THE IRON RING
I heard a stupid Sikh preacher the other day, trying to convince a mass gathering of his compatriots that the iron ring of the Guru worn off the wrist was a protection against lightning. He said, as large buildings were made safe against lightning by a rod of iron, so the Guru had saved man from the stroke of lightning. He was hopelessly flinging his arms up and down to gather some straw of a reason to prove the rationale of the iron ring, the Guru gave us as a gift. Coming to us from our personal God, dearer to us than our mother, father, sister or sweetheart, it comes to us as His gift, as His blessing. Fie onus that we argue over and over about it. He touched my hair, and I keep it; when I toss my arm up in the air and the iron ring shines, I am reminded of His wrist that wore it - one exactly like this. Is this arm, by some stray gleam of the iron ring on my wrist, His? Other religions live in an elaborated symbolism, I, the Sikh, have no religion. He loved me, He made me His own. The sword is the mind where the Guru lives. The iron ring is the sign of His remembrance.