In a fine house in Patna, a lady sits alone, talking out loud to somebody who is not in the room.
O Prince-beloved of Pandit Shiv Dutt Ji, she says. Come to me too. Let these eyes see you once.
She is the wife of King Fateh Chand Ji Maini. They have wanted a child for years.
Her husband comes in. Did he come? he asks.
He is in my heart, she says, and in my mind. But he has not shown himself to these eyes. Why would he? We are not holy people. We worshipped stone. Pandit Shiv Dutt Ji has sat on that riverbank remembering the Lord since he was young, and what have we ever done?
Then the king says the thing that changes everything.
I think we remember him only because we want something, he says. We want a son, and that is why we call him. Pandit Shiv Dutt Ji told us a mind full of wanting is not a clean mind. What if we called him for himself alone?
And the two of them sit and take the wish out of their hearts, piece by piece, the way you pull out a thorn.
What would we do with a son, says the queen. If one glimpse of the Prince-beloved came to us, what else is worth asking for?
But people say a son saves you from a bad end, she says.
Then let him save us, says the king. When you have gone to the lion for shelter, why be frightened of a jackal? And he can look after our treasure too. It was all his in the first place.
So they say it out loud together, the way you send a guest to the door. O wish for a son, go away. Let there be nobody in this house but us and the Prince-beloved.
And then they shut their eyes, and they are so far inside their own hearts that they do not hear a thing.
Out in the courtyard there is a great racket, bats knocking a ball about and boys shouting, enough to wake anyone from a dead sleep. They hear none of it.
Then the game stops.
The door opens softly and somebody comes in on quiet feet. Bhai Sahib says here that a child of seven came in, and then corrects himself at once: no, not a child, the Master of the heavens came in.
Guru Gobind Singh Ji crosses the room, climbs into the queen's lap, settles there, puts his hand on her, and says one word.
Mother.
Nobody has ever called her that. She is still far inside herself, and the word goes down into her like a stone into deep water. Mother. Mother. She hears it going round and round in there.
Her eyes open. Her lap is full. The very one she had been seeing behind her shut eyes is sitting in it, looking up into her face, saying Mother.
She starts to get down and touch his feet, and he will not let her. He holds on and says it again.
She had given the wish away that morning. Now the Lord had come and given her not a son but himself: you be the mother, and I will be the son.
The king opens his eyes. He gets up to fall at those feet, and before he can, Guru Ji hugs her tight, looks into her eyes and says Mother once more, and the king cannot move. The love in the room holds him where he stands. The people at the door are like stone statues.
Then in comes Pandit Shiv Dutt Ji, so glad he can only shout, You, O Lord! You, O Lord! Guru Ji stands up and joins in until the whole house is singing it, and the room does not feel like a room any more.
When they finish, Guru Ji says: Mother, we are hungry. Give us something to eat.
The queen sends for sweets from the market, and he says no. We will have fried grams and hot round bread.
And in the kitchen at that very moment the cook has just taken both of those off the fire.
She carries in the tray herself. He gives some to Pandit Shiv Dutt Ji first, then to all his friends, then to the king and queen, and eats last of all.
Then he runs out with the others and plays for two hours more before he goes home.