Bhai Lehna Ji was a rich man, and he came from a rich family, and he had married into another one.
He had servants. He wore silk. When he travelled, somebody else carried his things.
And every year he led a party of pilgrims up into the hills to sing, and he was good at it, and he had bells on his ankles when he danced.
Then one morning he heard somebody nearby reciting.
He stood still and listened to the whole thing, and it went into him in a way nothing had ever gone into him before, not his own singing, not his own dancing, nothing.
When the man finished and turned to go, Bhai Lehna Ji stopped him.
Whose words were those, he said.
They belong to a Guru, said the man.
Who is he. Where is he. Is he alive now, in a body, walking about.
Yes, said the man.
Tell me his name.
And when the man said it, something went through Bhai Lehna Ji like lightning, and his eyes closed, and he did not know how long he stood there.
He went home. And then he could not stay in his own house. Every night in it, he said afterwards, felt like climbing five mountains. So he set off for Kartarpur.
And here is the first thing he did that nobody could understand.
There was salt to be taken there. Ordinarily a servant would carry it, or a horse. His relatives said so, and offered.
He put the bundle of salt on his own head and walked the whole way.
When he came into Kartarpur, Guru Ji's wife saw him coming with that load and took it straight down off his head herself, and brought him a chair and a fan and made him sit.
Guru Ji was out in the fields.
So Bhai Lehna Ji went out and found him and went down at his feet, and then looked round to see what the workers were doing.
They were weeding the rice.
So Bhai Lehna Ji got down and started weeding too. He had never done a day of that work in his life, and he was pulling up the rice along with the weeds.
Guru Ji watched him for a bit and then said, kindly: friend, this is not your work. You are meant for planting, not pulling up. Leave it. Take the weeds that are already pulled and carry them home for the cattle.
So Bhai Lehna Ji gathered up the wet weeds, dripping with muddy water, and spread out a cloth and tied them into a bundle.
And put the bundle on his head.
And walked back to the village.
The muddy water ran out of that bundle the whole way. It ran down over his hair and his face and all down his silk shirt, and by the time he reached the house he was filthy from head to foot.
Guru Ji's wife saw him come in and could hardly believe it. This man had walked for miles with salt on his head that morning. Now here he was again, carrying weeds like a labourer, with his beautiful clothes ruined.
When Guru Ji came home she told him about it, quite upset on Bhai Lehna Ji's account. First the salt, she said. Now this. And look at his clothes.
And Guru Ji said: that is not mud on his head.
That is a crown.
Now, people did laugh at Bhai Lehna Ji. They did. A rich man from a good family, doing servants' work, walking about covered in mud, when he could have arrived with a horse and a gift of silk and gold and been made much of.
They laughed because they had never wanted anything the way he wanted this.
He washed Guru Ji's feet. He washed his clothes. He carried and fetched and did whatever needed doing, and there was no job in that place too small for him, and he never once mentioned who he was at home.
Goodnight. Everybody saw a man in a ruined shirt. Only one person in that village saw what was actually on his head.