On top of a green hill, where you could see a long way in every direction, there lived an old man with a herd of goats.
His name was Buddhan Shah, and he had been up there most of his life.
He had come to that hill as a young man on purpose, to get away from everything, so that he could go without and sit still and pray, and hope the Lord would notice how hard he was trying and come to him.
The goats ate the grass. Morning and evening they gave him milk, and the milk was his food, and often it was his drink as well. That was his whole life.
And one morning, sitting there watching the sun come up over the far hills, the old man began to cry.
Nothing had happened. It was only that he had done everything he was told to do, for years and years, and still did not know whether any of it had worked.
I have kept away from doing wrong all my life, he said to himself. Night and day I have sat here. I have never even said an unkind word to anybody. And I still do not know if I am at peace. I still have not met the Lord.
My teacher told me long ago that this was the path, and I have walked it. And he never came back, and the years went by, and there is nobody left to ask whether I am even facing the right way.
A young girl used to bring her goats up to that hill, and she came that morning, and sat down on a stone a little way off, and sang.
He got up and went closer, to hear.
And a little later, on the same hillside, there were two travellers.
One of them was sitting on a big rock with his eyes closed, and Buddhan Shah looked at his face and could not look away, and then could not keep his eyes open either. They kept closing on him, with the sheer gladness of it. He would open them, and look at that face, and they would close again.
He had been on that hill for fifty years and nothing like this had ever happened.
After a long time he came to himself enough to notice that there was a second man sitting nearby with a rabab across his knees, watching him.
Buddhan Shah went over and bowed and asked: what is the name of the one sitting on the stone.
And Bhai Mardana Ji told him the name.
And the name went into the old man's ears, and he went straight down at the feet of Guru Nanak Dev Ji and said: bless me.
Then Guru Ji opened his eyes.
Afterwards Buddhan Shah tried to explain it and could not. Those eyes shut had pulled at him. Those eyes open went all the way through him.
He understood something that morning, and it was not that his fifty years had been wasted. It was that all that time he had been holding on with his hands, and now, at last, somebody was holding him.
He stayed in that gladness a long while, sitting quite still.
You have found the Lord, said Guru Ji.
And then, of course, Guru Ji had to leave, because there were other hills and other people waiting.
And this was the hardest part for the old man, who had waited so long to find him and could not bear to lose him in one afternoon. He did not ask him to stay. He only stood there with his heart full.
And Guru Ji, with tears in his own eyes, made him a promise.
Sit here and be glad, he said, and say the Lord's Name. You will see me again. I will come back to this hill.
Bhai Mardana Ji said, quietly: but you will not look the same. Will he know you.
He will know me, said Guru Ji. And I will ask him for milk, and he will give it to me, and I will drink it here. I could have drunk it today. I am keeping it, so that it is owed.
Then he went away down the hill.
And Buddhan Shah stayed, and kept his goats, and lived a very long time.
Goodnight. Somewhere there is milk still waiting to be drunk, and a promise still to be kept.