!
ਵਾਹਿਗੁਰੂ ਜੀ ਕਾ ਖਾਲਸਾ ਵਾਹਿਗੁਰੂ ਜੀ ਕੀ ਫਤਿਹ ||
ਹਮ ਅਵਗੁਣਿ ਭਰੇ ਏਕੁ ਗੁਣੁ ਨਾਹੀ
ਅੰਮਿ੍ਤੁ ਛਾਡਿ ਬਿਖੈ ਬਿਖੁ ਖਾਈ ||
ਮਾਯਾ ਮੋਹ ਭਰਮ ਪੈ ਭੂਲੈ
ਸੁਤ ਦਾਰਾ ਸਿਉ ਪੀ੍ਤਿ ਲਾਗਾਈ ||
ਇਕੁ ਉਤਮ ਪੰਥੁ ਸੁਨਿਓ ਗੁਰ ਸੰਗਤਿ
ਤਿਹ ਮਿਲੰਤ ਜਮ ਤਾ੍ਸ ਮਿਟਾਈ ||
ਇਕ ਅਰਦਾਸਿ ਭਾਟ ਕੀਰਤਿ ਕੀ
ਗੁਰ ਰਾਮਦਾਸ ਰਾਖਹੁ ਸਰਣਾਈ ||
(1)- It was the early seventies;
I was driving an Ambassador car and heading from Dehradun toward Dat Mandir, which is not far from the main city. It was around noon. I must have been barely twenty-two or twenty-three years old. Just before entering the tunnel, I overtook a truck laden with limestone. Although there was neither any need nor any room to overtake at that critical bend, I still don't know how it happened. Somehow, I managed to overtake the truck and entered the tunnel. After clearing the tunnel, I pulled my car over to the left, into the shade of the trees. It was the month of June, and the heat was intense. The moment I stopped the car, I suddenly heard a voice—perhaps in Hindi or Punjabi; I don't recall exactly. It said to me, "So, you’ve finally arrived! Alright, move your car from here." It was a direct command, delivered in a tone of sheer anger. I was stunned, for in the direction from which the command seemed to emanate, there was absolutely no one in sight. The source of the voice appeared to be on the other side of the road. Nowadays, several new buildings have sprung up there, but back then, the area was undeveloped; there was nothing but dense shrubbery—and even today, near the mouth of the tunnel on the side facing the temple, similar bushes still remain. A few seconds passed, yet I offered no response. I simply stood there, dumbfounded, scanning the area to locate the person who had spoken—but there was no one there.
Suddenly, for the second time, that same angry voice rang out again: "You have been told once already to move your car from here. Did you not hear me? The truck following you is going to suffer a brake failure and will crash right into this hillside. Get out of here—immediately!" My mind had ceased to function. It felt as though I were merely obeying the command of some supernatural force. I simply depressed the clutch pedal, and the car rolled forward, aided by the downward slope and the hilly terrain. I had barely moved three or four meters when, in astonishment, I glanced into my rearview mirror to see if what I had been told would truly come to pass. In this universe, no one can predict what the very next moment holds; yet here, I knew beforehand, so I waited for the outcome—and then! A resounding crash! The truck, descending from the hill to my left, smashed into the exact spot where, just moments earlier, I had been stopped with my friends. I stepped out of my car and went to check on the truck driver. He was completely unharmed. I asked him what on earth had happened. The immediate reply came: "The brakes failed."
I was deeply astonished to realize that there are indeed certain unseen forces—perhaps even superstitious ones—that govern us. We are like puppets, dancing solely to their tune. At that young age, I could not grasp much beyond that; but now, I possess the answers to all the questions that arose in my mind back then. Questions such as: If God saved *me*, why did He not save *him*? As someone involved in the transport business, I felt the pain of all the hardships that the truck driver, his family, and the truck owner had to endure.
God provides sustenance to everyone—be they a thief or a saint. In His eyes, all are equal. Through that truck owner, God provided a share of livelihood to everyone connected to him—such as the mechanics, spare-parts dealers, dent-beaters, laborers, and so on. The truck owner's own expenses, too, were likely taken care of through one means or another. In this manner, the Almighty God, through His divine powers, arranges for the sustenance of every living being born into this world. No one suffered any actual loss. It may appear so to the eye, but in reality, it is merely a transformation—much like how nothing is ever truly destroyed, but simply changes its form. Life goes on—sometimes losing something, and sometimes gaining something.
(2)- In September 1986—for the second time—
I was traveling from Jammu to Pathankot. I was on the outskirts of Jammu. Traffic had come to a standstill in Digiana, Jammu. There were three or four vehicles ahead of me. When they halted on a small, narrow bridge to yield the right of way to oncoming traffic, I, too, had to stop. I was squarely within my lane; nothing was amiss. Within a few minutes, the traffic began to move forward, and I followed right behind them. The vehicles preceding me had already crossed the bridge. Just as I approached the bridge, an army truck—carrying a 105mm artillery gun—suddenly came speeding from the opposite direction. It occupied nearly three-quarters of the roadway ahead. There was absolutely no way to evade it. A head-on collision was imminent. The truck was barely ten meters away. In a desperate attempt to save myself, I tried to engage the reverse gear, but I was unable to do so. It was then that I realized my final moment had arrived. I uttered Your name—'Waheguru'—upon my lips. Suddenly, something occurred that defied all imagination. Those very supernatural forces arrived to rescue me. I could sense their presence. Although I could not see them, I was told: "Simply remain in a state of surrender. Remove your hands from the steering wheel and relinquish control of all the vehicle's mechanisms—the clutch, the brakes, and so forth. No harm shall befall you. The impact of the collision will feel no different than if you were engaged in a physical altercation and took a blow to the chin; your head will snap backward, and thereafter, you will be perfectly fine. Therefore, do not worry; you will remain safe. Let go of all the controls."
I was left with no other option. Death loomed mere yards away; yet, to my utter astonishment, I felt as though time itself had come to a complete standstill. I had been given the instruction—and, within my mind, shown a fleeting visual impression of the impending impact—yet the truck remained suspended at that exact same distance. I am reminded of just one instance from the Mahabharata: when Lord Krishna was imparting the teachings of the Gita to Arjuna. All the armies on both sides had come to a standstill—or, one might say, had frozen—because time itself had come to a halt. Nature had paused.
Something very similar happened to me as well. Even an official from ONGC Jammu, Mr. M.S. Gill, could not hear a single sound. A truck rammed directly into my car from the front. The sheer force of the impact pushed my brand-new Ambassador car back by approximately 4 to 5 meters. There was merely a slight, one-inch dent on the bonnet, and apart from that, the headlight on the right side was shattered. That was the extent of the damage I sustained. I had been saved by the Almighty Waheguru Himself.
(2). In September 1986—for the second time—I was traveling from Jammu to Pathankot. I was on the outskirts of Jammu. Traffic had come to a standstill in Digiana, Jammu. There were three or four vehicles ahead of me. When they halted on a small, narrow bridge to yield the right of way to oncoming traffic, I, too, had to stop. I was squarely within my lane; nothing was amiss. Within a few minutes, the traffic began to move forward, and I followed right behind them. The vehicles preceding me had already crossed the bridge. Just as I approached the bridge, an army truck—carrying a 105mm artillery gun—suddenly came speeding from the opposite direction. It occupied nearly three-quarters of the roadway ahead. There was absolutely no way to evade it. A head-on collision was imminent. The truck was barely ten meters away. In a desperate attempt to save myself, I tried to engage the reverse gear, but I was unable to do so. It was then that I realized my final moment had arrived. I uttered Your name—'Waheguru'—upon my lips. Suddenly, something occurred that defied all imagination. Those very supernatural forces arrived to rescue me. I could sense their presence. Although I could not see them, I was told: "Simply remain in a state of surrender. Remove your hands from the steering wheel and relinquish control of all the vehicle's mechanisms—the clutch, the brakes, and so forth. No harm shall befall you. The impact of the collision will feel no different than if you were engaged in a physical altercation and took a blow to the chin; your head will snap backward, and thereafter, you will be perfectly fine. Therefore, do not worry; you will remain safe. Let go of all the controls."
I was left with no other option. Death loomed mere yards away; yet, to my utter astonishment, I felt as though time itself had come to a complete standstill. I had been given the instruction—and, within my mind, shown a fleeting visual impression of the impending impact—yet the truck remained suspended at that exact same distance. I am reminded of just one instance from the Mahabharata: when Lord Krishna was imparting the teachings of the Gita to Arjuna. All the armies on both sides had come to a standstill—or, one might say, had frozen—because time itself had come to a halt. Nature had paused.
Something very similar happened to me as well. Even an official from ONGC Jammu, Mr. M.S. Gill, could not hear a single sound. A truck rammed directly into my car from the front. The sheer force of the impact pushed my brand-new Ambassador car back by approximately 4 to 5 meters. There was merely a slight, one-inch dent on the bonnet, and apart from that, the headlight on the right side was shattered. That was the extent of the damage I sustained. I had been saved by the Almighty Waheguru Himself.
(3)- For the third time—on March 31, 1991—I was traveling from Jammu to Srinagar. There were five passengers with me. I had no idea that three of those five were militants. When we reached Patnitop, they began discussing current affairs, particularly Advani’s *Rath Yatra* and the Babri Masjid issue. Although I was listening to their conversation, I did not interject. Just then, one of them asked me to share my views as well, having realized that I was not a Kashmiri Sikh. I replied very politely that if my views did not appeal to them, it would spoil the enjoyment of the journey. They persisted. "Very well," I said. "My views are quite clear: Suppose I own a piece of land somewhere. My neighbor—who happens to be a minister—encroaches upon a portion of it. I would be powerless to oppose him, for the entire government machinery would stand behind him, and I alone would have to bear the consequences. He could even have me thrown into jail. Therefore, it is best to remain silent and save one's life—even if it means losing the land. One should wait for the circumstances to become favorable. One should adopt a policy of 'wait and watch'."
Time passed; a few years later, my son attained a high position and succeeded in reclaiming possession of that land. He reasserted his rightful claim over his own property without encroaching upon his neighbor's land. What crime had he committed? "None!" came the reply. "It was his right." I replied, "The situation is much the same. Babur was an invader. He destroyed the temple in Ayodhya and built a mosque there. Now, it is (the Hindus') turn. If they are doing the same to reclaim their land and wish to build a Ram temple there, it is their right. They are not causing any harm to Muslims in any way.
Furthermore, I know one thing: that Lord Ram was born in Ayodhya—though I cannot say exactly at which specific spot. They (the Hindus) have known the precise location of his birthplace for centuries. Let them build their temple at the site of their choice. Why fight over land that does not belong to Muslims in the first place? Babur was an invader; he seized it by force, demolished the temple, and erected a mosque. Now, you Muslims ought to return that land to the Hindus and atone for the mistakes of your ancestors."
This infuriated them, as they were not prepared to hear anyone speak so bluntly—especially a Sikh. The journey continued, but in complete silence. We reached Bijbehara around 5 PM. One of the men requested to buy something from the market and asked me to stop the car. One of the three then told me to drop him off in the Hyderpora area, away from the Tourist Reception Center (TRC). I knew that this was the very locality where Rubaiya Sayeed had been abducted. I flatly refused to go there and assured them that I would arrange a local taxi for them; however, they had something else entirely on their minds. They hurled filthy abuses at me—such as 'son of a whore'—and threatened that if I did not take them there, they would not pay me. I retorted in kind, hurling the same abuses right back at them: "Let's just see which 'son of a whore' refuses to pay me!" I was seething with rage, and I knew with absolute certainty that if I took them to their destination, they would surely kill me.
Consequently, I decided to seek help from the BSF, as approaching the police would have been futile. On the outskirts of Srinagar, along the bypass leading to Gulmarg, there stood a BSF outpost. I slammed on the brakes and rushed toward the sentry stationed at the post to plead for assistance. I shouted at the top of my lungs, "These men are terrorists! Surround them immediately!" Instantly, they were encircled from all sides. I was taken aside and questioned about the entire incident; I recounted the full story to them in vivid detail. The men—the radicals—were ordered to step out of the vehicle. I retrieved my money. I then turned to the man who had verbally abused me and said, "Didn't I tell you that I would make sure that no 'son of a bitch' would get away without paying me?" "You bastard... you refused to pay me, but look what I’ve got now." He walked away, but before he could leave the vicinity, I had managed to ascertain the details of his locality and the specific lane where he lived.
The price for the Ram Mandir issue had yet to be paid. The very next day—April 1st—at approximately 11:00 AM, I was at the TRC Taxi Stand (Stand No. 1) when I spotted four individuals—including that very terrorist—arriving on two scooters and surrounding my car. They were armed with state-of-the-art weaponry. I clearly saw an AK-47, a carbine, and a revolver; I could not, however, make out what weapon the fourth individual was carrying. Before they could open fire, a crowd of nearly 150 locals—comprising taxi drivers and hotel guides—swarmed around my car. The locals were gripped by the fear that if any untoward incident were to occur there, it could trigger retaliatory violence in Jammu, potentially resulting in the deaths of Muslim drivers in that region. Consequently, all of us—myself and the militants—were escorted to the Taxi Union office in an attempt to resolve the matter peacefully. Every conceivable effort was made to pacify them. After a heated argument, I stepped out of the office—(I wasn't scared in the slightest)—and took up a position against the wall. Behind me stood a mosque. They followed me out as well. Another sharp verbal altercation ensued, just as the call to prayer—the *Azan*—rang out from the mosque.
Now, they found themselves in a dilemma. If they were to kill me, the BSF could retaliate by killing many more of their people; for directly across the road stood a watchtower, from which the BSF kept a close watch on everyone passing through.
Had they spared my life and gone to the mosque to offer their prayers, I could have fled and escaped—something they were unwilling to allow. At that very moment, a local Muslim arrived and told them that he knew me (the Sikh); vouching for me, he assured them that I would not flee anywhere, and urged them to go and offer their prayers.
Upon this—since this assurance had been given specifically on the grounds of my being a Sikh—I decided to remain right where I was; otherwise, in the future, they would never have trusted any Sikh again. How could they possibly have offered prayers, given that their true intention was to exact revenge upon me? Yet, this much I remember with absolute certainty.
However, I thought of the Tenth Guru, Guru Gobind Singh Ji, and offered a prayer (*Ardas*) before him: "As a devoted Sikh of yours, I do not beg for my life; but if it be possible—and if my prayer is to be heard—then, O Lord, please grant me these two final wishes:
· As a Sikh, grant me the strength never to flee the battlefield out of fear for my life—unlike the Pandits who, gripped by fear, were fleeing Kashmir. If my life is destined to end, let it be a glorious death. Let every bullet fired at me strike my chest, not my back.
· My second wish is this: if it be possible, grant me the strength—before I die—to deliver one final, mighty blow against the enemy; such that a single, powerful strike from me takes his life, and his lifeless body falls right at my feet. O Lord! Fulfill this wish of mine and grant me strength."
Believe it or not, I could distinctly hear a voice—emanating from some supernatural power—encouraging me to face the situation with courage, and assuring me that those powers stood with *me*, not with those wicked men. The words I heard were as follows:—
· All soldiers fight on the battlefield, but only he dies whose death is fated to come by a bullet; otherwise, even amidst a hail of bullets, many soldiers manage to survive. Therefore, do not worry; if your death is not written to come by a bullet, you will not die.
· Subsequently, I felt the touch of a hand on my back (even though I was standing facing a wall, with my back pressed firmly against it), encouraging me to fight with bravery. It felt to me as though Guru Gobind Singh Ji himself had come to my aid—for I had offered a prayer (*Ardas*) to him and called out to him for help. All my fear vanished instantly. I was now fully prepared to face the enemy.
Once their prayers were concluded, the terrorists emerged. One of them stepped forward, stood directly in front of me, and asked me what my final wish was. I replied that had he not hurled insults at me, perhaps the situation would not have escalated to this point. If he truly considers himself a Muslim, he ought to bear in mind that I, too, am a Sikh—not some *Pandit* who would beg for his life. If you have the guts, shoot me—but listen to what I have to say! So what if he had brought three other men along with him? That was his territory. Even a dog acts like a lion within its own territory. It wouldn't have mattered if he had called in not just three men, but another 150—what difference would it have made? After all, it was his territory.
Hearing this, he became agitated and, in a fit of rage, retorted, "Fine! Now I won't kill you in Srinagar, but in Jammu—in my own territory!" I shot back, "Go on, get lost! You can kill me neither here nor in Jammu. If you are truly as brave as you claim, then just hand that gun over to me; I’ll show you how a gun is *really* meant to be fired." Hearing these bold and fearless responses of mine, he was both surprised and amused. I then left the scene. However, two months later, I launched a counterattack of my own—right in his own backyard—and, with the assistance of some Muslim militants from the Hizbul Mujahideen—who had somehow become my friends—I attempted to track him down. We were fully armed and prepared. We were fortunate that the security forces did not stop us anywhere along the way; otherwise, the outcome would have been entirely different. A considerable amount of time has passed since then, yet the memories remain as vivid as ever. He was lucky that I failed to find him; otherwise...
This proved to be a blessing in my life. I left Kashmir in April 1992 and settled in Delhi. Although Pandits and other locals continue to receive government assistance to this day, I had to support my family entirely without any aid from the government. I am grateful to Almighty God for sparing my life during that most arduous period—precisely when I needed Him the most—for at that time, my children were still young, and I found myself alone in an unfamiliar place, a thousand miles away from home, without a single acquaintance to turn to. Money is not everything. I derive far greater satisfaction from the fact that God Himself bestowed His grace upon me and granted me the courage to deliver a fitting retort to those malevolent elements.
(4)- Subsequently, in October 2002, I suddenly decided that I would commence an 'Akhand Path' at my home in Sahibpura, West Delhi. It was a Sunday at the time, and—if I recall correctly—the festival of Dussehra was to fall on the following Tuesday (perhaps October 13th). Consequently, I decided to hire a substitute taxi for the day so that it could be dispatched in place of my own; this entailed spending over 600 rupees out of my own pocket. I did not possess sufficient funds to cover this expense, yet, despite all the financial constraints, I remained firm in my decision. I proceeded to the nearest Gurdwara—located near Shiv Modern School—met with the Head Granthi, and humbly requested that he honor me by entrusting me with a *Saroop* (sacred copy) of the *Sri Guru Granth Sahib Ji*, as I wished to perform the Akhand Path.
I was then asked whether I required the assistance of *Singhs* (reciters) to perform the reading. I replied, "No, I intend to perform this entire Akhand Path myself. However, I would be grateful if you could drop by periodically, so that should any difficulties arise, I may seek your guidance and assistance." He was utterly astonished to hear this; he could scarcely believe that a single individual could perform an entire Akhand Path uninterrupted—in a single sitting—yet I harbored absolutely no hesitation regarding the feat. I paid no heed to anyone else's opinions; my mind was focused on one singular resolve—that I, and I alone, would perform this sacred reading.
And so, on Sunday morning at approximately 10:30 AM, the reading commenced. I continued to recite with great ease and fluidity, encountering neither interruptions nor difficulties. The *Gyani Ji* came to check on me and found me engrossed in the recitation. He was truly amazed; he had arrived accompanied by a few others to monitor my progress, yet he observed that I was experiencing absolutely no trouble whatsoever. The following evening, my children arranged for a loudspeaker to be set up. Everything was proceeding very smoothly, but early the next morning, a series of strange occurrences began to unfold. First, my throat became choked and began to ache; and secondly—the electricity went out. I was still seated at the *Tabia* (the designated place for recitation), silently reciting the text in my mind, as I was unable to speak aloud. By that time, I had reached the 1390th *Ang* (page). As I continued reciting, I prayed to the Almighty *Waheguru Ji* to bestow His grace upon me and shower me with His blessings. I said, "The children have arranged for a loudspeaker, but there is no electricity; please grant me this favor—let the power return and the lights come back on."
And to my utter astonishment, in the blink of an eye, electricity was restored throughout the entire house, and the home lit up brightly. The loudspeaker, too, began to function. A considerable crowd had gathered there, as news had spread that a single individual was performing an *Akhand Path* (continuous recitation) without any interruption—all in a single sitting.
By now, I had reached *Ang* (page) 1410. A desire arose within my heart, and I prayed to *Waheguru* once again—asking Him to show me grace yet again and restore my voice, so that I could complete this *Akhand Path* entirely on my own. If my voice did not return—and the pain persisted—I would ultimately have to seek the assistance of a *Giani Ji* to recite the *Shlokas* of *Mahalla 9* at the conclusion; and that was something I absolutely did not want to happen. And lo and behold! This wish of mine, too, was fulfilled. My voice returned; and with immense joy, I began reciting the *Shlokas* in a loud, melodious voice.
After the *Bhog* ceremony (the concluding ritual) was completed, my throat became choked once again (my voice failed), and it did not recover for three days thereafter. During the *Bhog* ceremony, the Secretary of Gurdwara Sant Garh also arrived at the venue and spoke to the *Sangat* (congregation) about the miraculous wonders associated with performing an *Akhand Path*. By the grace of the Almighty, I have since performed the *Sahaj Path* myself on many occasions; however, never again have I recited it in a single sitting (without interruption).
Waheguru is Great—"Aad Jugaad Bhagatan Ka Rakha..." (The Protector of His devotees throughout the ages). He is Omnipresent, and of this, there is no doubt. Waheguru has showered His grace upon me many other times throughout my life as well.
(5)—In the year 2004, on the occasion of the 400th anniversary of the Guru Granth Sahib Ji, I found myself in a state of slight indecision, unable to determine exactly how to celebrate the event. It was then that I realized the most fitting way to celebrate would be to bring Guru Ji's *Saroop* (physical embodiment) home, recite Gurbani, and commence an *Akhand Path*. I made this firm resolve and proceeded to the Gurdwara Sahib to make the necessary arrangements, as I was desirous of performing the recitation myself. I brought Guru Ji's *Saroop* to my home and began the *Akhand Path*. There were only two of us—my wife and I. I commenced the recitation at 12:30 AM and, 49 hours later, at 1:30 AM, I brought it to completion. The *Hukamnama* (divine command) received at that moment was: "Dhur Ki Bani Aayi..." (The Word has come from the Primal Source). This served as a sign that my prayers and my recitation had been accepted by Guru Ji. Thereafter, I spent all my time contemplating what course of action I should pursue next; however, I could arrive at no definitive conclusion. At midnight on November 16, 2004, I observed that my room was illuminated by a brilliant, cool light; and amidst that cool, intense radiance, a figure slowly emerged. I clearly recognized that it was Guru Nanak Dev Ji; I bowed my head before Him in deep reverence. I was then asked why I appeared so troubled. I replied, "Guruji, by your grace, I have had the privilege of completing the recitation of the 'Adi Guru Granth Sahib Ji' in a single sitting; furthermore, on the occasion of the 400th anniversary, my wife and I completed it once again. But what comes next? That was the very puzzle I was unable to fathom."
Would you believe it? Guruji laughed and asked me if this—such a trivial matter—was the reason I was so distressed. "For me, everything has already been revealed..."
(7)- IIt was at Dera Baba Taran Das Ji, located in L-Block, Hari Nagar, that I received the inspiration to perform *Paath* (scriptural recitation) from Sant Ratan Singh Ji. Once, on the day of Vaisakhi, no reciters (*Paathis*) were available; Sant Ji had committed to performing a recitation elsewhere, but he had been unable to arrange for the reciters. He called me over and explained that since no reciters were available, the duty of performing this service would now have to be shared between the two of us. I agreed immediately, for I have always remained indebted to him.
Together, the two of us began the recitation. I held the thought in my mind that since Sant Ji was an elderly man, I ought to spare him as much exertion as possible; with this mindset, I would sit continuously for four to five hours at a stretch, without taking any significant breaks. In the midst of this, I received a message that my car had broken down nearby and that my son was waiting for me there. I thought I would return very quickly; however, while I was getting the car repaired in Mayapuri, my foot slipped, and I fell to the ground. I sustained a severe injury to my leg and began to experience excruciating pain. I was unable to even stand up. Two young men stepped forward to assist me and asked if I was alright. I replied, "Oh, a great calamity has befallen me!"—for I was consumed by anxiety regarding the recitation service that Sant Ratan Singh Ji was performing. I was weeping not because of my physical pain, but out of distress over the obstacle that had arisen in the performance of my service.
Somehow, I managed to make my way back, but I was unable to move my leg in any direction—I could neither sit cross-legged nor could I stretch my leg out straight. I was groaning in pain, and tears welled up in my eyes. I offered a prayer (*Ardas*) at the feet of the Guru Granth Sahib Ji: "O Baba Ji! I find myself unable to perform this service; please heal me, so that I may continue to chant Your holy name."
When I was laid down to rest, I found that I could not even lie flat on my back; However, due to sheer exhaustion, I soon drifted off to sleep. When I woke up two or three hours later, without a second thought, I went to attend to my daily ablutions. Upon returning and bowing my head before Guru Sahib, I was left utterly dumbfounded with joy—there remained absolutely no trace of injury or abnormality in my leg! Although, when I touched my leg, I could still sense a faint lingering sensation of the injury; yet, by the grace of Waheguru Ji, I had been completely healed. I continued to experience a mild sensation of the injury in my leg for about a month, but I required neither a visit to a doctor nor any pain-relieving medication.
To tell the truth, describing the glory of Guru Granth Sahib Ji lies far beyond the limits of my words.
(8)- The service of reciting the *Paath* was underway in that very *Dera* (spiritual camp), in which I, too, was participating. Once, when I attempted to turn a page (*Ang*) of the *Sri Guru Granth Sahib Ji*, my hand failed to respond. Perhaps I had suffered a mild stroke (paralysis)—or I cannot say with absolute certainty exactly what had occurred—but I was unable to turn the page. I found myself incapable of lifting and turning it over. Oh God! What has happened? I wept inwardly—or, to be precise, tears actually welled up and flowed from my eyes—and I pleaded with Guru Ji: "Will I be unable to perform the *Paath* in the future? If my hand itself ceases to function, how will I be able to sit in *Tabia* (service to Guru Ji) and perform the recitation?"
Tears continued to stream from my eyes, yet I managed to compose myself and regain control over my emotions. Using my left hand to turn the pages, I completed my service.
After my turn was over, I returned home and went to sleep. Early the following morning, I was making my way back from 'Chand Nagar' (a place situated approximately three kilometers away). I decided it would be better to walk, so that I could recite *Sukhmani Sahib* along the way. While en route, near 'Fateh Nagar,' a car suddenly appeared right in front of me and blared its horn loudly. My concentration was shattered; I apologized to the driver, but due to that interruption, I completely forgot which *Ashtapadi* (stanza) of *Sukhmani Sahib* I had reached. I tried desperately to recall it, but nothing came to mind. Even as I walked past a park, I continued my efforts to remember, but truly—I could not recall a single thing. My destination was now not far off, and I could not simply start the *Paath* all over again; thus, in a fit of anger and regret, I raised my hand and struck my forehead hard—twice. Lo and behold! My hand was working perfectly! The realization dawned upon me; I moved my hand up and down to check it—yes, it was functioning perfectly, and there was not even the slightest trace of pain. I offered my heartfelt gratitude to 'Waheguru Ji,' proceeded to the *Dera* (sanctuary), and, bowing my head at the feet of the *Guru Granth Sahib Ji*, offered my humble reverence. How magnificent is the glory of my 'Akal Purakh' (The Timeless Being)!
"By serving the Perfect True Guru, suffering is dispelled!
O Nanak, by meditating upon the Name, all endeavors are brought to fruition!! (Ang 320)" Therefore, strive to be good, perform virtuous deeds in life, and extend a helping hand to the needy. Speak up in support of justice. Place your faith in God and remain joyful.
Regarding the points mentioned above, my perspective is this: my parents were deeply religious individuals who never once deceived anyone throughout their lives. I, too, hold unwavering faith in the omnipresence of God. I do not seek God in disparate places; He alone is my Protector and the Provider of all my needs. Whenever I find myself in a difficult situation, He comes to my aid. Thus, in accordance with the traditions of the Sikh faith, I meditate upon His Holy Name.
Compiled by AJMER SINGH RANDHAWA by the grace of God. He may shower his blessings upon all and there may be good rains, good harvests, greenary and peace by his blessings everywhere. Oh God! Please fulfill my wish.
Ajmer Singh Randhawa.
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