The Aarti I Knew Before I Understood

Two grandfathers, a childhood memory, and an unexpected connection between Odisha and Sikh history.

There are certain sounds from childhood that never quite leave us. They settle somewhere in our memories, waiting for an unexpected moment to return. Sometimes, all it takes is an ordinary conversation to bring them back.
Recently, I was talking to a colleague and friend who hails from Odisha. During our conversation, he asked whether I had ever visited his home state.
I hadn’t.
But his question reminded me of something I had known since childhood, a connection between Odisha and Sikh history that I had never given much thought to. And with that thought came a familiar melody, one I could almost hear playing in the background.

Gagan Mai Thaal (The Sky Is the Platter), the celebrated Aarti (a devotional offering of light) composed by Guru Nanak Dev Ji.

Both my grandfathers were deeply religious men. Their understanding of Sikhism was rooted in the belief that the Divine is present throughout creation. Nature, to them, was not something separate from spirituality. It was an expression of it.
My paternal grandfather would often sing this Aarti. My maternal grandfather had a different approach. He would play a recorded rendition on his vinyl record player.

Two grandfathers. Two different renditions. One composition.

Growing up in the late 1970s and early 1980s, I heard this Aarti so often that I knew its words by heart. I could recognize the verses and follow the melodies, although I understood little of the extraordinary philosophical vision contained within them.
I was a child, after all. I had other things to do, and contemplating the relationship between the universe and its Creator was certainly not high on my list of priorities.

Yet those words stayed with me.
Even today, I can hear my paternal grandfather singing and remember the familiar sound of my maternal grandfather’s record. What I never fully appreciated then has acquired an entirely different meaning as I have grown older.
And it took a simple question about Odisha to bring those memories back.

When the Universe Became an Aarti
To understand this connection, we must go back more than five centuries, to Nanak’s travels across the Indian subcontinent.

During his first Udasi (spiritual journey), traditionally dated to the early sixteenth century, Nanak travelled eastward, visiting numerous religious and cultural centres. One of these was Jagannath Puri, in present-day Odisha, among the most important pilgrimage destinations in Hinduism.
According to Sikh tradition, Nanak visited the famous Jagannath Temple, where he witnessed the evening Aarti.
In Hindu worship, Aarti commonly involves offering light to a deity using a ceremonial platter carrying oil lamps. The ceremony may be accompanied by bells, incense, flowers and devotional singing. At Jagannath Puri, this tradition has been practised for centuries.

Nanak’s response, as preserved in Sikh tradition, was extraordinary.

Rather than confining worship to the lamps, flowers and incense of a particular ceremony, he envisioned the entire universe performing its own Aarti. The traditional account associates this occasion with his composition Gagan Mai Thaal, although the precise circumstances of its composition cannot be independently established.

Consider the imagery.
The sky becomes the ceremonial platter. The sun and moon become lamps. The countless stars scattered across the heavens become pearls. The fragrant breeze carries the scent of sandalwood, while the forests and vegetation offer their flowers.
The entire universe becomes an Aarti.
What a remarkable idea!

Nanak was not simply describing a more elaborate religious ceremony. He was inviting us to look beyond the physical objects of worship and recognize the Divine throughout creation. No human-made platter could contain the heavens. No collection of lamps could rival the sun and moon. And no temple, however magnificent, could encompass the universe.
The composition is preserved in the Guru Granth Sahib, in Raag Dhanasari (a classical musical mode), on Ang 663 (Page 663).
It is a vision that transcends geographical boundaries, religious architecture and the limitations of human imagination.
And its universal character attracted the admiration of one of India’s most celebrated literary figures.

An Anthem for the Universe
Rabindranath Tagore, the Indian poet, philosopher and winner of the 1913 Nobel Prize in Literature, is remembered for writing the words of India’s national anthem, Jana Gana Mana. He also wrote Amar Sonar Bangla, which later became the national anthem of Bangladesh.

A widely recounted anecdote connects Tagore with Nanak’s Aarti.
According to the story, the celebrated Indian actor Balraj Sahni, who had taught at Tagore’s Santiniketan, once asked the poet why he did not compose an anthem for the entire world.
Tagore is said to have replied that such an anthem had already been written, not merely for the world but for the entire universe. He was referring to Nanak’s Aarti.

Whether or not the conversation occurred exactly as remembered, the sentiment captures something extraordinary about the composition.
National anthems celebrate countries, their histories, their people and their aspirations. Nanak’s Aarti recognizes no national boundaries. Its ceremonial space is the sky itself, and its participants are the sun, moon, stars, wind and forests.
There is something wonderfully expansive about that thought.

As a child, I knew the words. My mother would tell me the meaning and asking my father for a few meanings in between. I could sing along when I heard them. But I had never considered their scale.
I now understand why the idea of an anthem for the universe became associated with this composition. It describes a form of devotion in which all of creation participates, whether or not humanity is paying attention.

Both my grandfathers religious outlook was closely aligned with this understanding of the Divine. Sikh philosophy teaches that God is formless, eternal and present throughout creation. Nature is not a separate deity but an expression of the Creator.

In Japji Sahib (Nanak’s foundational spiritual composition), Nanak describes air as the Guru, water as the father and Earth as the great mother.
What a profound way to describe humanity’s relationship with the natural world.
Air sustains us. Water nourishes us. Earth provides the foundation upon which life exists. These are not merely resources to be exploited but essential elements of creation deserving our respect.
Perhaps this was what my grandfathers understood when they sang and listened to the Aarti.
I only wish I had thought to ask them.

A Twig, a Tree, and a Memory Preserved
Nanak’s connection with Odisha extends beyond the Aarti at Jagannath Puri.

In Cuttack, on the banks of the Mahanadi River, stands Gurdwara Guru Nanak Datan Sahib. Its history preserves another tradition associated with Nanak’s travels.
According to the Gurdwara’s account, Nanak encountered an ascetic named Chetan Bharati. The story describes how the ascetic initially opposed Nanak but eventually became his follower. He subsequently offered Nanak a twig from a Sahada (a locally named tree) to use as a datun (a traditional toothbrush made from a twig).
Nanak used part of the twig and discarded the remainder. According to local tradition, the discarded twig took root and eventually grew into a large tree.
The Gurdwara’s historical account records that the original tree perished in 1930, approximately four centuries after Nanak’s visit. A portion of the original tree was preserved, and another tree grew from its roots. The site remains an important place of remembrance for the local Sikh community.

Another tradition survives at Baoli Math Sahib in Puri, where Nanak is said to have brought forth fresh water from the sandy ground near the salty ocean.

These stories belong to the religious traditions surrounding Nanak’s travels. Their miraculous elements are matters of faith rather than independently established historical events.
What interests me is how these traditions have survived for centuries, preserving memories of Nanak’s presence in communities far removed from Punjab.
We often think of Sikh history through the geography of Punjab, particularly Amritsar, Anandpur Sahib and the many places associated with the Sikh Gurus. Yet Nanak’s travels carried his teachings across a much wider region.

And Odisha’s connection with Sikhism did not end with those travels.
Nearly two centuries later, a young man from Jagannath Puri would become part of one of the most defining moments in Sikh history.

From Jagannath Puri to the Birth of the Khalsa
In 1661, a boy named Himmat Rai was born in Jagannath Puri. He belonged to a family traditionally associated with supplying water, an occupation placed relatively low in the prevailing caste hierarchy.
At approximately seventeen years of age, Himmat Rai travelled to Anandpur Sahib, where he became a devoted follower of Guru Gobind Singh Ji.
His journey would eventually place him at the centre of an event that transformed Sikh history.
In 1699, Guru Gobind Singh Ji summoned a large gathering of Sikhs to Anandpur Sahib for Vaisakhi (the spring harvest festival).
According to Sikh tradition, he appeared before the gathering with a sword and called for someone willing to offer his head. One by one, five men answered his call.
They came from different parts of the Indian subcontinent. Daya Ram came from Lahore, Dharam Das from Hastinapur, Himmat Rai from Jagannath Puri, Mohkam Chand from Dwarka, and Sahib Chand from Bidar in present-day Karnataka.
Together, they became the Panj Pyare (the Five Beloved Ones), the first five men initiated into the Khalsa (the community of initiated Sikhs).
Himmat Rai became Bhai Himmat Singh Ji.
What makes this event remarkable is not simply the geographical diversity of these five men. They also came from different occupational and caste backgrounds.

At a time when caste determined much of an individual’s social standing, the founding of the Khalsa brought these men together under a shared religious identity. Their commitment to the Guru’s teachings took precedence over the social distinctions into which they had been born.
For Himmat Rai, whose family belonged to a traditionally marginalized occupational community, this represented a profound departure from the prevailing social hierarchy.

It is also worth reflecting on the geographical significance of the event.
The five men who answered Guru Gobind Singh Ji’s call came from places spread across much of the Indian subcontinent. One of them had travelled all the way from Jagannath Puri.
The very place traditionally associated with Nanak’s celebrated Aarti had also given the Khalsa one of its founding members.
I find that connection extraordinary.

Bhai Himmat Singh’s commitment did not end with the founding of the Khalsa. He remained in Guru Gobind Singh Ji’s service, participated in battles involving Mughal forces and the surrounding hill chiefs, and eventually attained martyrdom during the Battle of Chamkaur.
Guru Gobind Singh Ji’s two eldest sons, Sahibzada Ajit Singh Ji and Sahibzada Jujhar Singh Ji, also attained martyrdom during the battle.
Historical accounts differ on whether the battle took place in December 1704 or 1705, but Bhai Himmat Singh’s martyrdom is firmly established in Sikh historical tradition.

His name, Himmat (courage), seems particularly appropriate in light of his life.
His story began in Jagannath Puri, far from Punjab.
His journey reminds us that Sikh history was shaped by people from many different regions of the Indian subcontinent.

The Voices That Never Left Me
I have never visited Odisha or Cuttack. Until recently, my understanding of these places came primarily from what I had read and the occasional references I encountered in Sikh history.
Yet a casual conversation with a colleague reminded me that a small part of Odisha’s history had been present in my life for decades.
Through Nanak’s Aarti, I began revisiting a connection that extended from the traditions of Jagannath Puri and Cuttack to the founding of the Khalsa at Anandpur Sahib.
But what remains most meaningful to me is something far simpler.
My paternal grandfather sang the Aarti. My maternal grandfather listened to it on vinyl. Their renditions were different, but the composition was the same.

I cannot claim that I understood what they found so meaningful in those words. Perhaps I never thought to ask.
At that age, I simply heard the music and memorized the verses.
It has taken me decades to begin appreciating the philosophical depth of a composition that describes the entire universe as an act of worship.

There is a certain irony in that realization.
As children, we often inherit traditions through repetition. We learn prayers, songs, stories and rituals long before we have the ability, or perhaps the inclination, to question their meaning.

Some remain with us. Others gradually fade from memory.
And occasionally, one returns years later with an entirely different significance.

For me, Gagan Mai Thaal is one of those compositions.
I now understand why its imagery extends beyond a ceremonial platter and a handful of lamps. I understand why Nanak’s vision of the universe is so closely connected to Sikh teachings about the Divine and creation.
And I have discovered that the composition opens a window into a part of Sikh history that I had not previously appreciated.

Yet despite everything I have learned, the most enduring memories remain remarkably simple.
I can still hear my paternal grandfather singing.
And somewhere in my memory, my maternal grandfather’s vinyl record is still playing.

The words have not changed.
My understanding of them has.

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Here is an amazing modern rendition of the Aarti.

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Languages and Dialects of Punjab:

• Before 1947, Punjab Did Not Speak One Punjabi, Part I
• Partition Divided Punjab. It Also Divided Its Voices, Part II
• The Language Survived. Its Written World Did Not Remain Whole, Part III

Folklore of Punjab:

• Echoes of the Five Rivers: A Journey Through Punjabi Folklore
• Echoes of the Five Rivers, Part 1: The Soul of Punjab and Its Stories
• Echoes of the Five Rivers, Part 2: Themes, Motifs & the Soul of Punjabi Storytelling
• Echoes of the Five Rivers, Part 3: Folk Beliefs, Rituals & the Living Spirit of Punjab
• Echoes of the Five Rivers, Part 4: Folk Music, Songs & the Voice of the Land
• Echoes of the Five Rivers, Part 5: The Qissas – Love, Rebellion, and the Eternal River
• Echoes of the Five Rivers, Part 6: Saints, Seekers & the Soul of Punjab
• Echoes of the Five Rivers, Part 7: Legends of Valor, Justice & the Everyday Hero
• Echoes of the Five Rivers, Part 8: Folklore & Modernity – The Stories That Refuse to Die
• Echoes of the Five Rivers, Part 9: Reflections, Continuity & the River That Remembers

Rise and Fall of Sikh Empire:

• The Rise and Fall of the Sikh Empire: Part 1 – The Rise and Fall of Banda Bahadur
• The Rise and Fall of the Sikh Empire: Part 2 – Sikh Persecution
• The Rise and Fall of the Sikh Empire: Part 3 – Persian & Afghan Invasions
• The Rise and Fall of the Sikh Empire: Part 4 – The Rise of the Sikh Empire
• The Rise and Fall of the Sikh Empire: Part 5 – The Fall of Sikh Empire

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