The other day, an Akali of the old type who came of the Hindus of Bihar, showed how the Sikh tradition could inspire life and change the outlook of man. He wore a chakra (sharpedged disc) on his head, a Kirpan and a quiver on his waist and held a battle-axe in his hand. He walked as if the whole earth was his. He had the proud gait of a veritable conqueror. One could see that this one man had the presence of a thousand. There was the Guru’ steel in his veins and a thunder in his voice. If one of us read the song of the Tenth Guru without that iron in his accents, he would tell us:
“This chant is not for the weak and the timid. It is the Bowman’s Bow; everyone cannot string it up and shoot arrows about. In the Guru’s Words, there is a holy war, the axes strike, and the swords clash, the arrows fly, destroying the ghosts of darkness.”
These words of his give a new glimpse of the fire of life that tingled in his blood, a new tradition that occupied his mind. He was quite different from those around him, the weak, superstitious, fear-consumed people who in their ritual observance had never known the spirit of heroism. A philosopher told me, it so appears that the Sikh religion, in a generation or so, works right upto the bone of man.
“This chant is not for the weak and the timid. It is the Bowman’s Bow; everyone cannot string it up and shoot arrows about. In the Guru’s Words, there is a holy war, the axes strike, and the swords clash, the arrows fly, destroying the ghosts of darkness.”
These words of his give a new glimpse of the fire of life that tingled in his blood, a new tradition that occupied his mind. He was quite different from those around him, the weak, superstitious, fear-consumed people who in their ritual observance had never known the spirit of heroism. A philosopher told me, it so appears that the Sikh religion, in a generation or so, works right upto the bone of man.
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