Bani Sheikh Farid Ji

Sheikh Farid Ji

The composition is set to rag Asa, a musical mode of hope, expectation, and devotion. It is also associated with devotion and moral clarity—the kind that surfaces when a seeker stands at a fork in the path, facing internal dilemmas or dichotomies. This composition is attributed to Sheikh Farid, one of the fifteen revered Sheikhs (devoted beings) whose compositions are included in the Guru Granth Sahib. Known as Fariduddin Ganj-i-Shakar (Treasure of Sweetness), he was a 12th–13th-century mystic of the Chishti Sufi Order. His legacy of gentleness and radical devotion resonated across traditions, drawing respect from Muslims, Hindus, and Sikhs alike. His voice called for the transcendence of rigid identities through a universal connection with IkOankar (One Creative and Pervasive Force, 1Force, the One). The title "Sheikh" carries multiple layers of meaning. While an honorific in Sufi lineages, in the South Asian context, it also signifies social identity, often associated with upper-caste converts to Islam during the early spread of Islam in the region. The title alludes to this layered identity, acknowledging the caste and class dynamics of the era. Rather than asserting spiritual status, it brings visibility to those often marginalized in dominant narratives. Within the Sikh tradition, this holds particular significance. The inclusion of Sheikh Farid’s verses in the Guru Granth Sahib reflects Sikhi’s challenge to hierarchy and its embrace of devotion beyond social and religious divisions. The presence of these compositions stands as a quiet yet powerful affirmation that love for the One transcends all imposed boundaries. 

The creative and all-pervasive IkOankar is One that is unparalleled. IkOankar is realized through the grace of eternal Wisdom (Guru). The composition commences with the invocation to the One and the anchoring of the omnipotence of IkOankar. It is an invitation, a grounding reminder, perhaps even a call to action, urging seekers to center the One in their remembrance. 

Let us first ground ourselves in the rahau (Pause) line: Those who are dyed in the love of Khuda are imbued in the love of Khuda’s glimpse. Those for whom Nam has been forgotten have become a burden on the land. Sheikh Farid draws a clear and contemplative distinction between two kinds of individuals: those immersed in the love of the One and those who have forgotten the Nam (Identification with IkOankar). Nam, found in both Indic and Islamic vocabularies, speaks to a universal connection with Khuda, the eternal One, a divine, synonymous name for IkOankar. It reflects the essence of remembrance, the ongoing awareness of the One that shapes how we live, love, and act. The Identification is not just a concept—it is the guiding current of an aligned life. Those grounded in truth are imbued with love for the One. Their longing for a glimpse of the One is not performative; it is lived, moment by moment. They carry clarity in their devotion and purpose, and through that clarity, they quietly offer something meaningful to the world around them. On the other hand, those disconnected from the Identification are described as raw, unformed, or unsettled. Without a felt sense of direction or inner anchoring, their attention is scattered. They may show up in life, but without knowing why or for what. Over time, they carry emotional, mental, and spiritual baggage and gradually become that baggage in the spaces they occupy. Rather than using harsh labels, we might consider a gentle example: someone traveling without a map. They walk, they move, they expend energy—but they don’t reach anywhere that nourishes them or others. In this disoriented state, frustration builds, clarity fades, and heaviness sets in. Not because they are undeserving or bad, but because they are disconnected from themselves, from purpose, and the One.

For whom love is from the heart, they alone are true. Here, Sheikh Farid deepens the message introduced in the first stanza. This is a moment to consider the path from disconnected to connected, to recognize what it is we truly love, trust, and follow, and to acknowledge what stands in the way of living in full alignment. Love is spoken of as rising from the heart, not as performance or proclamation, but as an authentic, inner reality. Those who love the One sincerely, without contradiction between their internal state and outward expression, are the true ones. In contrast, those whose minds harbor one thing while their mouths express another are described as false, not as a condemnation, but as beings still raw, unripened, or underdeveloped. This is not merely about aligning thoughts and speech. It is about cultivating an inner-external sync, where our thoughts, feelings, and actions move in harmony. When we act from pretense or inner dissonance—driven by deception, manipulation, greed, or mistrust—we create fragmentation within ourselves. These are not faults to hide but patterns to notice and work through. This teaching nudges us to adopt a more authentic way of being, one where inner clarity translates into outer integrity. And in that alignment, we begin to glimpse the colors of the One—vivid, grounded, and grace-filled. 

Those whom Khuda Own-Self has attached to the hem; they alone are accomplished dervishes at the Khuda’s door. Sheikh Farid offers a prayer-like admiration—a deep reverence for those rare beings who have been drawn to the door of the eternal One. The word ‘dervish’ goes beyond the standard translation of ‘mystic.’ It speaks of someone who is so anchored in devotion that they cling—unshakably—to the threshold of the One. In worldly life, to cling often carries a negative connotation. Here, to cling to the One is not desperation—it is grace. It is not a simple act of effort but of being graced. These individuals are not just visiting the door of the eternal One—they have been attached to the One, pulled in, and held close. This state is not something one achieves through status or merit; it is something bestowed upon one. It is an honor orchestrated only by the One. Such individuals are seen as truly successful, not by the world’s standards, but in the greater existential sense. Their lives are fruitful not because of wealth or fame but because they live in constant nearness to the eternal One. Their connection redefines what it means to live a meaningful life. And in this redefinition, a familiar social script is turned upside down. In many cultures, mothers are often praised when their children achieve conventional success, such as academic honors, financial prosperity, and high social standing. Here, the mother is congratulated for giving birth to the being who clings to the One, lives in humble devotion, and is not subservient to worldly power but devoted only to the eternal One. It’s a quiet but profound shift. This form of recognition—the honoring of clarity and devotion—is rarely spoken of, even less often celebrated. Our attention is drawn to this frequently forgotten kind of accomplishment: to be inwardly anchored, to live at the door of the One, and to belong wholly to that eternal One. This is an invitation to reconsider what we admire, what we celebrate, and ultimately, what we aspire to become.

O Nurturer! You are boundless, unreachable, and infinite. Sheikh Farid turns toward the One with reverence, naming the One as the Infinite, the Nurturer, the Sustainer of all. The nurturer IkOankar cannot be reduced to human constructs or confined by narrow frameworks. It is not the One of a particular tribe, nation, or belief system, but the One whose vastness is beyond the reach of the mind and senses. In today’s world, we often witness how the name of the One is claimed by communities to reinforce boundaries—to separate ‘us’ from ‘them.’ Religions sometimes compete over who holds the ‘true’ version of the One. Nations may invoke the One to justify war or politics. People may pray in the name of the One while holding tightly to ideas that exclude, divide, or dominate. We are called to shake off these shackles of divisiveness and othering and recognize instead that the One cannot be used to support personal or collective agendas. This eternal One is beyond all flags, all creeds, all entitlements; the One that Sheikh Faird bows to cannot be appropriated or manipulated. Those who have aligned themselves with this vastness—who have recognized and lived in the awareness of the infinite One—are held in the highest regard. And the depth of this regard is demonstrated through the most humble symbolic acts of reverence: kissing the feet. This isn’t merely about the individuals themselves but about the profound experience of expansiveness they embody in utter humility. It is a gesture of honor, awe, and longing—longing not for the person but for the depth of connection they represent. In expressing this, Sheikh Farid’s inner state is revealed—a profound yearning to be among those who live fully in the realm where there is no falsehood, no fragmentation, no pretension. In the presence of the Infinite, all falsity dissolves. Recognition of the Nurturer is not intellectual; it is existential, and we, too, are invited to cherish those who have come to dwell in that truth.

O Khuda! I am in Your sanctuary; You are the Bestower. Sheikh Farid turns inward in humble plea, standing at the door of the eternal One and asking for the one gift he longs for above all else: devotion. Shortcomings, mistakes, and transgressions are brought before the eternal One, not with shame, but with deep vulnerability. There is no request for material comforts, power, or status. The plea is for forgiveness and for the heart to be filled with the Identification—with awareness and love for the eternal One. This longing reflects a deep desire to be immersed in this everlasting and fragrant love. A seeker stands at the threshold, asking to be brought into that state, not through merit, but through trust in the expansiveness, compassion, and grace of the One, who transforms even the most burdened heart. The voice in this composition gently reorients us. The blessings often sought are fleeting and material, but the gift of Identification is different—it heals, steadies, and brings stability. It does not age, diminish, or lead to suffering. It is the gift of closeness to the One. In this simple yet powerful plea, we are offered a model of surrender: asking not for comfort but for connection; not for relief, but for remembrance. 

While all arrive in this world, only some fulfill the deeper purpose of the journey; others risk becoming a weight, disconnected from their calling. However, for those drenched in the love of the eternal One, hope narrows into a single hope, and expectations converge into one longing. If we were to evaluate ourselves on the journey from unformed to truthful, where would we honestly place ourselves today, authentically and without pretense? Can we use this self-assessment not as a harsh judgment but as a gentle guide, as Sheikh Farid does, toward what we may nurture if we genuinely wish to experience connection? What kinds of gifts do we usually ask for from the One? Are they rooted in material comfort, success, or security? Or do they reflect a longing for love, clarity, and connection?