True Tales

The first akhand path (nonstop reading aloud of the Siri Guru Granth Sahib, from start to finish) at Guru Ram Das Ashram in Los Angeles was held some time in 1972, and akhand paths have continued, every single week since then. For the first few months, at Yogiji’s instruction, each person signed up for 2-1/2 hour reading slots. He explained that the first hour was all ego, “Oh, I am great, I look fantastic…,” the second hour was all nodding off, fidgeting, and misery, “When is this going to end? I want some pizza! My back hurts!” and the last half hour was simply bliss. I experienced all these phases, that’s for sure. But, mostly, I remember reading along with the English translation, overcome with the longing to be able to sing out in the original Gurbani, reading the Gurmukhi script. I felt as though I already knew how to read Gurmukhi, as if from another lifetime, but simply could not remember. That was the misery I felt! This is the story of how I finally learned to read Gurmukhi (this time around). 

1973

I stare at the pages with Gurmukhi writing on them, demanding, and then begging the combinations of foreign letters to make some sense to me. Bhai Sahib Dyal Singh Ji is sitting next to me on the turquoise shag rug inside Guru Ram Das Ashram, giving me my reading lesson for the day, and he urges me to try again. Ever so slowly I sound out a word, each syllable painfully separated by an uncertain pause… Dhi…. aaah… eee….ai… With Bhai Sahib’s encouragement, I get through an entire line.

Meanwhile I am having an internal dialog I am grateful he cannot hear: “How can I possibly do this? This is never going to make any sense to me. He reads so beautifully and it just flows from him. How can I ever do this?! I can’t. I just can’t…” Resolute in my expectation of failure, I blurt out, “God, Bhai Sahib, how do you do this? How do you know how to read with such rhythm, so it sounds so beautiful? This is so impossible! I don’t think I can ever learn it.” His eyes warm as he smiles with an understanding that belies his barely eighteen years. His voice rings with kindness and sincerity as he says, “The rhythm is already there. Don’t worry. When you read, it will come on its own.”

My Gurmukhi classes had first started some months earlier. Yogiji asked his wife, Bibiji, to teach all the members of his household how to read Gurmukhi and to speak Punjabi. I am certain I was her worst student! She gave us a page with the all the letters of the alphabet on it and explained each one and how it should be pronounced. After several classes she left for some extended travels and I sort of petered out; I felt overwhelmed by so many different letters and strange sounds. Then, Bhai Sahib Dayal Singh started up classes with us a few afternoons a week at Guru Ram Das Ashram. He had already taught himself how to read Gurmukhi and how to understand the vocabulary of Siri Guru Granth Sahib and now shared his knowledge with us. Since Yogiji has been away on travels, our work has been less demanding in his absence. These classes have become the high point of our days. Shakti Parwha Kaur, Nirinjan Kaur, Gurumeet Kaur, Pink Krishna and I, collected in a circle on the floor, are now learning from this noble young man what our souls have waited lifetimes for.

Despite my frustration, as the months pass I persist in my studies and gradually I am “getting it.” I’ve allowed myself 45 minutes a day to practice reading JapJi Sahib. Each day I am able to read a little bit more. It is a huge breakthrough for me, when I can complete the entire JapJi Sahib within 45 minutes.

It is only a year or two after those first classes with Bhai Sahib Ji that he comes knocking at the door of my apartment. He is leaving the next day for another visit to the Golden Temple in India and has stopped in to say goodbye. Always fond of my baby daughter, Sat Kartar Kaur, he picks her up from the floor and holds her high up over his head. She giggles down at him and, laughing up at her, he says, “Oh, you are sooo beautiful!  So great! You must always be good!” He seems so at peace, so happy to be going, so filled with love for everyone. He makes me want to be good too. We say our goodbyes and wish each other well, and he goes on his way.

Two days later, it is in the afternoon, I am just sweeping the kitchen floor and the phone rings. I answer, “Sat Nam,” and hear Soorya Kaur’s voice.

She says, “Did you hear the news?”

“What news?”

“Bhai Sahib is dead. He was killed in a car accident this morning.”

I am in such disbelief! I act like this is a normal, everyday thing and say, “Oh, that’s nice to know.” We talk a few moments more, and then I put the phone down and think on her words. They could not possibly be true. But the sinking feeling in my heart tells me they are.

The next few days are a blur of events. Everyone gathers at Guru Ram Das Ashram and we chant Akal for what must be hours, tears streaming down our faces, trying to comprehend and understand how and why this beloved son of Guru Ram Das has been called away. My heart has never felt such pain and loss. Yogiji cannot speak without tears. He teaches class that night and speaks of how Bhai Sahib Ji’s soul went straight to the Golden Temple and that he is now there dancing and singing with absolute joy. His eyes again fill with tears, feeling a loss beyond ours… He leads the chanting at the end; a most etheric and powerful chant….  Akaal, Akaal, Mahaan Kaal, Siri Akaal, Devaaa… his voice trails off into the ethers, blending with tears, reaching to the heavens, sending Bhai Sahib Dayal Singh off with such honor, grace, and divinity.

People from all over the country come for the memorial gurdwara. So many people come that we hold the gurdwara in the school auditorium across from the ashram on Robertson. Vikram Singh leads the Anand Sahib and the words and melody penetrate deep into our hearts and soul, so heartfelt, yearning, reaching through the ethers… "Anand bhaiaa meree maa-ay, satiguru mai paaiaa…. I am in ecstasy oh my mother, for I have found my True Guru!"

* * * * *

Ram Das Kaur, Sada Sat Kaur and I each had individual relationships with Bhai Sahib Ji. Our studies, travels, and experiences with him profoundly and permanently transformed us. Years later, we talked together about a shared experience that we each separately had. Following Bhai Sahib’s death, it was as though a veil was lifted. Our understanding of how to read the Gurmukhi script, of pronouncing the bani, everything that he had taught us, gelled almost overnight. It was as though suddenly the efforts of the past years had an instant reward. Our pronunciation and reading became fluid, the rhythm that was always there revealed itself effortlessly. We each felt compelled to teach others as Bhai Sahib had taught us, continuing his mission of opening the experience of Guru’s bani to all.