Hymns of the Sikh Gurus

by Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh

  The Guru Granth is set at the very centre of the gurudwaras. These vary in scale, for a gurudwara in a tiny village can be small, and they vary in style, for a gurudwara in India could be different from one in America. But even from a distance any gurudwara can be identified by the yellow triangular flag, flying overhead and carrying the emblem of the Sikh Khalsa (nishan sahib). The emblem of the Khalsa is an upright double-edged sword set in a circle, which in turn is encircled by a

  curved sword on either side.13 This also appears on the walls, windows and doors of the gurudwara.

  The traditional gurudwaras can also be recognized by their white domes and minarets leading the eyes towards the infinite skies. They have a large courtyard which provides an immediate feeling of expansiveness. There is a pool within this and the combination of the transparent waters extending horizontally and the diaphanous designs in marble going vertically creates a calm and holistic effect. A walkway goes around the pool, and devotees are seen bathing in the water, sitting on the edge saying prayers, and circumambulating in a contemplative mood. Gurudwaras have four doors, an architectural statement that they welcome people from the four castes. There is no womb-like chamber or altar to which only the chosen are admitted. There are no sculptures or images incarnating deity in any form. The congregation can gather inside or outside, it does not really matter. There are no chairs and the entire congregation sits on large mats spread on the floors. The centre, of course, is the Guru Granth. With its metaphysical poetry in sensuous imagery leading the self to the Ultimate Reality beyond, it is readily present to all people from the four directions.

  Just as the words of the Guru Granth are not static, in the same way the geometric designs on the gurudwara floors and the floral designs on its walls of marble and stone are not closures either. Abstraction, symmetry, rhythm and repetition are essential characteristics of Sikh architecture. Abstract patterns make possible a passage into another world beyond the senses. Symmetric designs serenely emerging from a multiplicity of intricate details create a surging sentiment of tranquillity. The black and white marble slabs upon which the devotees walk are repeated rhythmically. So are the stylized flowers and birds and arabesques and latticework on the walls and sides. The structure itself repeats its arches and domes, pillars and kiosks, windows and storeys. Amongst the unending repetitions that one walks upon, touches on the sides, sees on the building, the melodious Word is heard. The rhythmic repetitions create a dynamic movement for the senses and imagination. Together they are impelled onwards. Any feeling of uneasiness gives way to harmony; doubts and dualities begin to dissolve; the ignorant psyche is inspired to discover its essential spark. Through its finite structures the gurudwara creates an energetic movement towards the infinite Transcendent.

  Whether publicly in the gurudwaras or privately at home, Sikhs bow in front of their Book with their heads covered and shoes removed. They stand in front of it in homage, or sit on the floor while the Guru Granth is always placed on a higher platform. Amidst joyous recitations, the Guru Granth is opened at dawn. This opening ceremony is called prakash karna, literally ‘making the light manifest’. Any Sikh may perform prakash; in Sikh homes, the duty often rotates among family members, and, in gurudwaras, among the congregation. The Book is draped in rich silks and brocades. It is placed on quilted mats, and supported by three cushions, one under each side and one in the centre. A canopy hangs over it for protection, and a whisk is waved over it as a sign of respect. Those present stand humbly in front of it and recite Ardas, a prayer of supplication.14 The Guru Granth is then opened at random, and the passage at the top of the left-hand page is read aloud. This passage is called vak or hukam, the message or order for the day.

  After dusk, the Guru Granth is closed. The closing ritual is called sukhasan, which means ‘to sit comfortably’. Again, Ardas is said and vak taken. With recitations of evening prayers, the book is ceremoniously closed.

  From East to West

  The project to create this book has been an exciting one. Trying to translate the sacred songs from the Guru Granth and the Dasam Granth, I felt like the Chinese jar described by T.S. Eliot: ‘still / Moves perpetually in its stillness’. All these months, I was sitting in Ireland working quietly on my translations, but I was moving very quickly between different zones: past and future, East and West, sacred and secular.

  I was nurtured on the original poetry. Every morning I heard the Japji and Shabad Hazare melodiously recited by my mother; every evening I heard Rahiras and Kirtan Sohila from my father who held me in his arms and strolled on the terrace in our home in the Punjab. Often I would visit the gurudwara with my grandmother. As a part of the congregation, we would hear the verses sung, we would hear them read, and we would hear them interpreted. We would also join the congregation in the singing of the hymns. All these moments were full of awe, marked by something numinous and wonderful. I may not have understood the meaning of the verses but they became a part of my being and continued to resonate somewhere deep inside.

  Now to translate those verses for a publication in the English language! I sit at a computer. I am surrounded by texts, dictionaries, translations, commentaries. Behind me are my editors and publishers; in front, my readers. The whole scenario is different. At home in the Punjab, the very language of the Sikh verse is given the greatest respect. In our house, even Punjabi newspapers in the Gurmukhi script were not allowed to be put on the ground. Any volume containing the sacred poetry is deeply honoured. When I studied the texts with our Gyaniji (scriptural scholar) over my summer holidays from America, I was reprimanded for having tea during our sessions or for not rinsing my mouth before I resumed after a tea-break. Now miles away in Ireland, should I cover my head as I pick up the texts? Should I be listening to popular music while I work? Should I even have a cup of tea as I hold and read through the sacred poetry? The process of translation has been more than a conversion of a text from one language into another: it has been moving back and forth between the sacred and the academic worlds. Undoubtedly, the process has been elating; it has been daunting.

  There has been the sheer joy of returning to my poetry, to my past. For, first of all, the process of translation requires a sound understanding of the original. The meaning and rich philosophical import of the poetry that was heard and read earlier in life had to be fully recovered. The intimacy between the sound of the verses I had heard from my mother’s lips and their sense that I was now discovering with my own one-year-old daughter pottering around was a wonderful experience. Time acquired a timeless quality.

  The project has enabled me to renew old friendships and make new ones. To work with my old family friends Dr Narinder S. Kapany and Dr W. Owen Cole has been a memorable experience. I am especially delighted to have found a close associate in Kerry Brown, the editor of ISLT. Her sincere appreciation of the Gurus’ poetry was most inspiring. Her excitement carried over the Irish Sea and spurred me on. I am truly grateful to her for her attraction to the simplicity of Sikh poetry, and her constant support for maintaining the freshness of the Gurus’ Word in the English language.

  These translations also afford me an opportunity to share my heritage with my students and academic colleagues in the West.

  The rich literature of the Sikhs still remains inaccessible, as Sikhism is one of the traditions that is still relatively unexplored. During my course of study and teaching in the United States,

  I found that Sikhism simply does not seem to be a part of world religion courses. Even professors who would like to include it find themselves with a practical problem: ‘What primary text do we use?’ During conferences and seminars like the National Endowment for the Humanities, my colleagues have pressed hard on this issue. Teaching Religious Studies in a New England Liberal Arts College for almost a decade, I myself have felt a real need for a basic book in the area of Sikh literature. Of course no translation can replace the original text, but how to introduce this Asian text in a Western classroom? An accessible translation i
s urgently needed. Several translations of the entire corpus exist but they are unwieldy. The standard four-volumed sets published in India are not only difficult to get hold of but also difficult to hold.

  Furthermore, the translations that exist are archaic. During my seminars and classes I am amazed at the way in which translators and exegetes in the English language have managed to make the rich and inclusive literature of the Sikhs so ‘foreign’ and ‘alien’, one which can only be approached with distance and detachment. This has been a problem with translations from India for a long time. Yeats correctly identified it when he commented that the works of eminent scholars are strewn with Latinized and hyphenated words: ‘polyglot phrases, sedentary distortions of unnatural English muddles, muddied by “Lo! Verily”, and “Forsooth”’.1 Yeats was talking about the Upanishads when he made this remark. Things may have improved in major Hindu texts, but unfortunately there still hasn’t been much change in translations of Sikh literature.

  I also find the existing translations androcentric. The Ultimate Reality of the Sikhs is beyond gender and yet invariably this metaphysical Being is translated into a male deity. I hope, in particular, my translations will reach out to women. The feminine imagery in Sikh poetry presents a plurality of viewpoints and provides a host of options for self-discovery. As we launch into the twenty-first century, the Sikh message of love and the equality of men and women can offer a new meaning and a new authenticity to our goal of cultural and sexual equality.

  Sadly, the meaning of their sacred verse remains closed even for many Sikhs. The vocabulary of the Guru Granth, which includes Sanskrit, Arabic and Persian terms, poses problems for an average Punjabi. Decoding the poetry of Guru Gobind Singh, laced as it is with highly subtle and ornate metaphors and imagery, and replete with mythological allusions and linguistic innovations, is an even harder task. Furthermore, the British legacy induces young Punjabi Sikhs to study English and Western philosophies and literatures, drawing them away from their own mother-tongue and their own literary heritage. Taught in English-speaking schools which were founded by Victorian colonialists, many Sikhs do not even possess the basic linguistic tools to recognize the subtleties of their sacred text. The verses of their Gurus may continually be seen, read and heard at all important occasions, during all rites of passage—without their import being really understood. I hope the present translations will open up their own literary tradition to them.

  I also hope that these translations will be useful for those outside of the Sikh tradition. It will enable them to have an active dialogue with Sikhism. The Guru Granth provides an excellent example of going beyond particular affiliations and loyalties into the universal basis of religion. ‘There is One Being, Truth by Name’ forms the fundamental principle of Sikh scripture. The Sikh vision of the Ultimate encompasses and transcends all space, time and gender, and cannot be imaged in any specific form. Such a perception shatters narrow and rigid barriers between peoples and makes possible an inclusive attitude towards followers from different religious and racial backgrounds. The thought that our multicultural and diverse world could benefit from Sikh views through these simple and accessible translations makes it a worthwhile venture.

  On the other hand, the cultural differences make the job of translation a complex one. In spite of the Indo-European linguistic connections, there are some intrinsic differences between the East and the West. Translation of Sikh poetry into English meets with some basic problems. For example, in the Sikh world-view, emotions and thoughts are not bifurcated and we often hear the Sikh Gurus saying ‘we think with our hearts’. Now how do we translate it without deviating from the original or sounding incomprehensible in English? Similarly in Sikh literature, ‘being the dust of feet’ denotes being humble. To this day, Sikhs clean the dust off the shoes of other congregation members as a mark of humility and devotion. But a literal translation of ‘being the dust of feet’ sounds strange in a culture which prides itself on individuality. In a society in which the norm is to shake hands and grandly introduce oneself, touching the feet of those whom we respect, or becoming the dust of their feet, sounds rather eccentric. Another interesting phrase frequently found in the verse of the Sikh Gurus is var var, literally, going round and round sacrificing ourself to the cherished object. When we fall in love, we do go in circles! But instead of reckoning it a silly childish act, the Sikh Gurus hold it in very high esteem. The love for the Transcendent is idealized by them in the fullness of this very experience: ecstatic, we go beyond ourself; totally devoted to our Object, we go round and round. Indeed, the process of translation while showing us the universality also reveals the particularities of the human imagination.

  To compound matters, the English language carries its own set of impositions. Many of its important terms are imbued with Jewish and Christian meaning. When such terms are used for rendering Sikh verse, how does the translator ensure that the readers stay clear of their Western connotations? Clearly, the role of the translator is not that of an interpreter, and, though there is the urge to explain, the translator has to keep to his or her own obligations, that is remain as close as possible to the text—no additions, no subtractions. For the most part the original verse lends itself to English quite well and it surprises me that translators in the past had to resort so excessively to words laden with Jewish and Christian connotations. I discovered that I could easily transit between Gurmukhi (the written script of Punjabi) and English without having to use terms like ‘God’, ‘Lord’ and ‘Soul’ which were quite unnecessary and actually distorted the essential meaning. For example the term ‘soul’ immediately brings to mind a bipartite framework, one in which the body is not only subordinated to the soul but also given a negative identity. Sikh literature straightforwardly establishes an identity between spiritual light and physical body: eka joti joti hai sarira2—‘there is one light and the light is also the body’. The self is the body; the self is the spirit, and a bodiless soul is certainly not demarcated as primary in this case. The important distinction in Sikhism however is that of the self cognizant of its essence versus the self ignorantly turned towards its ego rather than a distinction between two separate entities, body and soul. The cognizant self and the ignorant self are not separate entities, they are the selfsame thing. To translate as ‘soul’ would be highly misleading.

  In the past translators used ‘God’ for the various divine names, and ‘Lord’ for sahib but there is no reason to follow their practice. ‘God’ as explained by Mary Daly is a reified noun which takes away the dynamism of the verb Be-ing.3 In the conception of God we see the omnipotent Reality standing up and above. In the Sikh conception, however, the supreme reality is utterly transcendent and intimately present ‘within each and every heart’ (ghati, ghati) as the Sikh Gurus reiterate in their verse, so the usage of the term ‘God’ is incongruous. Similarly, the use of the word ‘Lord’ to translate sabib is inaccurate. The word ‘Lord’ is masculine alone, an objection which does not apply to the inclusive term ‘Sovereign’. Furthermore, a lord can be anything from the master of a tiny estate to the ruler of a country to the male God of Judaism and Christianity, whereas the term ‘Sovereign’ emphasizes the supremacy of a completely independent ruler, male or female. By clinging to established translations we put words into a mould that destroys their vitality and we end up freezing our ideas and congealing our emotions.

  The work of translation is made even more difficult in that the Sikh Gurus used Sanskrit and Arabic terms. Concepts like dharam which means ‘duty’ in Sanskrit, or hukam, which means ‘will’ in Arabic, are frequently used throughout the sacred text. Their usage signifies the liberal attitude of the Sikh Gurus who articulated their new message in terms that people in their day and age were familiar with. For the translator, however, their usage raises an important question: should the original terms be retained? In general I have chosen not to indicate any distinctions between words from Sanskrit or Arabic-Persian origin, and have translated them instead by t
heir clearest English equivalent. This approach is closer to the spirit of the Gurus who wished to speak in a simple manner that would be readily accessible. They were using them not because of their Hindu or Islamic connotations but because they were concepts with which ordinary people were familiar. In fact, the meaning and significance of those concepts and terms in Sikh scripture varied considerably from their usage in Hindu and Islamic contexts. For example, the term Dharam retains its Sanskrit meaning (‘what holds together’) but its usage in Sikh scripture has a very different meaning from that of the Hindu ideal which regards the continuity of customary and conventional practices as dharma. The Sikh Gurus do not prescribe the customary fourfold caste division of Hindu society into priests, warrior-kings, traders and labourers, nor the four stages of life through chastity, family life, withdrawal and renunciation. In contrast, Sikh verse emphasizes equality in the practice of dharam; everyone is equally impelled to perform their ethical duty throughout their entire life.

  A similar issue arises with divine Names. Although the Sikh Gurus abundantly use words such as Rama, Gobind, Hari, Narayan, Raghunath, these are not representative of Hindu avatars; they are poetic appellations for the Divine. In fact, Sikh texts categorically reject the doctrine of avtarvad. Guru Nanak says: ‘In comparison with the Fearless, Formless One, innumerable deities are as dust.’4 Or: ‘Millions of Vishnus has It created, millions of universes has It spawned, millions of Shivas has It raised and assimilated.’5 The particularity and uniqueness of the Hindu gods, of any gods, is dismissed. Instead, the Sikh Gurus stressed the universal Reality. Adhering to Guru Nanak’s vision, Guru Arjan declares that the essence is the same: ‘Some call it Rama; some call it Khuda; some worship it as Vishnu, some as Allah.’6 The Gurus’ use of multiple names suggests that the Ultimate Reality is essentially unfathomable and cannot be adequately designated in any singular way, but is open to a variety of personal experiences. The various names show the Gurus’ inclusive approach to the ineffable Reality. But I felt it would be misleading for me to use these particular names in my translation. A reader not familiar with Sikh thought might misinterpret these names and import erroneous connotations from their role in Indian mythology. It is therefore much more in keeping with the orientation of the Sikh Gurus to avoid these specific names in translation and adopt instead all-inclusive universal terms such as the One or the Divine. This is what I have done in my work except where a historical reference required the use of a specific name. Those names and Indian terms that do appear in the translation are explained in the glossary at the back of the book.