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Guru Granth Sahib
Composition, Arrangement & Layout
ਜਪੁ | Jup
ਸੋ ਦਰੁ | So Dar
ਸੋਹਿਲਾ | Sohilaa
ਰਾਗੁ ਸਿਰੀਰਾਗੁ | Raag Siree-Raag
Gurbani (14-53)
Ashtpadiyan (53-71)
Gurbani (71-74)
Pahre (74-78)
Chhant (78-81)
Vanjara (81-82)
Vaar Siri Raag (83-91)
Bhagat Bani (91-93)
ਰਾਗੁ ਮਾਝ | Raag Maajh
Gurbani (94-109)
Ashtpadi (109)
Ashtpadiyan (110-129)
Ashtpadi (129-130)
Ashtpadiyan (130-133)
Bara Maha (133-136)
Din Raen (136-137)
Vaar Maajh Ki (137-150)
ਰਾਗੁ ਗਉੜੀ | Raag Gauree
Gurbani (151-185)
Quartets/Couplets (185-220)
Ashtpadiyan (220-234)
Karhalei (234-235)
Ashtpadiyan (235-242)
Chhant (242-249)
Baavan Akhari (250-262)
Sukhmani (262-296)
Thittee (296-300)
Gauree kii Vaar (300-323)
Gurbani (323-330)
Ashtpadiyan (330-340)
Baavan Akhari (340-343)
Thintteen (343-344)
Vaar Kabir (344-345)
Bhagat Bani (345-346)
ਰਾਗੁ ਆਸਾ | Raag Aasaa
Gurbani (347-348)
Chaupaday (348-364)
Panchpadde (364-365)
Kaafee (365-409)
Aasaavaree (409-411)
Ashtpadiyan (411-432)
Patee (432-435)
Chhant (435-462)
Vaar Aasaa (462-475)
Bhagat Bani (475-488)
ਰਾਗੁ ਗੂਜਰੀ | Raag Goojaree
Gurbani (489-503)
Ashtpadiyan (503-508)
Vaar Gujari (508-517)
Vaar Gujari (517-526)
ਰਾਗੁ ਦੇਵਗੰਧਾਰੀ | Raag Dayv-Gandhaaree
Gurbani (527-536)
ਰਾਗੁ ਬਿਹਾਗੜਾ | Raag Bihaagraa
Gurbani (537-556)
Chhant (538-548)
Vaar Bihaagraa (548-556)
ਰਾਗੁ ਵਡਹੰਸ | Raag Wadhans
Gurbani (557-564)
Ashtpadiyan (564-565)
Chhant (565-575)
Ghoriaan (575-578)
Alaahaniiaa (578-582)
Vaar Wadhans (582-594)
ਰਾਗੁ ਸੋਰਠਿ | Raag Sorath
Gurbani (595-634)
Asatpadhiya (634-642)
Vaar Sorath (642-659)
ਰਾਗੁ ਧਨਾਸਰੀ | Raag Dhanasaree
Gurbani (660-685)
Astpadhiya (685-687)
Chhant (687-691)
Bhagat Bani (691-695)
ਰਾਗੁ ਜੈਤਸਰੀ | Raag Jaitsree
Gurbani (696-703)
Chhant (703-705)
Vaar Jaitsaree (705-710)
Bhagat Bani (710)
ਰਾਗੁ ਟੋਡੀ | Raag Todee
ਰਾਗੁ ਬੈਰਾੜੀ | Raag Bairaaree
ਰਾਗੁ ਤਿਲੰਗ | Raag Tilang
Gurbani (721-727)
Bhagat Bani (727)
ਰਾਗੁ ਸੂਹੀ | Raag Suhi
Gurbani (728-750)
Ashtpadiyan (750-761)
Kaafee (761-762)
Suchajee (762)
Gunvantee (763)
Chhant (763-785)
Vaar Soohee (785-792)
Bhagat Bani (792-794)
ਰਾਗੁ ਬਿਲਾਵਲੁ | Raag Bilaaval
Gurbani (795-831)
Ashtpadiyan (831-838)
Thitteen (838-840)
Vaar Sat (841-843)
Chhant (843-848)
Vaar Bilaaval (849-855)
Bhagat Bani (855-858)
ਰਾਗੁ ਗੋਂਡ | Raag Gond
Gurbani (859-869)
Ashtpadiyan (869)
Bhagat Bani (870-875)
ਰਾਗੁ ਰਾਮਕਲੀ | Raag Ramkalee
Ashtpadiyan (902-916)
Gurbani (876-902)
Anand (917-922)
Sadd (923-924)
Chhant (924-929)
Dakhnee (929-938)
Sidh Gosat (938-946)
Vaar Ramkalee (947-968)
ਰਾਗੁ ਨਟ ਨਾਰਾਇਨ | Raag Nat Narayan
Gurbani (975-980)
Ashtpadiyan (980-983)
ਰਾਗੁ ਮਾਲੀ ਗਉੜਾ | Raag Maalee Gauraa
Gurbani (984-988)
Bhagat Bani (988)
ਰਾਗੁ ਮਾਰੂ | Raag Maaroo
Gurbani (889-1008)
Ashtpadiyan (1008-1014)
Kaafee (1014-1016)
Ashtpadiyan (1016-1019)
Anjulian (1019-1020)
Solhe (1020-1033)
Dakhni (1033-1043)
ਰਾਗੁ ਤੁਖਾਰੀ | Raag Tukhaari
Bara Maha (1107-1110)
Chhant (1110-1117)
ਰਾਗੁ ਕੇਦਾਰਾ | Raag Kedara
Gurbani (1118-1123)
Bhagat Bani (1123-1124)
ਰਾਗੁ ਭੈਰਉ | Raag Bhairo
Gurbani (1125-1152)
Partaal (1153)
Ashtpadiyan (1153-1167)
ਰਾਗੁ ਬਸੰਤੁ | Raag Basant
Gurbani (1168-1187)
Ashtpadiyan (1187-1193)
Vaar Basant (1193-1196)
ਰਾਗੁ ਸਾਰਗ | Raag Saarag
Gurbani (1197-1200)
Partaal (1200-1231)
Ashtpadiyan (1232-1236)
Chhant (1236-1237)
Vaar Saarang (1237-1253)
ਰਾਗੁ ਮਲਾਰ | Raag Malaar
Gurbani (1254-1293)
Partaal (1265-1273)
Ashtpadiyan (1273-1278)
Chhant (1278)
Vaar Malaar (1278-91)
Bhagat Bani (1292-93)
ਰਾਗੁ ਕਾਨੜਾ | Raag Kaanraa
Gurbani (1294-96)
Partaal (1296-1318)
Ashtpadiyan (1308-1312)
Chhant (1312)
Vaar Kaanraa
Bhagat Bani (1318)
ਰਾਗੁ ਕਲਿਆਨ | Raag Kalyaan
Gurbani (1319-23)
Ashtpadiyan (1323-26)
ਰਾਗੁ ਪ੍ਰਭਾਤੀ | Raag Prabhaatee
Gurbani (1327-1341)
Ashtpadiyan (1342-51)
ਰਾਗੁ ਜੈਜਾਵੰਤੀ | Raag Jaijaiwanti
Gurbani (1352-53)
Salok | Gatha | Phunahe | Chaubole | Swayiye
Sehskritee Mahala 1
Sehskritee Mahala 5
Gaathaa Mahala 5
Phunhay Mahala 5
Chaubolae Mahala 5
Shaloks Bhagat Kabir
Shaloks Sheikh Farid
Swaiyyae Mahala 5
Swaiyyae in Praise of Gurus
Shaloks in Addition To Vaars
Shalok Ninth Mehl
Mundavanee Mehl 5
ਰਾਗ ਮਾਲਾ, Raag Maalaa
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Sikh History & Heritage
1984 Revisited
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<blockquote data-quote="kds1980" data-source="post: 99949" data-attributes="member: 1178"><p><a href="http://www.sikhchic.com/article-detail.php?cat=21&id=814" target="_blank">sikhchic.com | The Art and Culture of the Diaspora | 1984 & I: I Remember ...</a></p><p></p><p>India has a strange hold on me. </p><p></p><p> </p><p></p><p>It is not my birthplace, </p><p></p><p>But </p><p></p><p>It is in my soul. </p><p></p><p> </p><p></p><p>I hear the bell of Krishna; </p><p></p><p>I hear the call of Muhammad; </p><p></p><p>I hear the chant of Buddha; </p><p></p><p>I hear the Shabad of Guru Nanak. </p><p></p><p> </p><p></p><p>I have knelt on its soil; </p><p></p><p>I have kissed its ground. </p><p></p><p>I yearn </p><p></p><p>To be mingled with its dust. </p><p></p><p> </p><p></p><p>The Pogroms of 1984 </p><p></p><p>Shattered this love. </p><p></p><p>Instantly, I grew up. </p><p></p><p> </p><p></p><p>I saw my mother-in-law, a strong, brave woman, crumble as images from India filtered through our television in Fairfield, Connecticut, U.S.A. Her memories of the Partition came rushing back. Memories that she had tucked deep within gushed out. It was 1947 all over again for her. </p><p></p><p>I heard her stories; I witnessed her tears; I thought I understood, but I was wrong. I could not have understood, because I did not experience it. </p><p></p><p>In March of 1985, I flew from New York to India, to be with my mother. She was visiting her sister in Janakpuri, a suburb of Delhi. Delhi was tense. The mood was sombre. People stayed indoors. </p><p></p><p>One evening at around 9 pm, there was pounding at my aunt's door. Her Hindu neighbours had heard that busloads of goondas (thugs) were being brought into Janakpuri to burn down Sikh homes. </p><p></p><p>What transpired after that was surreal. My grandmother and I were assigned to a Hindu home in the neighbourhood. My mother and her sister went to another Hindu home. The rest of the family was scattered in yet other Hindu homes. </p><p></p><p>That night will forever be etched in my DNA. </p><p></p><p>My grandmother and I were put behind a tall steel cupboard in a pitch-black room. She was clinging to her large black handbag (into which she had stuffed her gold jewelry) and was saying her prayers. </p><p></p><p>I just sat dazed. </p><p></p><p>From time to time, we would hear loud voices coming from the street. My grandmother would tense up and hug me even closer. </p><p></p><p>I can't remember saying much. But I remember vividly what happened next. </p><p></p><p>My grandmother very calmly said: "Inni, if that door opens, I will kill you first and then I will kill myself." </p><p></p><p>She took out a knife from her black handbag and showed it to me. </p><p></p><p>I never uttered a word. There was nothing to say. </p><p></p><p>We sat quietly together and waited out the night. </p><p></p><p>The mob did not come. It was a false alarm. </p><p></p><p>The next morning, my mother insisted I leave Delhi. I flew to Bombay that evening. </p><p></p><p>Back home in Connecticut, I allowed myself to revisit my Delhi experience. But it was too painful. I could not comprehend it and so, I kept silent. </p><p></p><p>Years flew by. </p><p></p><p>From time to time, the memories would awaken and tears would flow. I was still unable to grasp the depth of my emotions. </p><p></p><p>The 20th anniversary of the 1984 massacre: I started to write. More tears flowed. Many pages were filled. Finally, the piece was done. I read it. Tears of gratitude flowed. The healing had taken place; </p><p></p><p>I could see it in my writing. </p><p></p><p>I sent the finished piece to my family and friends. Their response astounded me: "Why are you going there? What is the use? Forget about it!" </p><p></p><p>To say that I was shocked would be an understatement. I felt that someone had stabbed me with a knife. </p><p></p><p>I sent it to Sikh and Indian magazines. No one published it. </p><p></p><p>I died a thousand deaths during this process. Every rejection was a stab. </p><p></p><p>Gurumustuk Singh from sikhnet was the brave one who put it on his website. </p><p></p><p>My voice had found a place. </p><p></p><p>They say: </p><p></p><p>Do not write; </p><p></p><p>Do not speak; </p><p></p><p>Forget about it. </p><p></p><p> </p><p></p><p>If I agree, </p><p></p><p>Then </p><p></p><p>In my silence </p><p></p><p>Lies my guilt. </p><p></p><p> </p><p></p><p>As long as I draw breath, </p><p></p><p>As long as there is strength within me, </p><p></p><p>I will write, </p><p></p><p>I will speak. </p><p></p><p>For I remember ... </p><p></p><p> </p><p></p><p>I Remember... </p><p></p><p>The year is 1739. </p><p></p><p>Hindustan is in terror. </p><p></p><p>The cruelty of the Mughals </p><p></p><p>Is felt everywhere. </p><p></p><p> </p><p></p><p>Nadir Shah is in Delhi </p><p></p><p>Looting the treasures, </p><p></p><p>Carting away twenty-two hundred Hindu women </p><p></p><p>For his private harem. </p><p></p><p> </p><p></p><p>The news spreads like wildfire </p><p></p><p>Across this great land. </p><p></p><p>Helplessness and confusion </p><p></p><p>Reign supreme. </p><p></p><p> </p><p></p><p>Sardar Jassa Singh, </p><p></p><p>Commander of the Sikh army, </p><p></p><p>Hears of this atrocity, </p><p></p><p>Vows to take a stand. </p><p></p><p> </p><p></p><p>The Sikhs are a minority; </p><p></p><p>The Mughals have the upper hand. </p><p></p><p>Despite this disparity, </p><p></p><p>A midnight attack is planned. </p><p></p><p>The Mughal camp is asleep; </p><p></p><p>The Sikhs wait in silence. </p><p></p><p>At the stroke of midnight, </p><p></p><p>They begin the attack. </p><p></p><p> </p><p></p><p>Kirpans are in the air; </p><p></p><p>The Mughals are caught off-guard. </p><p></p><p>The women are freed </p><p></p><p>And safely brought back. </p><p></p><p>In Hindu households, </p><p></p><p>Sighs of relief are heard </p><p></p><p>As the women rush back </p><p></p><p>To the arms of their loved ones. </p><p></p><p> </p><p></p><p>There are Sikh casualties, </p><p></p><p>But there are no tears; </p><p></p><p>To uphold a woman's honour </p><p></p><p>Is the Sikh dharam. </p><p></p><p> </p><p></p><p>From that day on, </p><p></p><p>A pattern emerged: </p><p></p><p>The Sikhs struck at midnight </p><p></p><p>To free the captured women. </p><p></p><p> </p><p></p><p>Every night, the women prayed </p><p></p><p>For the safety of the Sikhs. </p><p></p><p>Mothers told their daughters, </p><p></p><p>"Trust only a Sikh." </p><p></p><p> </p><p></p><p>Hindu mothers, with love, </p><p></p><p>Made their first-born sons Sikhs. </p><p></p><p>A sacred trust existed </p><p></p><p>Between a Hindu and a Sikh. </p><p></p><p> </p><p></p><p>Through the centuries, </p><p></p><p>This trust and love continued, </p><p></p><p>Until the forces of evil </p><p></p><p>Raised their ugly head. </p><p></p><p> </p><p></p><p>The year is 1984, </p><p></p><p>The unthinkable happened: </p><p></p><p>Our Hindu brothers </p><p></p><p>Turned on us. </p><p></p><p> </p><p></p><p>Sikh women were raped; </p><p></p><p>Their fathers, husbands, </p><p></p><p>Sons and brothers </p><p></p><p>Butchered in front of their eyes. </p><p></p><p> </p><p></p><p>The country was in shell-shock </p><p></p><p>At the brutality of this massacre; </p><p></p><p>Yet, no voice rose </p><p></p><p>To speak against this massacre. </p><p></p><p> </p><p></p><p>I ask my Hindu sisters: </p><p></p><p>"Where were you? </p><p></p><p>Did your hearts not bleed </p><p></p><p>At the rape of your sisters?" </p><p></p><p> </p><p></p><p>Twenty five years have gone by. </p><p></p><p>The pain has not diminished. </p><p></p><p>There are no answers </p><p></p><p>To what happened in 1984. </p><p></p><p> </p><p></p><p>To my Hindu sisters, </p><p></p><p>I have one request: </p><p></p><p>Tell your sons, husbands and brothers </p><p></p><p>The sacrifices of the Sikhs. </p><p></p><p> </p><p></p><p>To my Sikh brothers, </p><p></p><p>I need not remind you: </p><p></p><p>You are bound by our Guru </p><p></p><p>To protect the weak. </p><p></p><p> </p><p></p><p>No Sikh hand will rise </p><p></p><p>Against any woman; </p><p></p><p>Be she a Hindu or a Muslim, </p><p></p><p>She has the protection of a Sikh. </p><p></p><p> </p><p></p><p>My Ardaas: </p><p></p><p>Let the winds be gentle; </p><p></p><p>Let there be peace on this land; </p><p></p><p>Let this shattered trust </p><p></p><p>Be given a chance to grow. </p><p></p><p>But ask me not to forget, </p><p></p><p>For I remember... </p><p></p><p>On this 25th anniversary of the Pogroms of 1984, I reflect on the courage of the non-Sikhs who protected the Sikhs. </p><p></p><p>You are our unsung heroes. </p><p></p><p>I salute your bravery; </p><p></p><p>I salute your goodness; </p><p></p><p>I salute your morality. </p><p></p><p> </p><p></p><p>But ask me not to forget, </p><p></p><p>For I remember... </p><p></p><p> </p><p></p><p>April 25, 2009</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="kds1980, post: 99949, member: 1178"] [url=http://www.sikhchic.com/article-detail.php?cat=21&id=814]sikhchic.com | The Art and Culture of the Diaspora | 1984 & I: I Remember ...[/url] India has a strange hold on me. It is not my birthplace, But It is in my soul. I hear the bell of Krishna; I hear the call of Muhammad; I hear the chant of Buddha; I hear the Shabad of Guru Nanak. I have knelt on its soil; I have kissed its ground. I yearn To be mingled with its dust. The Pogroms of 1984 Shattered this love. Instantly, I grew up. I saw my mother-in-law, a strong, brave woman, crumble as images from India filtered through our television in Fairfield, Connecticut, U.S.A. Her memories of the Partition came rushing back. Memories that she had tucked deep within gushed out. It was 1947 all over again for her. I heard her stories; I witnessed her tears; I thought I understood, but I was wrong. I could not have understood, because I did not experience it. In March of 1985, I flew from New York to India, to be with my mother. She was visiting her sister in Janakpuri, a suburb of Delhi. Delhi was tense. The mood was sombre. People stayed indoors. One evening at around 9 pm, there was pounding at my aunt's door. Her Hindu neighbours had heard that busloads of goondas (thugs) were being brought into Janakpuri to burn down Sikh homes. What transpired after that was surreal. My grandmother and I were assigned to a Hindu home in the neighbourhood. My mother and her sister went to another Hindu home. The rest of the family was scattered in yet other Hindu homes. That night will forever be etched in my DNA. My grandmother and I were put behind a tall steel cupboard in a pitch-black room. She was clinging to her large black handbag (into which she had stuffed her gold jewelry) and was saying her prayers. I just sat dazed. From time to time, we would hear loud voices coming from the street. My grandmother would tense up and hug me even closer. I can't remember saying much. But I remember vividly what happened next. My grandmother very calmly said: "Inni, if that door opens, I will kill you first and then I will kill myself." She took out a knife from her black handbag and showed it to me. I never uttered a word. There was nothing to say. We sat quietly together and waited out the night. The mob did not come. It was a false alarm. The next morning, my mother insisted I leave Delhi. I flew to Bombay that evening. Back home in Connecticut, I allowed myself to revisit my Delhi experience. But it was too painful. I could not comprehend it and so, I kept silent. Years flew by. From time to time, the memories would awaken and tears would flow. I was still unable to grasp the depth of my emotions. The 20th anniversary of the 1984 massacre: I started to write. More tears flowed. Many pages were filled. Finally, the piece was done. I read it. Tears of gratitude flowed. The healing had taken place; I could see it in my writing. I sent the finished piece to my family and friends. Their response astounded me: "Why are you going there? What is the use? Forget about it!" To say that I was shocked would be an understatement. I felt that someone had stabbed me with a knife. I sent it to Sikh and Indian magazines. No one published it. I died a thousand deaths during this process. Every rejection was a stab. Gurumustuk Singh from sikhnet was the brave one who put it on his website. My voice had found a place. They say: Do not write; Do not speak; Forget about it. If I agree, Then In my silence Lies my guilt. As long as I draw breath, As long as there is strength within me, I will write, I will speak. For I remember ... I Remember... The year is 1739. Hindustan is in terror. The cruelty of the Mughals Is felt everywhere. Nadir Shah is in Delhi Looting the treasures, Carting away twenty-two hundred Hindu women For his private harem. The news spreads like wildfire Across this great land. Helplessness and confusion Reign supreme. Sardar Jassa Singh, Commander of the Sikh army, Hears of this atrocity, Vows to take a stand. The Sikhs are a minority; The Mughals have the upper hand. Despite this disparity, A midnight attack is planned. The Mughal camp is asleep; The Sikhs wait in silence. At the stroke of midnight, They begin the attack. Kirpans are in the air; The Mughals are caught off-guard. The women are freed And safely brought back. In Hindu households, Sighs of relief are heard As the women rush back To the arms of their loved ones. There are Sikh casualties, But there are no tears; To uphold a woman's honour Is the Sikh dharam. From that day on, A pattern emerged: The Sikhs struck at midnight To free the captured women. Every night, the women prayed For the safety of the Sikhs. Mothers told their daughters, "Trust only a Sikh." Hindu mothers, with love, Made their first-born sons Sikhs. A sacred trust existed Between a Hindu and a Sikh. Through the centuries, This trust and love continued, Until the forces of evil Raised their ugly head. The year is 1984, The unthinkable happened: Our Hindu brothers Turned on us. Sikh women were raped; Their fathers, husbands, Sons and brothers Butchered in front of their eyes. The country was in shell-shock At the brutality of this massacre; Yet, no voice rose To speak against this massacre. I ask my Hindu sisters: "Where were you? Did your hearts not bleed At the rape of your sisters?" Twenty five years have gone by. The pain has not diminished. There are no answers To what happened in 1984. To my Hindu sisters, I have one request: Tell your sons, husbands and brothers The sacrifices of the Sikhs. To my Sikh brothers, I need not remind you: You are bound by our Guru To protect the weak. No Sikh hand will rise Against any woman; Be she a Hindu or a Muslim, She has the protection of a Sikh. My Ardaas: Let the winds be gentle; Let there be peace on this land; Let this shattered trust Be given a chance to grow. But ask me not to forget, For I remember... On this 25th anniversary of the Pogroms of 1984, I reflect on the courage of the non-Sikhs who protected the Sikhs. You are our unsung heroes. I salute your bravery; I salute your goodness; I salute your morality. But ask me not to forget, For I remember... April 25, 2009 [/QUOTE]
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