Translation by Dr. Sant Singh Khalsa
Imagine throwing away a priceless jewel as if it were a useless piece of dry straw. That's what someone does when they ignore the One. The **manmukh**, the one facing only their own ego, is blind to the treasure and clings instead to the "second thing," the world of separateness. And there's a simple, fair rule: whatever you plant is what grows. Plant chasing-after-nothing, and you won't find peace — not even in your dreams.
This pauri delivers a jolt with a vivid image: ratan padaarath palar ti-aagai — throwing away a ratan (a priceless jewel) like palar (dry straw, chaff, worthless stubble). Connect this back to the nectar of Pauri 0: the most precious thing in existence is right there, freely offered — and the manmukh tosses it aside like garbage, while clutching the straw of fading worldly things. It's not that the treasure was hidden from them; it's that they couldn't see its value. Manmukh andhaa — the ego-facing one is blind, blind precisely to worth. The five robbers and the spell of Maya have distorted their vision so badly that diamonds look like trash and trash looks like diamonds.
The middle of the pauri names the root again: doojai bhaa-ay laagai — attached to dooja bhaav, the love of the "second," of duality. This is the opposite of Pauri 3's ayko vaykhaa ("I see only the One"). The whole difference between the joyful, thirst-quenched soul and the blind, restless manmukh is what they see — One, or two. See only the One, and you treasure the jewel; believe in the "second," and you toss it for straw.
Then comes one of the most important and fair laws in all of Gurbani: jo beejai so-ee fal paa-ay — "as you plant, so you harvest." This is the law of karma stated as simply as a farmer's wisdom: you reap what you sow. It's not a punishment imposed by an angry judge; it's as natural and impartial as gravity, as natural as planting seeds. If you spend your life planting the seeds of ego, greed, and chasing fading things, the harvest is restlessness — supnai sukh na paavania, "no peace even in dreams." That last phrase is haunting and precise: the manmukh's lack of peace is so deep it follows them even into sleep, the one place we usually expect rest. There's no escaping the harvest of what you plant. But the law cuts both ways, and that's the hidden hope: plant the seeds of the Naam, of love for the One, and the harvest is the sahaj peace of Pauri 3. The choice of seed is ours.
What "seeds" are you planting with how you spend your time and attention? If you imagine the harvest a year from now, is it something you'd want to reap?
Translation by Dr. Sant Singh Khalsa·How we use AI