*15 AMritVela Rose

On the way to the Amrit Vela Naam Simran Session, we picked Yoda Singh and the Vaja ToR kid. Aunty asked my sister to recite the next pauree of Jap Ji:

saachaa saahib saach naae bhaakhiaa bhaao apaar || aakhehi ma(n)gehi dhaehi dhaehi dhaath karae dhaathaar ||

faer k agai rakheeai jith dhisai dharabaar || muha k bolan boleeai jith sun dhharae piaar ||

a(n)mrith vaelaa sach naao vaddiaaee veechaar || karamee aavai kaparraa nadharee mokh dhuaar ||

naanak eaevai jaaneeai sabh aapae sachiaar ||4||

Aunty Jee had just opened her mouth to say something about this pauree when we saw tiny ~*sparkles*~ coming from her huge bag (remember the one which could run a small camp). Aunty Jee clapped her hands and exclaimed excitedly, “Oh, excellent! I have been waiting for this." We all got excited too. (I even forgot to worry that she had now taken her hands off from the steering wheel). She nudged my sister, “Open it and read it quickly! It's a letter from a sakhee!"

My sister opened Aunty Jee's bag and took out a glowing piece of paper which shimmered incandescently, lighting up the inside of our car. We all just stared at it. Breathtakingly beautiful, its words glimmered, etched in soft light - emanating a mellow blend of bright white and sunrise yellow. Even more astonishing, when my sister read from the letter, its gleaming lights gathered forming to create miniature characters who played out the scenes described.

My sister read, while we listened (and watched)...

~*~*~*~*~*~

A young girl had been captured and enslaved by 5 cruel masters. At first they had appeared inviting and seemed entertaining, but once they had lured her into their trap and caught her fast she knew no mercy. Her life became an unbearable infliction of horrors. No recourse availed her but to seek escape. Heavy chains bound her preventing any possibility of flight so she sought sanctuary in an imaginary garden of her own invention.

One day news came that the King traveled their way. As he passed by, the 5 miscreants threw themselves to the ground - faces pressed into the dirt bowing in subservience. The girl, seeing opportunity, struggled against her bonds. She’d heard rumors of the monarch’s mercy and a tiny spark flared in her heart. Hope of rescue prompted her into action. Dragging her heavy chains, she attempted to attract attention to her plight.

The kind king did indeed take notice of her effort and commanded that she be freed and employed in his service. His attendants paid her captors a sum, removed her shackles and carried her away with them to the royal palace. When they left her, she found herself in a bare room built into an alcove of a stone wall. Weary, she sank onto a pallet in a corner and fell into a deep slumber. Hours later she woke. In another corner she discovered a spinning wheel, a loom, and a basket of flax. There were plain provisions provided and a pitcher of water. She ate her simple fare, drank the clear water, washed her hands and set to work.

She had no idea at first of how to go about her task. The gratitude in her heart made her determined however, and soon she found she could twist the long flax stems. With the spindle she fashioned a length of thread which she wound on to the loom and shuttle. By days end she had woven a bit of cloth. She removed this and finished the edges. The sun had set. She finished her provisions and slept.

After a few hours she woke to an enchanting fragrance. Enticed, she slipped through the door of her hut and found herself in a garden. The dark night sky glittered with stars and the moon shone faintly illuminating the landscape before her in pale light. A sultry breeze blew gently. As her eyes adjusted she became entranced for all around her petals opened releasing their scent. Her heart swelled. Overcome in awe at the beauty she beheld, tears formed in the corners of her eyes, not tears like those of yesterday’s captivity, but tears of unfathomable joy. She reached for the scrap of cloth she had woven, pulled it from her pocket and dried her tears. She sought for and found a perfect rose. The first rays of morning sun glistened on fresh dew droplets wetting the rose. She plucked the rose and folded it gently into the cloth she had woven, the perfumed essence permeating it.

When attendants came with her morning meal, she asked to be shown to the king so she might express her gratitude. She quickly washed, covered her head and arranged her robe as best she could, then followed them to the throne room. Lowering her eyes she crept to the king’s feet. Before him she placed her offering of his lovely sunrise gardens flower petals bloom oozing droplets of perfume, wetted by morning dew mingled with tears. Bowing low, she backed from the room.

Her days and nights passed similarly in this way. Devotedly she spent her mornings weaving, her afternoons tending the garden, and evenings nurturing the rose bush. Every morning before the sun rose she reveled amongst the perfumed petals of the rose garden seeking the most perfect blossom to convey her gratitude to her sovereign. As the weeks passed, unbeknownst her beauty increased the traces of her former life struggles erased by the blooming devotion in her heart. She began to hum during her work making up songs to sing.

Merciful master you freed this slave,

Every wonderful thing to her gave

My king you are perfect in every way

Yet of others you have only good things to say

Your ways are so gentle so sweet and so kind