IX Lines From the Adi Granth
The Adi Granth, or sacred Book of the Sikhs of the Punjab, was composed by the founder of their religion and their nationality, Baba Nanak (b. 1469), who abolished caste and idolatry, and established a pure monotheism. A striking incident at the Coronation Durbar was the arrival of the Sikh mission in charge of the Adi Granth, which was brought on a pilgrimage from its shrine in the exquisitely beautiful golden temple at Amritsar to the tomb of the disciple of Nanak, who, before suffering martyrdom at Delhi during the Mogul Empire, prophesied the advent of a fair race destined to sweep the Mogul power to the winds. I take these few sentences to show the essential continuity of Indian thought about animals. In the faith of Nanak none remains of the particular tenets of Buddhism or Jainism or Hinduism, but the animal is still inside, not outside, the pale of what may be called Pan-humanity: the whole family of earth-born creatures.
I
Say not that this or that distasteful is,
In all the dear Lord dwells,—they all are His
Grieve not the humblest heart; all hearts that are,
Are priceless jewels, all are rubies rare.
Ah! If thou long’st for thy Beloved, restrain
One angry word that gives thy brother pain.
II
All creatures, Lord, are Thine, and Thou art theirs,
One bond Creator with created shares;
To whom, O Maker! must they turn and weep
If not to Thee their Lord, who dost all keep?
All living creatures, Lord, were made by Thee,
Where Thou hast fixed their station, there they be.
For them Thou dost prepare their daily bread,
Out of Thy loving-kindness they are fed;
On each the bounties of Thy mercy fall,
And Thy compassion reaches to them all.
III
One understanding to all flesh He gives,
Without that understanding nothing lives;
As is their understanding,—they are so;
The reckoning is the same. They come and go.
The faithful watch-dog that does all he can,
Is better far than the unprayerful man.
Birds in their purse of silver have no store,
But them the Almighty Father watches o’er.
They say who kill, they do but what they may,
Lawful they deem the bleating lamb to slay;
When God takes down the eternal Book of Fate,
Oh, tell me what, what then will be their state?
He who towards every living thing is kind,
Ah! he, indeed, shall true religion find!
IV
Great is the warrior who has killed within
Self,—Self which still is root and branch of sin.
“I, I,” still cries the World, and gads about,
Reft of the Word which Self has driven out.
V
Thou, Lord, the cage,—the parrot, see! ’Tis I!
Yama the cat: he looks and passes by.
By Yama bound my mind can never be,
I call on Him who Yama made and me.
The Lord eternal is: what should I fear?
However low I fall, He still will hear.
He tends his creatures as a mother mild
Tends with untiring love her little child.
VI
I do not die: the world within me dies:
Now, now, the Vivifier vivifies;
Sweet is the world,—ah! very sweet it is,
But through its sweets we lose the eternal bliss!
Perpetual joy, the inviolate mansion, where
There is no grief, woe, error, sin, nor care;
Coming and going and death, enter not in;
The changeless only there an entrance win.
Whosoe’er dieth, born again must be,
Die thou whilst living, and thou wilt be free!
VII
He, the Supreme, no limit has nor end,
And what HE is how can we comprehend?
Once did a wise man say: “He only knows
God’s nature to whom God His mercy shows.”