This is the last story, and it is a quiet one.
There came a day when Guru Nanak Dev Ji knew it was time to go home.
Not home to Kartarpur, where he was. Home to the Lord, where he had come from.
So he walked out and sat down under a tree.
The tree was dead. It had been dead for a long time, bare and grey, the way a tree is when nothing is going to happen to it again.
And while he sat under it, it put out leaves.
Buds came, and then small new leaves, and by the time anybody thought to look properly the whole tree was green over his head.
Then Guru Angad Dev Ji came and put his head at his feet. And his mother came, and cried. And all the family came, and everybody was crying. And the sangat began to sing.
They sang all night.
They sang while it got dark, and while the stars came out and moved across, and while it began to get light again in the east, and Guru Ji sat among them, glad, and listened, and said the words he had been given.
And in the morning he handed the book of all he had said to Guru Angad Dev Ji, so that it would go on after him.
His sons asked him: what will become of us.
And he told them: nobody who serves will ever go short. You will have food and clothes. And if you say the Lord's Name, you will have everything else as well.
Then there was an argument, and it was a loving one.
The Hindus among the sangat said: when he goes, we will lay him on a pyre, as we do.
And the Muslims said: no. We will bury him, as we do.
They both wanted him. That was all it was.
And Guru Ji listened to them, and then settled it in the gentlest way anybody has ever settled anything.
Put flowers on both sides of me, he said. The Hindus on my right, the Muslims on my left. In the morning, look and see whose flowers are still fresh. Whoever has fresh flowers may do as they wish.
Then he asked for more singing, and they sang, and among the songs was the aarti of the sky, the one about the sun and the moon and the stars.
And when the singing was over he spoke to all of them one last time.
The Lord made the air, he said, and the water, and the earth, and the day and the night, and He made all of it so that you could grow up in it. Remember that, and be good to one another.
Doing good matters, he said. But doing good is not by itself enough to bring you home. Say the Name. Say it with love. That is the thing that carries you.
And say it, and many people who are walking alongside you will get home too.
Then he said: O Lord. O Lord.
And he said goodbye to them all.
And he drew a sheet over himself.
And when they lifted the sheet in the morning, there was nobody underneath it.
The flowers on the right were fresh, and so were the flowers on the left. Every single one of them, on both sides, as fresh as when they were picked.
So the Hindus took up their flowers, and the Muslims took up theirs, and there was nothing left to argue about, and nothing to be sad about either, because he had not gone anywhere that you could follow with a pyre or a grave.
And the whole sangat bowed their heads.
Goodnight, little one. That is the end of the stories, and it is not an ending at all. He is still where he always was, which is with anybody who is thinking of him. Sleep well.