Translation by Dr. Sant Singh Khalsa
Day thirteen. The world runs a fever from those three restless pulls, coming and going, caught in the same tiring loop.
When keeping the One in mind never quite enters the day — when the ocean of peace goes unsung even for a breath — the body becomes a bundle of ups and downs, worn thin by a long ache the glittering world can't cure. Days fill up with restless chasing until you're exhausted, and even sleep churns with muddled dreams.
This is what forgetting feels like. So here is where I turn: to the shelter of the kind, ever-present One.
Tarudsee is the thirteenth day, echoing teen taap — the "three fevers" of the three qualities. This is the poem's fullest picture of a forgetful, restless life: a "fever," a body that is a bundle of pleasure-and-pain, a "chronic disease of maya" (deeragh rog), days of empty busyness, nights of churning dreams. The source uses narak avtaar ("reincarnated in hell"); per the wellbeing rules this is dropped in favor of the felt condition — the tiring loop, the ache, the exhaustion — which any child can recognize honestly. Crucially, the verse doesn't leave you there: it turns, in its last line, to saran prabh purakh daiaal — shelter in the kind, always-present One. The diagnosis is honest; the landing is hope.
Have you ever felt worn out from chasing things — and what helped you finally rest?
Translation by Dr. Sant Singh Khalsa·How we use AI