There were two brothers, sons of a rich landlord.
The older, Nahru, was a Muslim like his father. The younger was Bhai Harwant Singh Ji, a Sikh of Guru Gobind Singh Ji, and his wife Prasan Kaur Ji was a Sikh too.
And Nahru decided he was going to fix that.
So he locked them up. Not in a prison. Upstairs, in their own house, in two separate rooms, which is somehow worse.
He went to Prasan Kaur Ji first. Make your husband give up this Sikhi, he said.
You can kill me if you want, she said. But do not kill your own brother.
Then he went along to the other room.
Give up this Sikhi, he said. Do not make me into a murderer.
Brother, said Bhai Harwant Singh Ji, you have this all wrong. I cannot give it up because you threaten to kill me. Being a Sikh is the very thing that took the fear of death out of me.
We came out of the same mother, said Nahru bitterly, and I follow the Muslim way and you have gone off and become a Sikh.
And his brother said this.
Look what it is making you do. It is making you talk about killing your own brother. Ask your own conscience. Forcing a religion on somebody is not written in the Quran.
You follow whichever way you like, he said. Let me follow mine.
No excuses, said Nahru. Say yes or no.
Yes, said Bhai Harwant Singh Ji, means we stay Sikhs with our hair uncut until our last breath. No means giving up our faith. And death is not going to get a no out of us.
All right, said Nahru.
And he went down the stairs biting his lip, because he was stuck. If I kill them, he thought, I get a bad name for ever. If I let them go, I look a fool. What do I do?
What he did was drink until he could not stand up.
Their mother was downstairs through all this, and it was breaking her in half. Her heart went with the older son, and it could not bear what was happening to the younger.
That night a maid came and whispered to Bhai Harwant Singh Ji that Nahru was senseless with wine.
So he put his shoulder to the door and broke it open and came out.
And there was his mother, sitting and crying.
Thank the Lord, she said. How did you get out?
I broke the door, said her son.
So that was the noise, she said. What will you do now?
We are leaving, he said.
How am I to bear it, she said. But go. Saving your life comes first. Come, I will open the back door myself. Nahru is drunk. Take money. Take weapons.
Mother, he said, it is the Lord's kindness. We have everything we need. Give me my weapons. As for money, my Guru Ji with the plume has plenty.
She made them take some anyway, the way mothers do, and two shawls besides.
Now here is the part Bhai Sahib wants noticed.
The night they rode out was full moon. And not just any full moon. It was the night of Guru Nanak Dev Ji's birth anniversary, the night Bhai Sahib says was made bright by a hundred moons and a thousand suns because Guru Nanak Dev Ji came to the earth on it.
That is the light those two rode away under. And the one they were riding towards, the one with the plume, was that same light in a tenth body.
They went to the stable, got up on their horses, said goodbye to their mother, and galloped.
They rode past midnight and came to a village with a Gurdwara, where many Sikhs lived who knew them well.
It was nearly morning. People were already arriving, some bathed and ready.
Everybody knew what had happened to those two, and here they were, at the gate, on their horses, free.
The sangat took hold of the horses and made such a fuss of them.
And Bhai Harwant Singh Ji and Prasan Kaur Ji, who had been locked in two rooms the night before and had not slept at all, did not go and lie down.
They sat with everybody else and listened to the kirtan.