Deep Singh

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Who are SIKHS!!!

By Manvir Singh Khalsa

I am a Sikh!
I am born and brought up in this county.
The turban and unshorn hair is part of the Sikh uniform.

No-one believes me.
They think I am part of the Taliban.
They think I am an Arab.
They think I am supporting terrorism.

I keep telling everybody:
“No! I am a Sikh!
Sikhs are not part of the Taliban.
Sikhs are not Muslims.
Sikhs are not Arabs.”

“Are you part of Islam” people ask?
“Are you an offshoot of Hinduism” others say.
“I have never heard of Sikhs” says another.

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I am not a Hindu, nor am I a Muslim. My body and breath of life belong to Allah - to Raam - the God of both. ||4|| (Ang 1136)
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Sikhs are a distinct people.
Sikhs are a distinct nation.
Sikhi is a distinct religion of peace, love and equality for whole humanity.

Sikhs worship the One Supreme Truth, the One Ocean of Mercy, the One Creator Lord.
Sikhs do not keep fasts, go to pilgrimages or pray to idols.
Sikhs follow three principles of constantly remembering the Lord, living and working honestly, and sharing with others.

Racists say “Get that rag off your head!”
Ignorant people say: “Why do wear that hat?”
Misguided Sikhs say, “Turban or no Turban what does it matter. Sikhs should move with the times and learn to integrate with society.”

“I think you are mistaken”, I say.
“My turban is not a hat.
My turban is not a mere piece of cloth.
My turban is a gift which I cannot discard.”

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‘The Khalsa is my distinct image.
Within the Khalsa I reside.’ (Guru Gobind Singh Ji)
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I explain,
“My turban is a crown blessed upon my head by my Father, Guru Gobind Singh Ji.”
“My turban is a crown of grace, dignity and honour.”
“My turban is a crown which protects my head, keeps my hair tidy and is the image of my Father.”

“It’s backward to keep your hair!” says one person.
“What is the point of cutting your nails and keeping your hair” says the cunning person.
“There is no significance in today’s world of unshorn hair,” says the Sikh who has been led astray.

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The Naam, the Power of the Lord’s Name, is the Inner-knower of my heart. The Naam is so useful to me.
The Lord's Name permeates each and every hair of mine. The Perfect True Guru has given me this gift. ||1|| (Ang 1144)
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Defending my identity and religion I say:
“You are mistaken dear friend”.
“My hair is not useless.
My hair is a gift, a tool, and a technology bestowed upon by body by the Creator Lord.
Each and every hair on my body has a practical and spiritual function.
Each and every hair on my body is like electric wires which vibrate and pick up spiritual energy.
Each and every hair on my body vibrates the energy, the power and spiritual force of meditating on the Lord.

The hair on top of my head protects my skull and brain.
The hair above my eyes prevents sweat and water going into my eyes.
The hair on my body insulates my body, keeping me warm in the cold, and cool in the heat.
The hair under my armpits prevents friction and irritation when moving my arms.

My nails are dead material, which are cut to be hygienic, or they would snap off by themselves gradually.
My nails are cut to be clean and tidy, and my hair is combed twice daily to remove dead hair to be tidy.
My nails are not part of the Sikh uniform.

“I see! That is amazing” says one person.
“Fair enough, I am sorry” says the cunning person.
“We have beautiful religion, a great gift given to us and we are so lucky to be blessed with such a technology and honour” says the Sikh who was led astray.

Don’t hide your faith and idenity, share it with the world.
Don’t be ashamed of who you truly are, walk with your head held high.
Remember brothers and sisters your image is the manifestation of Guru Gobind Singh Singh Ji & Mata Sahib Kaur.

The Sweetest Revenge!!

TIME Magazine, Posted Monday, Apr. 27, 1953

Sardar Tara Singh had no cause to love the Moslems. For two bloody centuries his Sikh people had fought them for mastery of the Punjab in northern India, and in those wars, many of his ancestors died martyrs' deaths. One of them, Bhai Mani Singh, fell into the hands of the Great Mogul Aurangzeb, who first chopped off Bhai Mani Singh's fingers, joint by joint, then lopped off his limbs, one by one. Another, Baba Sukha Singh, died under Moslem knives after assassinating a Moslem chieftain who had turned the Sikhs' holy Golden Temple at Amritsar into a brothel.
Under British rule, Sardar Tara Singh and his Sikh compatriots lived in uneasy peace with their Moslem neighbors. But when the British left and India was partitioned, religious violence broke out once more. Five million Sikhs abandoned their ancestral homes in west Pakistan and fled to the East Punjab, and an equal number of Moslems fled westward. Fanatics on both sides organized themselves into bands and killed as many of the fleeing civilians as they could. White-bearded Sardar Tara Singh shook his head over this massacre of the innocent.

"Kill Her!" From one such slaughter Sikh warriors returned to Tara Singh's village of Sunam, now in India, with a seven-year-old Moslem girl. Her name was Hasan Bibi, and she stood tense and terrified among them while they debated what to do with her. "Kill her," advised a Sikh refugee from Pakistan, "just as they slaughtered my children in Lahore." A man of piety disagreed: "Convert her to our holy religion and let her marry a brave Sikh boy when she comes of age."

But Sardar Tara Singh put a protective arm around the girl. "I will treat her in a way which will bring the sweetest revenge upon the wicked Moslems." he said. "I will bring her up as a Moslem, and restore her to her relatives when she grows up. And she will be as pure as the white snows of the Himalayas. That will teach the Moslems that a Sikh is pious in peacetime, just as he is invincible in war."

For six years little Bibi lived in the brick and clay house of Tara Singh, playing with his grandchildren, helping his ailing wife with the chores. Tara Singh himself taught her to read and write and to worship according to the faith of her ancestors. Bibi was the only Moslem among the 5,000 Sikhs of Sunam.

Meanwhile, the unrest in India subsided, and Sardar Tara Singh began his search for Bibi's family. Her father, Fateh Ali, seemed to have disappeared, and Tara Singh, despairing of finding him, requested the Indian government to ask the government of Pakistan to find a suitable Moslem boy to marry her when she reached the legal age of 15. Sardar Tara Singh was prepared to bear the expenses of the wedding and give Bibi a dowry, just as he had done for his own three daughters. Then the word came that Bibi's father was found at last, at work as a shopkeeper in Pakistan.

A Cup of Tea. Last week Tara Singh and Bibi journeyed to a town near the Pakistan border to meet him. Bibi was afraid, for despite her careful Moslem upbringing, she had absorbed some Sikh prejudices. "If I go to a Moslem household," she cried, "I shall have to bear the offensive smell of tobacco and eat beef!" But Tara Singh loaded her with presents and new clothes and reminded her of her duty.

When Fateh Ali arrived, he embraced Tara Singh with tears in his eyes. Then they went to a restaurant to celebrate the occasion with a cup of tea. At the sight of a Sikh and a Moslem sitting down together, a murmuring crowd began to gather outside, and the story of Bibi and her foster father spread quickly among the Hindu villagers.Later, when Bibi and her father had bounced safely off to Pakistan in a jeep and Tara Singh had boarded a train to return home to Sunam, everyone was still talking and arguing over this amazing happening. On the train, one man, who did not recognize Tara Singh, vented his feelings. "A Sikh who repays the wickedness of the Moslems by a generous action like that," he exclaimed, "deserves to be shot." But Sardar Tara Singh only smiled quietly.

Half a world away, aroused Frenchmen still argued the case of Robert and Gerald Finaly. Both boys, sons of Jewish parents, had been baptized as Roman Catholics after their parents died in wartime concentration camps. Earlier this year they were spirited across the Spanish border by zealous Catholics to prevent their being returned, by a court order, to Jewish relatives (TIME, March 16). Moderate-minded Frenchmen hoped that the children could be put in the care of a theologically neutral group until a higher court rules on the appeal of their Catholic foster mother. Meanwhile, the Finaly family addressed a public appeal to the older boy, Robert: "Listen, Robert. Listen with your mind and your heart. Today, April 14, 1953, is your birthday. Now you are twelve years old, already a man, or almost a man . . . Do not listen to those who would make us out an enemy . . . Wherever you are, write us . . .". From across the Pyrenees came not a word.