“How did you get that black eye?” asked Guru Gobind Singh Jee. The teenager dressed in a long blue gown, wearing a sword looked at his Master’s feet and responded with silence.
The King of this World and the next, radiated glory in all directions and the lovelight washed over the quiet young man, “Dear child of mine, your turban has been knocked, your nose is bleeding and you have a black eye. Now you don’t get that from just cleaning the stables. So I order you to tell me who did this to you?”
The slender young warrior continued looking lovingly at the Master’s feet and humbly replied, ‘I was feeding the horses Guru jee when you suddenly slapped me.’
The Khalsa warrior who had brought the young Singh in to Guru Jee’s royal court quickly interrupted, ‘O Guru Jee, this saintly boy will not tell you, but I saw that mighty Singh over there just walk across to the boy and without even uttering a word he swung his arm with full force landing his palm on the boy’s right cheek. Guru Maharaj forgive my younger brother for his answer , he is not lying for he sees your face in everyface, everywhere and all the time. He speaks little and is always engrossed in service and meditation, seva and simran. He was attacked for no reason, that is why I dragged him here to get some justice. He did not want to complain.’
Some warrior Nihangs dressed in blue battle clothes, grabbed the Singh accused of the attack and escorted him into Guru Gobind Singh Jee’s divine presence.
‘Explain your actions.’ ordered Guru Gobind Singh Jee.
The Singh was built like a mountain with an ego to match he replied in rough voice ‘Guru Jee, this boy is half my age, everyday he does seva and simran, he speaks little and when he does it’s full of love and humility. I can’t stand him. Everyday I do seva along side him, I see how much you love him and bless him, whereas I get no look of grace. He was getting too close to you and I hate him. I had to teach him a lesson!’
Guru Gobind Singh Jee reprimanded the Singh and gave him some community service to do, then he got up and hugged the young Singh who was still looking at the Master’s feet, ‘Dhan GurSikh, Great is the GurSikh who even in suffering accepts it as a divine gift.’
Ketia Dukh Bukh saad mar. Eh Bhee Daat Teree Datar.
Countless many continuously suffer pain and hunger.
O Giver, Even these are Your Gifts’
Harjit Singh Lakhan
(adapted from a sakhee told by a giani)