Translation by Dr. Sant Singh Khalsa
Guru Nanak strings together a row of pictures. Deep water doesn't frighten a fish — it's home. The wide sky doesn't trouble a bird. Cold means nothing to a stone. Some things simply are what they are.
Rub sweet-smelling oil on a dog, and it's still a dog. Read the wisest book aloud to someone who truly can't hear — how would he catch it? Light fifty lamps in front of a blind man — what does he see? Set gold before cattle, and they'll step right past it to eat the grass. Melt iron with all the flux you like, and it won't turn soft as cotton.
That's how it is with a closed, foolish mind: the wisdom just slides right off, and the words go nowhere. The lesson isn't to look down on anyone — it's a warning about closing your own heart so tightly that truth can't get in.
This famous shalok is a cascade of images all making one point: some things cannot receive what does not match their nature. The first images are neutral, even gentle — what can deep water do to a fish? What can the vast sky do to a bird? What can cold do to a stone? A fish is at home in deep water; a bird in open sky; a stone is indifferent to cold. Nature meets nature, and there is no problem. These set up the rhythm before the turn.
Then the images sharpen to the real subject: the mind that cannot receive. You may apply sandalwood oil to a dog, but he will still be a dog. Read the Simritees to a deaf person — how will he learn? Burn fifty lamps before a blind man — how will he see? Set gold before cattle — they will nose past it to the grass. Add flux to iron and melt it — it will not turn soft as cotton. Each image is the same shape: a precious thing (fragrance, scripture, light, gold, softening) offered to something that cannot take it in. And Guru Nanak's conclusion: this is the nature of a fool — everything he speaks is useless and wasted.
It is crucial to read this rightly, because it could be misheard as contempt — and the wider tradition is fiercely against contempt for any person. The shalok is best taken not as license to look down on "fools," but as a sobering warning about the closed heart — including, most importantly, one's own. The danger it describes is real: a mind sealed shut by ego, pride, or unwillingness, before which all the wisdom in the world is wasted, like light before closed eyes. The lamps are not the problem; the closed eyes are. And the practical question it leaves us is not "who are the fools out there?" but "where have I shut my heart so tight that truth cannot get in?" The cure is not cleverness — the deaf man's problem was never a lack of books — but the simple opening of the vessel, so that what is offered can finally be received.
Where might you be the 'closed vessel' — offered something true, but not yet open enough to take it in?
Translation by Dr. Sant Singh Khalsa·How we use AI