Issue 35 - September 2014
Guru Fatha Singh Khalsa
Amritsar opened its heart to the American pilgrims. The people of Amritsar showed themselves to be gracious and warmly hospitable, curious and self-consciously discreet. They engaged the westerners, some of them habitually turbaned now, at every turn. A number of the students were even becoming adept at joining their hands in greeting and offering the customary “Sat Siri Akaal!”
For the newly-arrived Americans, Amritsar was an ancient city, a new continent to be discovered, a mystery to be uncovered. Each neighborhood brimmed with stories and legends, artifacts and gates, markets and Gurudwaras. And for those with even a little to spend, there were shops with fabulous sweets, outdoor stands with unheard-of fruits, and bazaars arrayed with all kinds of exotica.
The gem at the heart of Amritsar was the sacred temple of marble covered in gold, the Harimandir Sahib. After washing their feet below the large multi-domed entranceway, pilgrims descended a wide arcade of stairs and entered the holy site. On arrival, an artful vision dedicated to the glory of the Creator and all saints spread before their eyes as a heavenly panorama. Before them lay a vast, gleaming spectacle of white and blue and gold. Far to the left and far to the right, ran a broad, rectangular walkway of marble arranged in intricate geometric patterns. The walkway itself was completely surrounded by the outer building of the Golden Temple complex, comprised of the Sikh Museum and countless rooms for individual prayers and meditation, with domed entranceways on two sides. Inside the walkway's perimeter, the azure waters of the temple beckoned pilgrims to immerse themselves, to bathe and soak up the healing energies of that place, as devotees had done for centuries. Then, over the sparkling waters, a walkway with brass handrails offered pilgrims access to the brilliant temple, the foremost of Gurdwaras, gleaming gold beneath the blue sky.
Inlaid with semi-precious stones formed into innumerable intricate designs and motifs, the Harimander had been constructed by Guru Arjun as a holy seat for the most inspiring poetry of his time and place, the utterly transformative Shabd Guru. And there, seated beneath a precious canopy, on a gold throne with attendants all around, the living Word held court from the early, early morning until late at night, as thousands arrived from near and far to offer their respects.
The Yogi's students found themselves in awe of the great temple. They had never seen anything like it back home. The Americans came and steeped their spirits in the holy vibrations again and again. Some of them would come early and stay late into the day. Others would come in the evening and stay to the end of the day, when the huge volume of the Shabd Guru would be carried in procession on a gold palanquin to its resting place in the Akal Takhat building over the walkway and across the holy waters. A couple of the students even took up Yogi Bhajan's old routine of turning up for duty at 12:30 or 1 a.m. to wash the floors of the temple to cleanse the karmas of their soul.
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The OfferIn Amritsar, Yogi Bhajan reconnected with some of his friends and associates from just seven years before, when he had been posted there. He would visit their houses with his western students, who were acclaimed as celebrities now, speaking a foreign language (English) and chanting in the Guru's tongue. Yogiji was also met by Giani Mohinder Singh, a gracious and humble man who happened to be the Secretary of the Shromani Gurdwara Parbandhak Committee (SGPC), the organization that administered the biggest Gurdwaras in Punjab.
Gianiji had taken an interest in the case of Harbhajan Singh and his entourage. Now that they had met, he did everything in his power to accommodate and serve them. The SGPC was abuzz with the arrival of the westerners. Some members didn't like the idea of a bunch of hippies from America taking up their religion. Others took a more accepting view. Giani Mahinder Singhji was instrumental in representing the Sikh Yogis in their discussions.
Finally, it was decided that if these westerners really wanted to embrace the Sikh way of life, they should be given an opportunity to be baptised into the Order of Khalsa. And what better place to be initiated than in the most holy city of Amritsar? This was a genuine offer. It was also a way of silencing the SGPC hardliners who never believed American hippies would ever agree to take up the hardy discipline of the order of saint-soldiers.
When Yogi Bhajan explained what was being offered to his students, many of them were very keen. Their hearts had been opened and their souls touched by the spiritual richness, the sheer human splendour, and the warm-hearted devotion they had witnessed since arriving in the Guru's Land. They had been amazed at the humble service and endless hospitality extended to them. It seemed the longhaired Sikhs in Punjab had realized for themselves much of what they wished for their troubled society back home.
Not everyone, however, was so eager to give up their freedom to do whatever they wanted whenever they wanted, another cherished American tradition. For them, this was more of a tour than a pilgrimage, and nobody was going to make them join any kind of religion.
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The Amrit ceremony dated back many years to the days when the Mughal empire had cruelly dominated India's religious landscape. Guru Gobind Rai, tenth of the Sikh Masters, had seen his father, Guru Tegh Bahadur dedicate his last days to the cause of freedom of worship. The ninth Guru had courted arrest and gone to Delhi on behalf of the Hindu priests of Kashmir. In the capital he and three of his disciples had been cruelly tortured and put to death, remaining true to their faith to their last breath.
Twenty-four years later, when the Guru was a man of thirty-three, he called his followers together in the fortified town of Anandpur in the Himalayan foothills for the spring festival of Baisakhi. There, he challenged his Sikhs to come forward and give him their head. Only five responded to the Master's order. One by one, they came to him and were beheaded in a nearby tent. The Guru's sword bore the blood of his dear disciples. Tens of thousands who witnessed the events were stunned by what they witnessed.
Finally, Guru Gobind Rai re-emerged from the tent with the five disciples alive and in tow. Somehow, their severed heads had been rejoined with their bodies and they had been restored to life. The Master had proudly dressed them with beautiful saffron turbans and tunics. He then introduced them to the amazed multitude as his Five Beloveds, for they had passed his most difficult test. Their devotion had surpassed their fear of death. While Guru Nanak, the first Master, through Guru Tegh Bahadur, the ninth, had each found only one disciple worthy of the crown of Guruship, Guru Gobind Rai was about to anoint five worthy Sikhs as his equals in the holy Order of Khalsa, the pure ones.
The Guru then set to work stirring a steel bowl of water with a double-edged sword as he chanted and infused that water with superhuman courage and strength. Then his wife came by and contributed sugary sweets to the roiling nectar. This was to make those who partook of it sweet and humble as well.
At last, after reciting a number of Hymns, Guru Gobind Rai had his disciples sit in veerasan on one heel with the opposite knee against their chest as he infused them with the spiritually charged water, the Amrit. In their eyes, in their mouth and on the crown of their head, they thirstily received the nectar. From that day forward, the five men were given the royal “Singh” as a last name, as women would receive the name “Kaur”. The Master then requested the five to honour him with the same baptism, and he became known as Guru Gobind Singh, the Master who himself became a disciple.
From that day forward, the Khalsa grew in strength and numbers. One by one, it conquered the bigotry of the caste system, the oppression of the Mughals, the greed of Afghan invaders, the smug rule of the British and the duplicity of India's own rulers.
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So it was that, early one morning, Krishna and Premka, Ganga and Larry Wentink, Mark Vosko and Alan Weiss, John Twombly, Richard Buhler, Sandy and about thirty others, including a couple of youngsters, came together before the Akal Takhat building, across the waters from the Harimander. The first musical strains of the ragees at the mother temple would have just begun to waft through the darkness.
There they met with Yogi Bhajan, who instructed them, “I have brought you to the Guru's feet, and now my job is done. The rest of the distance you must walk alone.”
Yogi Bhajan's students then filed up the winding stairs to the roof of the historic Akal Takhat, where they and two Punjabi gentlemen who had come for the same reason, waited for the ceremony to begin. They were met by a saintly old Khalsa and five other men adorned with saffron-coloured turbans and tunics who would perform the ceremony. To some, it seemed odd that Yogi Bhajan, who had seen them through so much, should not be there. Perhaps having not heard his words, they expected him to arrive at any moment, but he did not arrive.
The Head Priest of the Akal Takhat, Singh Sahib Sadhu Singhji Bhaura, had officiated over hundreds of ceremonies like this. For many years, he had served as a missionary near the border with Nepal, where it was Hindus who had come to join the casteless fold of Khalsa. First of all, a little of the tradition of the Khalsa was explained to the group through an interpreter. Then the vows were enumerated: they were to rise each morning and meditate on the Name of God; they were never to take intoxicants; they were not to commit adultery; they were never to eat meat butchered in the custom of halal; they were to keep their bodies intact, never cutting their hair; they were to wear a steel bracelet, cotton undershorts with a drawstring, a wooden comb and a small sword of self-defence.
Over the centuries, many thousands had since put aside their egotism and dedicated their lives to purity and piety through this very ceremony, but that morning it proved difficult for some of those gathered on the roof of the historic shrine to accept everything wholly and without reservation.
For years, it had been the practice of these rebels and outcasts to distrust every known convention and authority in order to find their own truth. They had turned their back on the American nightmare of war and greed and exploitation and deception, with a hope of realizing the original dream. Along the way, they had had only themselves to rely on – their own integrity, their own judgment, and their own word. They had learned to trust their Yogi friend and teacher as well, but these vows sounded new and strange to them.
Several candidates took exception to some of the vows they were supposed to be taking to join the Order of Khalsa and they spoke up.
“What if I have been working all night or have been sick and cannot stay awake to meditate in the early morning hours? I know the vow says I won't take alcohol, but what if there is alcohol in a medicinal tincture that I must take to recover my health? What if I promise today to wear my undershorts all the time, but tomorrow I want to join in a sweatlodge ceremony with my Hopi Indian brothers where you are supposed to be completely naked? I never want to cut my hair, but what if I need to go for surgery one day and the doctor says they need to shave the skin where they want to operate?”
And so, after these objections and conditions had been aired and responded to, the ceremony was about to begin. Just then, someone asked about a big pile of new turbans for all the men who wanted to become Khalsa to wear. “What about the women?” they asked. “Aren't we going to have turbans like our brothers?”
The kindly old Khalsa in charge of the ceremony was stumped. He had never seen women demanding their own turbans at an Amrit ceremony or even heard of such a thing. Normally, everyone was just happy to go along, grateful to take part in the ceremony. People did not raise objections. Besides, all the shops would be be closed at this hour of the morning. Where could they obtain another dozen turbans for the women participating in the ceremony?
There was a lull of about half an hour as the Amrit candidates chanted and someone hurried to rouse a shopkeeper for a priority order of turbans... and finally the initiation ceremony began.
By the time they were all done, the sun was above the horizon and there were forty-two beaming Khalsa transformed and a little exhausted. They all lined up on the steps on the Akal Takhat with the sun in their eyes, and with Yogi Bhajan and a number of well-wishers, and posed for the probing eyes of posterity.
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The “Siri Singh Sahib”News of the initiation swept through Amritsar, and especially the SGPC, like a storm. Westerners had actually taken vows to live as Khalsa. Those who wanted to take consolation from the fact that not quite half of Yogiji's entourage had participated, could derive little comfort. The truth was that nearly half of those who had come to Amritsar with Harbhajan Singh had taken part. This was history.
It was not the first time westerners had asked and been accepted into the fold of Khalsa. In the previous two centuries, Englishmen in India had occasionally been known to “go native” and take up the local customs and religions. But never had so many come to embrace the Sikh way of life. And these new Khalsa were from America. America was supposed to be a melting pot of assimilation and a graveyard for Khalsa aspirations. Most immigrants were known to shed their turbans and beards before stepping on American soil.
How had Harbhajan Singh done it? Was it a miracle? Was this the beginning of a wave of conversion to the Sikh faith? How should the SGPC respond to this altogether unexpected turn of events? These and more questions filled the air.
Harbhajan Singh Yogi was invited to meet with senior Sikh officials as they discussed the unfolding course of events. Giani Mohinder Singh was there, as was Sant Chanan Singh, who had served as President of the SGPC since 1962. He was a brave and dedicated soul who had been jailed eleven years earlier during the peaceful movement to make the Indian government deliver on its promise of a Punjabi-speaking state. There too was Sant Fateh Singh, the head of the Sikh political party, the Akali Dal. He also had served the Sikhs in a brave and exemplary way over the years.
At one point in the meeting, Sant Fateh Singh indicated that Yogiji ought to be presented with a symbolic sword of honour, a Siri Sahib, at the Akal Takhat, and that he ought to be called by the title of “Singh Sahib”, even as the head priests of the holiest shrines of the Sikhs were known.
His longtime friend and collaborator, Sant Chanan Singh replied, “What do you mean? This one Harbhajan Singh will create many Singh Sahibs! We are presenting him with a Siri Sahib, so let us call him “Siri Singh Sahib”!”
So it was that on March 3, 1971, Yogi Harbhajan Singh was presented with a ceremonial Siri Sahib. In an official letter signed and dated five days later, SGPC Secretary Giani Mahinder Singh, authorized Harbhajan Singh “to act as a Minister of Divinity and to perform marriage ceremonies according to Sikh rites.” It also empowered the designated Siri Singh Sahib “to initiate and perform the Amrit ceremony, according to Sikh rites, initiating individuals into Sikh Dharma and further to appoint such initiated Sikhs as Ministers of Divinity.” A new chapter of Sikh history characterized by a renewed, expansive vision was beginning to unfold.
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