The
saloks of Sheikh Farid
Ji guide the seeker towards life’s true purpose, the devotion to the one absolute Divine, IkOankar. In these saloks, he reminds us that our time in this world is finite; therefore, one must turn to IkOankar without delay. Yet, attachment to transient possessions and relationships causes many to forget this truth, becoming entangled in vices that lead to restlessness and inner turmoil. In contrast, those who cultivate virtues such as love, humility, patience, contentment, selfless service, and righteousness experience the bliss of connection with IkOankar even while living a householder’s life. Their life becomes serene and suffused with inner joy.
pharīdā darīāvai kann̖ai bagulā baiṭhā kel kare.
kel karede hanjh no acinte bāj pae.
bāj pae tisu rab de kelāṁ visrīāṁ.
jo mani citi na cete sani so gālī rab kīāṁ.99.
-Guru Granth Sahib 1383
Commentary
Literal Translation
Interpretive Transcreation
Poetical Dimension
Calligraphy
In the ninety-ninth stanza, Sheikh Farid says, O Farid! A crane sitting on the bank of the river was playing. Suddenly, hawks pounced on the frolicking swan-like crane. The hawks of the Divine pounced on that crane; the plays were forgotten. Sheikh Farid uses this imagery to illustrate the play of death—the play of IkOankar (One Creative and Pervasive Force, 1Force, the One). We witness the crane, deluded into believing itself to be a swan, joyfully and heedlessly indulging and frolicking in the river. We, too, captivated by the grandeur of the world, immerse ourselves in its playful mischief, oblivious to its transience. The crane is a pretender, convinced that because it fits the look of a swan, it is a swan. In Indic poetry, the swan is often associated with the self or the being or the spirit within. To be swan-like is to sit calm on the waters. To be crane-like is to be full of pretense, seemingly calm on the waters but frantic beneath them, performing a kind of stoicness that is not true. We too, are crane-like, convinced that we have time to indulge, convinced that we are swan-like until we realize how little we have worked to become swan-like. We pass our lives like this, and then we are seized by the hawk-like death, which comes swiftly and without announcement. Just as the crane is plucked from its carefree existence in an instant, our worldly pursuits are abruptly halted by death’s arrival. Often shocked by its suddenness, we are seized by fear, unprepared for the unknown. But these hawks are of the Divine. Death, then, is of the Divine—a constant reminder of the importance of cultivating a relationship with the Divine here and now, while we still can.
Sheikh Farid continues, the things that were not in the mind, in the consciousness, in the memory, those things of the Divine happened. Awareness of death and the urgency of using our time wisely is not in our minds, our consciousness, or our memory. Sheikh Farid illustrates the depth of our ignorance here. In our relentless pursuit of worldly pleasures, any potential for awareness is obscured. We are engulfed in ignorance and in a false sense of invincibility. In that state, we treat the world as an endless banquet of delights while convincing ourselves that death cannot touch us. Sheikh Farid urges us to remember death—to live in awareness of our temporariness, to prepare for our eventual departure, and to chip away at our fear at this inevitability.
Will we cease our frolicking and cultivate awareness? Will we use this time wisely?
