At Hardwar, where the great river Ganga comes down out of the hills, there was a fair.
Thousands had come, and the noise of it filled the valley. They stood in the cold river up to their waists and scooped up handfuls of water and threw it toward the east, toward the rising sun, because they believed it would travel all the way to their grandfathers and great-grandfathers, far off in another world, and reach them.
They were pushing each other to get in first. Me first, they called. Me first.
Guru Nanak Dev Ji stood on the bank and watched, and felt sorry for all of them.
Then he waded out into the river himself.
The sun was up in the east behind him. And he turned his back on it. He faced the other way, west, and began throwing water in that direction, scoop after scoop, steadily, as if he had a job to finish.
It did not take long for people to notice. They came splashing over, and the crowd was not friendly.
Who are you, they said. Why are you throwing water to the west. Mecca is to the west. If you are a Hindu you throw it east, to your ancestors. Look, the sun is in the east. Now answer us.
And Guru Ji looked up and asked them a question of his own.
Why are you throwing yours to the east.
For our ancestors, they said. And some of us for the sun.
How far away are your ancestors, he asked. How far is the sun.
Oh, a very long way, they said. Millions of miles.
Then that is all right, said Guru Ji, and went back to throwing water westward.
Now they were annoyed. We answered you, said one of the pandits. You answer us.
Certainly, said Guru Ji. My village is over that way. My fields are there. There was no rain this year and the crop is dying. I thought I would send some water from here, and maybe the fields will be saved.
The whole crowd burst out laughing.
He is simple, said one. The Ganga water is falling straight back into the Ganga, said another, and he thinks it is running off to his farm.
A helpful man explained it to him kindly, the way you explain to a child. Friend, you are tiring your arms for nothing. Your fields are much too far. This water cannot possibly reach them.
And Guru Ji stopped, and stood in the river, and said:
So this water will not reach a field on this same earth, a few days' walk from here. But the water you are throwing will reach your ancestors, millions of miles away, in another world altogether.
Nobody laughed then.
They stood in the water and looked at each other.
He is right, said one at last. If it cannot go a hundred miles it cannot go a million.
He has opened our eyes, said another.
So Guru Ji came out and sat on the bank, and the crowd sat around him.
The bathing is not the thing, he told them. Your bodies go into the water and your minds stay exactly where they were. You stand shivering with the Lord's name in your mouth and your mind is off at the market. Where your mind goes is where you are going.
Remember the Lord, he said. Sitting, standing, walking, lying down. Do your work honestly, earn your own bread, and give some of what you earn to somebody who has none. Then, early and late, in the quiet parts of the day, say the Name. In time your mind will stop forgetting.
Afterwards they took him to the kitchen where the food was cooked. Everything in it had been washed twice over, and lines had been drawn on the floor to keep out anyone the cooks thought unclean.
Guru Ji looked at it and said: this kitchen has been made dirty.
Nobody unclean has come in, they said. Only us.
You came in, said Guru Ji.
And he told them what really makes a place dirty. Being unkind. Squeezing money out of people who have less than you. Pulling somebody's good name apart behind their back, which is the worst habit of all. And anger, which is a fire that burns whoever is holding it.
Goodnight. Wherever your mind is tonight, that is where you are.