rāgu āsā mahalā 3 paṭī
ikoaṅkār satigur prasādi.
ayo aṅṅai sabhu jagu āiā kākhai ghaṅṅai kālu bhaïā.
rīrī lalī pāp kamāṇe paṛi avgaṇ guṇ vīsariā.1.
man aisā lekhā tūṁ kī paṛiā.
lekhā deṇā terai siri rahiā.1. rahāu.
-Guru Granth Sahib 434
The Patti by Guru Amardas Sahib comprises eighteen stanzas (couplets), each containing two lines. The first stanza is followed by the rahau, which informs that the study of mere worldly accounting and writing systems is futile unless they help the being to introspect about their deeds in life. The remaining stanzas are addressed to the Pandit, the teacher, and it is stated: O foolish Pandit, you never remember IkOankar. You will regret wasting your life when you depart from this world. You are not on the path and are also leading your students astray. Though you read religious texts, you do not put them into practice. You are consumed by material attachment. This life is an opportunity to connect with the all-pervading IkOankar, but you live in ignorance. Whereas those who connect with the Wisdom (Guru) and sing praises of IkOankar settle all their accounts and are honored in the court of IkOankar.
Commentary
Literal Translation
Interpretive Transcreation
Poetical Dimension
Calligraphy
This composition is revealed by Guru Amardas in the rag or musical mode of Asa. Asa evokes a mood of hope, expectation, and devotion. Making us question what we really long for in our lives, the sentiment of this rag promises a transcendence, away from our customary desires towards a true yearning. Despite achieving many milestones, Guru Amardas felt something was still missing, which is evident in this composition. The title of this composition, Patti, literally refers to the Gurmukhi tablet. Culturally, it was commonly understood as a tablet on which the alphabets were written, and eventually, it also became a genre of poetry in the Panjabi language. Though digital tablets have found their way into classrooms and backpacks worldwide today, earlier, wooden tablets were conventional for students. Wooden tablets were notoriously hard to clean, but the repetition of the alphabet and the complexity of erasing them facilitated an invocation of clarity and further strengthened the lesson. The idea was to have the message etched in the mind, but the focus was always on the lesson, not the alphabet. This metaphor is illustrated in this composition, and the message is conveyed to our minds using the Gurmukhi letters as the vehicles of knowledge transfer. Guru Amardas beautifully uses alliteration of the Gurmukhi alphabet to impart wisdom and understanding, as captured in the Sabad (the hymn-like stanza that exemplifies the word-sound of the Infinite Wisdom). The ordering of this composition does not correspond with the current organization of the current Gurmukhi alphabet. For reference, we have provided the modern standardized Gurmukhi alphabet below and will refer to the central letter of each couplet to orient readers.
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 (One Creative and Pervasive Force, 1Force, the One). It is an invitation, a grounding reminder, perhaps even a call to action, urging seekers to center the Divine grace in their remembrance.
Guru Amardas begins the conversation with the mind through the Pause line by delivering the message through a series of Gurmukhi letters. O mind! What kind of accounting have you studied? The mind is asked: What is the reason for the debt of deeds that exists on the head? Despite the studies, knowledge acquisition, and education, why was a lesson not learned that could settle this debt? We may recoil at this direct calling-in at our sense of pride over our professional field or alma mater. With no visible learning and the accounts of our actions looming on our heads, the learner and the learned within us are expected to justify the hours we spent imparting, preaching, and diligently studying in our lifetime. A student may attend school every day and record notes on every lesson the teacher delivers. Yet, despite it all, if the student cannot internalize and apply their lessons by the end of the term, the hours spent studying become inconsequential. College credits become representative not of learning but of the accumulation of hundreds of pages of notes. Similarly, if there is no insight, no learning, no application, no discovery, and at the end if the accounts on our forehead are still pending, then we may want to assess the value of the pages of notes we collect, which are akin to everything we have accumulated. We are encouraged to evaluate our actions based on superficiality and performativity. Anything done without an intention and which lacks experiential wisdom quickly becomes trivial. The Pause line leads us to the question: Are education and learning one and the same? If learning and education are not equals, what can we change so that our knowledge becomes a boon and not a burden?
Guru Amardas emphasizes the transience of life in the first couplet. O mind! What kind of account have you studied that giving the account of your deeds has remained hanging over your head? We are invited to remember and accept that everything that has come into this world is temporary and, hence, subject to an end. The lack of awareness about the truth of our existence directly impacts our thoughts and behaviors. An epidemic of assumed immortality fuels our futuristic fascinations. We want to accumulate and feel prepared for a tomorrow that is not promised. This perception of reality causes us to want more than we need, and we are pleased to overlook our misdeeds. In this accumulation, we unconsciously hoard harmful thoughts, speech, and actions, adding weight to our head burgeons. If we realize that today is all we have—that a far-off imagined future day is not guaranteed, we might consciously shift from consumption to desire. Guru Amardas teaches us the larger lesson of life in the solar plexus: We are perishable and temporary. When all that is certain is uncertainty, we might want to check in with ourselves and ask how we intend to live now.
| ੳ | ਅ | ੲ | ਸ | ਹ |
| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |
| ਕ | ਖ | ਗ | ਘ | ਙ |
| 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 |
| ਚ | ਛ | ਜ | ਝ | ਞ |
| 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 |
| ਟ | ਠ | ਡ | ਢ | ਣ |
| 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 |
| ਤ | ਥ | ਦ | ਧ | ਨ |
| 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 |
| ਪ | ਫ | ਬ | ਭ | ਮ |
| 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 |
| ਯ | ਰ | ਲ | ਵ | ੜ |
| 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 |
Guru Amardas begins the conversation with the mind through the Pause line by delivering the message through a series of Gurmukhi letters. O mind! What kind of accounting have you studied? The mind is asked: What is the reason for the debt of deeds that exists on the head? Despite the studies, knowledge acquisition, and education, why was a lesson not learned that could settle this debt? We may recoil at this direct calling-in at our sense of pride over our professional field or alma mater. With no visible learning and the accounts of our actions looming on our heads, the learner and the learned within us are expected to justify the hours we spent imparting, preaching, and diligently studying in our lifetime. A student may attend school every day and record notes on every lesson the teacher delivers. Yet, despite it all, if the student cannot internalize and apply their lessons by the end of the term, the hours spent studying become inconsequential. College credits become representative not of learning but of the accumulation of hundreds of pages of notes. Similarly, if there is no insight, no learning, no application, no discovery, and at the end if the accounts on our forehead are still pending, then we may want to assess the value of the pages of notes we collect, which are akin to everything we have accumulated. We are encouraged to evaluate our actions based on superficiality and performativity. Anything done without an intention and which lacks experiential wisdom quickly becomes trivial. The Pause line leads us to the question: Are education and learning one and the same? If learning and education are not equals, what can we change so that our knowledge becomes a boon and not a burden?
Guru Amardas emphasizes the transience of life in the first couplet. O mind! What kind of account have you studied that giving the account of your deeds has remained hanging over your head? We are invited to remember and accept that everything that has come into this world is temporary and, hence, subject to an end. The lack of awareness about the truth of our existence directly impacts our thoughts and behaviors. An epidemic of assumed immortality fuels our futuristic fascinations. We want to accumulate and feel prepared for a tomorrow that is not promised. This perception of reality causes us to want more than we need, and we are pleased to overlook our misdeeds. In this accumulation, we unconsciously hoard harmful thoughts, speech, and actions, adding weight to our head burgeons. If we realize that today is all we have—that a far-off imagined future day is not guaranteed, we might consciously shift from consumption to desire. Guru Amardas teaches us the larger lesson of life in the solar plexus: We are perishable and temporary. When all that is certain is uncertainty, we might want to check in with ourselves and ask how we intend to live now.
