Religions of India in Practice

The Sikh faith begins with Guru Nānak, born in the Punjab in 1469 and dying there in 1538 or 1539. Nānak himself was raised as a Hindu in a predominantly Muslim part of India, but adopted the same critical attitude toward the two religious systems. He believed that although it was possible for both Hindus and Muslims to win liberation, this could only be achieved by renouncing all trust in the external features of either religion. For Nānak the only true religion was within.

Nānak believed emphatically in Akāl Purakh (God), and for him liberation lay in the merging of the human spirit with the all-embracing spirit of God. For Nānak the key to liberation lay in the nām or divine Name. It was the nām that gathered into a single word the whole nature of God, the fullness of God’s greatness being clearly perceived in all that was expressed by the all-pervading divine Name. God pervades all things (both those which lie around and those which dwell within), and the person who realizes this is the one who comprehends the Name. Recognize this, and you have taken the first essential step on the pathway to liberation. Practice with regularity and determination a pattern of meditation on the divine Name, and eventually you must attain to that condition of supreme bliss.

This message is variously spelled out in the numerous hymns of Guru Nānak, collected in the Ādi Granth (the Guru Granth Sāhib) with those of his four successors and some other religious poets who had the same message. In these hymns he tells us a great deal about his teachings, yet almost nothing about his actual life. His followers (the early Sikhs) could not be satisfied with this and inevitably there developed within the Panth (the Sikh community) the practice of relating hagiographic tales concerning the greatness of the guru. These in turn came to be written down and in their recorded form they are known as janam-sākhīs.

The janam-sakhīs consist of anecdotes about Nānak. In an early version these were ordered roughly according to the guru’s childhood, adult life, and death. As they were told and retold they became more sophisticated, and in one of the later janam-sākhī traditions (the so-called Puratan tradition), much of Guru Nānak’s adult life is arranged into four missionary journeys directed to the four cardinal points of the compass.

A janam-sākhī version of the birth and childhood of Nānak, together with the call to preach and his ultimate death, is contained in my Textual Sources for the Study of Sikhism. The selection of anecdotes offered here is taken from his adult life, most of them from the period of his travels. In the translation, words and occasionally phrases have been added to the original in order to impart continuity to the story, but in no case has anything else been added.

See my books, Early Sikh Tradition (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1980); Guru Nanak and the Sikh Religion (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1968); and Textual Sources for the Study of Sikhism (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1990).

The first anecdote is a humorous tale in which Nānak gently rebukes Hindus, gathered at the Gaṅgā.

Many people had come to the Gaṅgā to bathe. Bābā (“Father”) Nānak also went there and, sitting down beside the river, he looked around. “Perhaps I shall see someone who is near to God,” he thought. He observed that tens of thousands of people were bathing. Having taken their dip, they offered water to their forefathers, although they did not realize that none of their forefathers was cleansed. Bābā Nānak possessed divine knowledge, whereas the people whom he observed had only a mundane understanding. They believed that purity comes from bathing, and so they bathed. According to Bābā Nānak’s understanding, however, it had no effect.

Bābā Nānak also entered the water to bathe. The people were worshiping facing the rising sun, but Bābā Nānak began to bathe facing the direction of the setting sun. Other people were casting water toward the rising sun. Bābā Nānak began to throw water in the direction of the sun’s setting. Observing this, the people asked him, “Are you a Hindu, friend, or are you a Muslim?” [From the Gaṅgā River the direction of the setting sun is also, roughly, the direction of Mecca].

“I am a Hindu,” answered Bābā Nānak. “If you are a Hindu,” they said, “to whom are you casting water?”

“Heaven is forty-nine and a half crores [ten millions] of miles from here,” they replied. “The location of the land of departed souls is there, and that is where we are throwing water.”

“Will it get there?” asked Bābā Nānak, and they answered, “Yes, it will get there.”

When they said this, Bābā Nānak cast a little water forward and then began to toss large quantities of it.

“At home I have a field,” replied Guru Bābā Nānak, “and the unripe grain in it is withering. I am watering that field.”

“But Master,” they protested, “how can the water reach your field? Why are you throwing water like this?”

“My friends,” said Bābā Nānak, “if water will not reach my field then how can it reach your forefathers? Your forefathers are away in heaven. How can the water get there?” When Bābā Nānak said this, they exclaimed, “Brothers, this is no ordinary person. This is indeed a great one.”

The next tale describes an encounter that Guru Nānak, while on his travels, had with a robber. In this story the janam-sākhī author is faithful to the message of Nānak that the divine Name is the sole and sufficient remedy awaiting the erring person.

There was once a villainous robber named Bhola who every day sat on an elevated lookout, wearing white clothes and terrorizing the road below. He was a fearless fellow who would tackle eight or ten men at a time, and he had committed many crimes. When he observed Bābā Nānak approaching, he descended from his lookout and, hovering near him, he threateningly announced, “Remove your clothes or I shall kill you.”

“Well!” exclaimed Bābā Nānak. “So I have fallen into your clutches! Do one thing for me—I shall not run away. Return home and when you arrive there put a question to your family—to your mother, father, wife, and sons. You do evil and commit murder, and at the same time you provide for them. Now ask them this question: “When you are in trouble will there be anyone from your entire family who will stand by you in your misfortune?”

Bhola the robber returned home, and when he arrived there he gathered his family together—mother, father, sons, wife, the entire family. “Listen,” he said, “I have committed a thousand murders and crimes without number to provide your food. Tell me, when I am in trouble will any of you share my anguish? Will any of you break the god of death’s net? Can any of you release me from his angel? Will any of you share my suffering, or will you not?”

“Your deeds will be your companions,” they all replied, “for as you act so you appear for judgment before God. The relationship between you and us concerns only this life. Whether a man does good or whether he does evil, while at the same time caring for his family, in the court of God he must answer alone. No one can be taken as a substitute for another.”

At this Bhola was most distressed, and beat upon the ground with both hands. “Have I foolishly wasted all these years with you?” he cried. “If at the end you are going to desert me then why have I spent my life committing a thousand crimes and murders, while providing for you?”

He went off wailing and coming to Bābā Nānak, fell at his feet. Then he stood up with palms joined in supplication. “I have been grossly negligent,” he humbly confessed. “Forgive my evil deeds. My whole life has been spent in this manner. Accept me. Amend my life that I may be restored.”

“Prostrate yourself,” commanded Bābā Nānak, and then he released Bhola from the penalty of his misdeeds. Having forgiven him, Bābā Nānak sang a hymn in sūhī rāga.

Bronze shines brightly, but rub it and it sheds an inky black.

Though I clean it a hundred times, polishing will never remove its stain.

O heedless one! They are my real friends who accompany me now and who will accompany me into the hereafter,

Who, where accounts are demanded, will stand and give an account of good deeds done.

Houses, temples, and palaces may be colorful without,

But let them collapse and they are useless and empty.

The heron wears garments of white and dwells at places of pilgrimage.

But as it pecks and rummages it consumes and destroys life; how then can it be regarded as pure?

My body is like a simmal [silk-cotton] tree which men, when they observe it, mistake as useful.

But as its fruit is devoid of value, so is my body empty of virtue.

A blind man bearing a burden and climbing a precipitous path;

I scan the road but, finding nothing, how can I hope to pass over?

Of what use is any service, virtue, or wisdom other than the divine Name?

Cherish the Name, O Nānak, for only thus shall your bonds be broken.

Bābā Nānak thus relieved Bhola the robber of his distress and proceeded on his way.

When Bābā Nānak was making his way toward Mecca, on the road he happened to encounter some fakirs (faqīr). They asked him, “What is your name?” Bābā Nānak answered, “It is Nānak.” They then asked him, “Are you a Hindu or a Muslim?” and he replied, “I am a Hindu.” Hearing this they drew away from him. “Nānak!” they exclaimed, “this is no road for Hindus!”

“Very well,” said Bābā Nānak. “Let us make the pilgrimage to Mecca separately and whoever God takes will go there. Proceed on your way.” When Bābā Nānak said this they left him and went on their way, while he remained there. It was a year’s journey to Mecca, and after a year the fakirs reached the city. When they arrived, whom should they see but Bābā Nānak already there! The fakirs were astounded. “We left him behind and yet he has arrived ahead of us!” they exclaimed. “What marvel is this?”

The fakirs then enquired from the people of Mecca concerning Bābā Nānak. “How long has this fakir been here, friends?” they asked.

“O God, has a Hindu drawn so near to you?” cried the fakirs. “Glory to your grace whereby he has been brought near to you. You have imparted your grace to a Hindu.” They then related what had happened along the way. The people of Mecca, however, assured them: “This is no Hindu. This is a great sage, one who recites the nāmāz [Muslim prayer, particularly the prescribed daily prayers]. Everyone recites the nāmāz after him. He recites the nāmāz before anyone else.”

“He told us he was a Hindu,” said the fakirs, “but he is really a Muslim and thus he has come near to God. We were amazed, wondering how a Hindu could draw near to God in this way.”

While in Mecca, Bābā Nānak went into a mosque and dropped off to sleep with his feet toward the mosque’s miḥrāb (the niche in a mosque which marks the direction of the Ka’bah in Mecca). The story is a familiar one in Sufi hagiography, telling how the very house of God moves in obedience to the presence of a great Muslim mystic. In this case it revolves for one who is not a Muslim and is greater than the greatest of Sufis.

Bābā Nānak lay down in the Mecca mosque and went to sleep with his feet toward the miḥrāb. A mulla, who was the mosque attendant, appeared and cried out, “You blasphemous fellow! Why have you gone to sleep with your feet in the direction of the house of God?”

“My friend,” answered Bābā Nānak, “lay my feet in whatever direction the house of God is not be found.”

When the mulla pulled Bābā Nānak’s feet around in a northerly direction, the miḥrāb moved in the same direction. When he moved Bābā Nānak’s feet to the east, the miḥrāb also moved in that direction, and when he dragged Bābā Nānak’s feet to the south, the miḥrāb went the same way. Then from the cupola of the mosque there echoed a voice, mysterious and resonant: “Praise be to Nānak! Praise be to Nānak!” it boomed.

During the lifetime of Nānak, the Mughals under Bābar invaded from Afghanistan, and following the battle of Panipat in 1526, Mughal rule was established in north India with Bābar as the first emperor. Janam-sākhīs naturally include anecdotes concerning Bābā Nānak’s encounter with Bābar. Although none of these is likely to have occurred, Guru Nānak certainly witnessed the Mughal invasions, as he has left four hymns that are clearly the work of an eyewitness. The most famous of these centers on the Mughal sack of the Punjabi town of Saidpur.

Carrying on to Saidpur, Bābā Nānak stopped outside the town and rested. Further on, a wedding was being celebrated in the house of some Pathans [Afghans], and the Pathans were dancing. With Bābā Nānak there were some fakirs who were very hungry. He remained for some time at that place, but no one paid any heed to him sitting there. The fakirs were weak with hunger, and so Bābā Nānak arose and, taking with him Mardana [the guru’s faithful companion] and the fakirs, went into the town. There they asked for food, but at all the houses they visited their request was ignored. Bābā Nānak became exceedingly wrathful. “Mardana,” he commanded, “play the rabāb [rebec]!” In anger he sang a hymn in tilaṅg rāga.

I proclaim the tidings that I have received from the Lord, O Beloved.

From Kabul he has descended with sin as his marriage-party and forcibly demanded a dowry, O Beloved.

Modesty and sacred duty have gone into hiding,
and falsehood struts around as Lord, O Beloved.

The writ of the qāḍī and the brahman no longer runs,
for it is Satan who reads the marriage ceremony, O Beloved.

In their agony Muslim women read the Qur’ān
and cry for help to God, O Beloved.

And Hindu women, both high caste and low,
they too suffer the same violation, O Beloved.

It is a song of blood that is sung, O Nānak;
and blood, O Beloved, is the saffron wherewith they are anointed.

In the city of the dead Nānak praises the Lord, and to all he proclaims this belief:

He who created the world in all its manifestations sits alone, observing all.

When the fabric of our body is torn to shreds, then will Hindustan recall my words;

For the Lord is true, his justice is true, and true will be his judgment.

He will come in seventy-eight and go in ninety-seven,
and another disciple of a warrior will arise.

This is the truth that Nānak utters, the truth that he will proclaim,
for now is the moment of truth!

On the third day Bābā Nānak returned to Saidpur and entered it. When he gazed around at the town he observed that all its inhabitants had been killed. “Mardana,” said Bābā Nānak, “what has happened?”

“Play the rabab, Mardana,” said Bābā Nānak. Mardana played the āsā rāga on the rabāb and Bābā Nānak sang this hymn [omitted here].

And so all the Pathans there were slain. The female prisoners of the Pathans were carried off and the rule of Mir Bābar prevailed. Hindustan was seized and joined to Khurasan.

Bābā Nānak then proceeded to the army encampment and entered it. Now Mīr Bābar was a Sufi. According to the janam-sakhīs, he was secretly a darvīsh or mystic. During the day he performed his royal duties, but at night he cast the fetters off from his feet, bowed his head, and worshiped God. When day dawned he would recite the nāmāz, read the thirty sections of the Qur’ān, and after this consume bhang (cannabis).

Bābā Nānak entered the army encampment and began to sing a hymn. Nearby were the prisoners, and when he looked at them he observed how dreadfully miserable they were. “Mardana,” he said, “play the rabāb.” He then sang a hymn in tilaṅg rāga.

You spared Khurasan but yet spread fear in Hindustan.

Creator, you did this, but to avoid the blame you sent the Mughal as the messenger of death.

Receiving such chastisement, the people cry out in agony and yet no anguish touches you.

When Mir Bābar heard this hymn, he exclaimed, “Friends, fetch that fakir.” Some men went and brought Bābā Nānak into his presence. Bābar said, “Fakir, repeat what you just sang.” When Bābā Nānak repeated the hymn, the portals of Bābar’s understanding opened. “Friends,” he declared, “this is a noble fakir!”

He then opened his bhang pouch and offered it to Bābā Nānak, saying, “Have some bhang, fakir.”

“Mīrjī,” replied Bābā Nānak, “I have already eaten bhang. I have taken a kind of bhang which induces a condition of permanent intoxication.” Bābā Nānak continued, “Mardana, play the rabāb.” He then sang a hymn in tilaṅg rāga [omitted].

Bābā Nānak then looked at the prisoners again and was much grieved by their misery. “Mardana,” he said, “play the rabāb.” Mardana played the rabab and Bābā Nānak sang a hymn in āsā rāga [omitted].

Having uttered this hymn, Bābā Nānak passed into a trance, fell to the ground, and lay there. Bābar came and, standing over him, asked, “What has happened to the fakir?”

“Sir, the fakir is in agony,” answered the people. “Seeing the wrath of God, he has fallen into a trance.”

Bābā Nānak then sat up, and as he did so there blazed forth a radiance as if a thousand suns had risen. Bābar salaamed and cried, “Have mercy!”

“Mīrjī,” replied Bābā Nānak, “if you desire mercy then release the prisoners.”

“This I ask,” said Bābar, “that my kingdom may endure from generation to generation.”

Having clothed the prisoners, Bābar released them, and Bābā Nānak rejoiced. He took leave of Bābar and went on his way. Crossing the Ravi and Chenab rivers, he made his way through the Punjab inspecting waste lands, in search of a suitable place to stay. Traveling on, he reached a spot beside a river. Crowds of people flocked there. All who heard that he was there came to him. “A true fakir of God has been born,” they declared. “His name is Nānak and he is absorbed in his God.” Many people gathered there and became disciples. All who came were overjoyed. Whenever Bābā Nānak composed a hymn it was circulated. He composed hymns, and fakirs sang devotional songs. In Nānak’s house the truth concerning the one divine Name was expounded. His praises resounded and enormous crowds came to him. Hindus, Muslims, [all manner of people] came and were captivated. All extolled his greatness.

While on his travels, Guru Nānak encountered a frightening creature who turned out to be Kaliyuga, an incarnate version of the fourth cosmic age. The cosmic cycle is divided into four ages and the Kaliyuga, the iron age, is the period of deepest degeneracy which precedes the restoration of absolute truth and fulfilment in the Kṛtayuga or Satyayuga. (We are at present living in the Kaliyuga.) Guru Nānak is here confronted by an incarnate form of this, the evil age, and in his discourse with it he reduces it to total subjection.

Guru Nānak and Mardana entered a great and fearsome wilderness, where no dwelling was to be seen. One day, in accordance with the divine command, there came darkness and a terrible storm. Around them flashed black, white, and red. Torrents of rain fell as awesome black clouds rolled over. Mardana was terrified. “Bābājī!” he cried. “A mighty storm has blown up! It is raining! Let us flee! Come, let us take shelter under a tree!”

“Say ‘Praise to the Guru,’ Mardana, and nothing will come near you,” answered Bābā Nānak. “This darkness and rain with these clouds of smoke will go. Keep calm.”

Gradually the darkness and the rain lifted. When they had cleared, there appeared the figure of a demon with huge fangs, the top of his head touching the heavens and its feet the ground. Enormous was its belly and terrifying its evil eyes. Fearsomely it advanced. “Bābājī!” cried Mardana. “God saved us from the storm, but this calamity we shall not escape!”

“Say ‘Praise to the Guru,’ Mardana,” replied Bābā Nānak, “and like the storm this too will depart. Keep calm.”

In accordance with the divine command, the apparition assumed the form of a man standing respectfully before them in an attitude of submission. “Who are you?” asked Bābā Nānak. It replied, “Gracious one, I am Kaliyuga. I am greatly honored by your entry into my kingdom, into this domain of mine. Accept an offering from me.”

“What is there in all that you have to offer?” asked Bābā Nānak. “Tell me, may I ask whatever I please?”

“Gracious one,” replied Kaliyuga, “if you command I shall erect a palace studded with pearls and annointed with musk.”

Bābā Nānak, in response, sang a hymn in the measure sirī rāga. “Mardana,” he said, “play the rabāb so that I may sing a hymn.”

If I should own a priceless palace, walled with pearl and tiled with jewels,

Rooms perfumed with musk and saffron, sweet with fragrant sandalwood,

Yet may your Name remain, O Master, in my thoughts and in my heart.

Apart from God my soul must burn,

Apart from God no place to turn,

The guru thus declares [refrain omitted].

Kaliyuga then said, “If you so command I shall encrust the whole world with diamonds and stud a bed with pearls and rubies.” In reply, Bābā Nānak sang the second stanza.

Kaliyuga then said, “My Lord, if you so command I shall lead the whole of creation captive and lay it in obedience before you.” Bābā Nānak then sang the third stanza.

Kaliyuga then said, “If you so command I shall give you kingship over all lands.” Bābā Nānak sang the fourth stanza.

“I have no use for the things you have been describing,” continued Bābā Nānak. “What else do you have? What kind of kingdom have you? What manner of deeds do you expect from your subjects and what way of life do you impose on them?”

“My Lord, in my kingdom the way of life is of the kind that is typical of this evil age, the Kaliyuga. It consists of hunger, lethargy, thirst, abuse, avarice, sloth, drunkenness, and indolence. Highway robbery, gambling, strangling, slander, the four cardinal sins, falsehood, deceit, wrath, greed, covetousness, and pride abound. There is scarcely one in ten million who can evade my authority. No, all are in my power.”

“I am asking you for a boon, brother,” said Bābā Nānak. “Gracious one,” replied Kaliyuga, “I shall do whatever you command.”

“Let not any of my Sikhs who may be under your authority be harassed, brother,” said Bābā Nānak, “nor any gathering of my followers that may be within your domains. Do not let your shadow fall upon them. Let not the recitation of hymns be neglected, nor the works of mercy and benevolence, holy charity, remembrance of the divine Name, and bathing at the pilgrimage center of truth.”

“Merciful one, forgive me,” said Kaliyuga humbly. “Of all ages the authority of mine is the greatest.”

“If you are going to give a boon,” replied Bābā Nānak, “then let it be this. Let the congregation of my followers live in peace, happiness, and the fear of God.”

“You are omniscient, merciful one,” answered Kaliyuga, “but even if one is regarded by others as a mighty seer (sadhu) yet to me he is a mere man.”

“If you are going to give a boon then let it be this,” repeated Bābā Nānak.

Kaliyuga then adopted an attitude of submission. “My Lord,” he said, “my life, my soul, everything is at your disposal.”

Kaliyuga swore it three times and fell at his feet. Bābā Nānak was filled with joy. “Go on your way,” he said. “Your glory shall exceed that of all ages. In your kingdom there will be the singing of hymns and preaching of the most exalted kind. Previously people performed austerities for a hundred thousand years in order to obtain liberation, but in your age if anyone meditates on the divine Name with undivided concentration for a few short minutes, that person will be liberated.”

Later in their travels, Bābā Nānak and Mardana came to a country that was ruled by women. This particular story clearly shows the janam-sākhī debt to puranic and tantric tradition, as the narrative descends from a famous Nāth legend concerning the capture of Machendranāth by the women who ruled the country of Kadali (or Kāmarūpa) and their magical transformation of him into a sheep. Machendranāth was subsequently rescued by Gorakhnāth, as here Mardana was rescued by Bābā Nānak.

Bābā Nānakjī came to a land beside the sea where no man was to be found. Women rule there, and in all villages throughout the country women receive the earnings, not the men. “Bābājī, let us see this country,” suggested Mardana.

“This is a land of women,” replied Bābā Nānak. “It would be unwise to proceed further into this country.”

“Now that we have come so far let us see it,” persisted Mardana. “Who else comes so far?”

“Go then if you so desire,” said Guru Nānak, “and having seen it return here.”

Mardana took his rabāb so that he might beg and, proceeding straight to a town, he entered it. When the women observed him all of them slowly closed in upon him. No man was to be found there. “Come inside,” they said, but Mardana replied, “No, I cannot enter.”

When they perceived that he would not go in voluntarily, they pushed him in and tied his hands with thread. Their thread was enchanted by means of a potent spell, and through the magic power of the thread they could do whatever they wished with him. When they tied his hands with the thread he changed into a ram. They threw his rabab inside and, having turned him into a ram, they tethered him in the courtyard.

Meanwhile Bābā Nānak was scanning the road, but Mardana did not return. “God be blessed!” said Guru Bābā Nānak. “He used to pluck the strings of his rabab and meditate on the divine Name of God. Wherever has he gone? He had another man with him and he has not returned, either.”

Guru Bābā Nānak arose and went to the town. As he proceeded into the town he came to the place where Mardana had been ensnared, and there entered the courtyard. Seeing him enter the women all came to him. “You have my man. Return him to me,” commanded Bābā Nānak.

When Mardana, who had been turned into a ram, observed Bābā Nānak, he began to scratch the ground with his hoof. He was unable to speak, for when he tried to do so he only bleated. Bābā Nānak saw that it was Mardana and motioned to him to be patient, although he could not help being amused at the same time.

Bābā Nānak then said to the women, “If you would do a good deed, restore my man.”

“Sir,” they replied, “where is this man? Come in, take food and drink. Where else would you go now?”

As soon as they had said this, Bābā Nānak’s hands were instantly tied by the magic thread. But Bābā Nānak is a perfected one. What can overcome him? When their thread was tied on him nothing happened. They called others skilled in sorcery, but those who came also failed. “Restore my man,” said Bābā Nānak.

They began to whisper to each other. “This must be some great warrior, someone of mighty power upon whom our charms have no effect.”

Bābā Nānak released Mardana from the enchanted thread and he stood before them, a man again.

“This is no man!” cried the women [referring to Bābā Nānak]. “This is a god! He on whom our charms were ineffectual must be God!”

All the women came and fell at Bābā Nānak’s feet and from their hearts they made this request: “Sir, we have suffered much from the absence of men. Free us, sir, from this suffering.” Bābā Nānak, being one who understands inner thoughts and motives, heard their petition and blessed them. They found peace and began to sing the praises of God.

In the first of his lengthy poems (known as vars) the celebrated Sikh poet Bhai Gurdās tells, with remarkable brevity, the famous story of how Bābā Nānak approached Multan. As he drew near the city the Muslim holy men of the city brought out for him a cup brimful of milk.

Bābā Nānak arose and journeyed from the fair to Multan.

As he drew near, the pīrs of Multan came bringing a cup filled [to the brim] with milk.

Bābā Nānak plucked a nearby jasmine flower and laid it on the milk, Just as the Gaṅgā flows into the ocean!.

In laying the jasmine petal on the milk, Bābā Nānak had not spilled any of it. The intention of the pīrs in offering milk was to indicate that Multan was already brimful of holy men and that accordingly there was no place in the city for Guru Nānak. The point of the guru’s response was that as a flower petal could be laid on a brimming cup without causing it to overflow, so Multan could find room for one more holy man, and that the most sublime of them all.

This anecdote is contained in Sufi tradition of an earlier date. The Sufi pīr was ‘Abdul Qādir Jīlānī, the city was Baghdad, the cup was filled with water, and the petal was that of a rose. It is, however, essentially the same anecdote, communicating exactly the same message. The anecdote had, moreover, been transferred by the Sufis to Multan and attached to two different pīrs. The earlier was Baha’ al-Dīn Zakariyya, who died in 1266. The second was the slightly later Shams al-Dīn Tabrīzi who was sent the cup by Baha’ al-Dīn Zakariyya. In both instances, the cup contained milk.

Before he died in 1539, Nānak passed the leadership of his Sikhs on to the second guru, a man called Lahiṇā whom he renamed Aṅgad. The reason for Guru Nānak’s trust in the absolute loyalty of Aṅgad is well illustrated by several stories from the janam-sākhīs. The following serves as an example.

One day Babā Nānak was bathing and Aṅgad, who had already bathed, was sitting nearby. Bābā Nānak was standing in the river. It was winter and as a result of the squalls and the rain that had fallen it was exceedingly cold. Guru Aṅgad suffered greatly from the cold and the rain. The clothes he was wearing were soaked. Eventually the cold overcame Guru Aṅgad and, losing consciousness, he collapsed.

Having emerged from the river, donned his clothing, and performed his prostrations, Bābā Nānak went to Aṅgad and, reaching him, nudged him with his foot. When Bābā Nānak nudged him, Guru Aṅgad regained consciousness. He was restored. The chill departed, he became warm, and sat up.

“Sir, my clothing was soaked with rain and I lost consciousness. I was aware of nothing that had happened. I had no knowledge of it at all.”

“Because of you,” answered Guru Aṅgad, “I now know that my spirit has been illumined by the light of ten million suns, and that because of you warmth has been restored.”

“Well, my son, are you comfortable now?” asked Bābā Nānak, and he replied, “I am comfortable.”

Bābā Nānak then said, “This discipline which I perform I do only for my Sikhs. I perform this service in your stead, my son, for your body cannot endure its rigor.” If anyone bears the title of Nānak-panthi [a follower of Nānak’s way, a disciple of Nānak, a Sikh; in practice the term is generally restricted to Sikhs of the pre-Khālsā period or to those of the later period who do not take the Khālsā vows] he will be liberated.