Translation by Dr. Sant Singh Khalsa
I would give everything I am for the people who burn away their clinging to Maya. They don't do it by gritting their teeth, but in the warm fire of the Word.
When that clinging burns off and their whole attention turns toward the One, they're welcomed into the truest home there is. They are received with honor in the presence of the One.
This is the Rahao, the "pause" line, the center of the shabad. It gives the cure for the problem the first verse named.
If the world is stuck to Maya, the shiny surface of things, by moh, clinging, then the way free is to burn the clinging away: maa-i-aa moh jalaa-ay. Fire is the right picture. Clinging isn't argued away or pushed away by willpower. It gets burned up. And the fire is sabad, the shabad, the Word. You don't burn off your own clinging by force. That's just the ego wrestling itself. The Word does the burning when you let it sound inside you. It's like the sun melting ice on a window: you don't scrape, you let the warmth work.
The reward is told like a royal court, a picture that runs all through Raag Maajh. Those who burn the clinging and turn their mind to the One are honored: har dar mahlee sobhaa paavani-aa — they receive honor at the One's door, in His palace. They aren't just allowed to stand at the edge of the hall. They are brought in, into the One's presence. It is like a bride welcomed inside, a picture the song comes back to later.
So the pause line holds the whole story in small. The sickness is moh, clinging. The medicine is the fire of the Word. The healing is being welcomed home into the One's presence. The rest of the song fills in these three.
What is one attachment you can't seem to argue yourself out of — and what might it mean to let it simply burn away instead?
Translation by Dr. Sant Singh Khalsa·How we use AI