The next week they had driven a long way to reach another camp to be on time to be included among those receiving Amrit. Something profound had happened and her life had begun to change.
But she made mistakes. Right away she couldn't stop removing hair from her face. Little by little in stages she had first let her eyebrows grow in, then hairs came in under her chin. Surely there were many more than had ever been there before. Lastly she got the courage to let the hair above her lip grow. It wasn't easy. The morning after Keertan Smaagam, she had pulled out every one with her fingers. While driving home from the Rainsbayee, something had happened there as they sang the last Shabad. Something like when she took Amrit, yet still, she pulled out every hair.
She wept into the rumaalas (the draperies covering Sri Guru Granth Sahib ji), begging Guru ji to forgive her and help her have courage. She sat with her fists clenched into tight balls, sitting on her hands, while something like a cactus patch, sprouted on her face. Then she went before Guru-Roop Panj Pyaare once more and confessed her mistakes.
Still she wasn't happy, she looked so disfigured, and the bleach didn't help, instead it just made her appear more bizarre. How could she try to hide something from the world, and yet show that she was a Sikh at the same time? She felt so ugly, how could anyone love her, how could she love herself? Her best friend told her "You look good! You look like a Singhni," and that helped a little. But it wasn't anything she could talk about to any one, only Guru ji, and to Guru ji she wept copiously, wetting the rumaalas with her tears.
She made up her mind to stop with the bleach. The make-up aswell, as it just made her feel dirty and ashamed. She went to the store and tried on a bathing suit. The top looked really attractive, but her Kachhera come out from underneath the bottom part, and then she saw her face. It just didn't match. She never wore that kind of suit for bathing again. Sometimes she felt proud when she secretly noticed other ladies sitting on the stage who looked like they had bleached their facial-hair.
Then one day she had an attack of nerves and started pulling at her whiskers. Yes, that's what they were, rough and coarse whiskers. In better moments, she remembered that kittens have whiskers, and that every one loves kittens. Even, she saw a lady horse once that had long whiskers, and everyone petted her affectionately. But this day, she couldn't help herself and pulled out whisker after whisker. O there were plenty left. Just a few around the edges were missing, no one else would ever know. And they would grow back!!! No doubt about that, they had always grown back. She even went to doctor, and he told her they could only be removed surgically. They always would grow back otherwise.
Sometimes they got wet when she drank, she shuddered. Just like a man’s. But she couldn't complain because after all men had so many more, and much longer. Sometimes, every once in a while it made her feel like a smaller version of a Singh, but more often she looked at the smooth, beautiful, glowing, radiant faces of other women and wept inside with shame. When she looked in the mirror, sometimes she felt like she was looking at Guru Sahib’s face. So she could not protest, yet still she wept.
Then one day her beloved brother was in an industrial accident at work. His beard was caught in machinery, and nearly half was yanked out. He suffered, pain and shame. He sat behind Baba ji, and read from the new Siri Guru Granth Sahib, this one had just one line. She wanted to try to read it, but didn't dare. As she watched her brother’s lips moving, while he recited Gurbaani, a glow lighted him. Looking at his face with half his beard missing, suddenly she saw herself, how she looked when she pulled out half her whiskers.
All this time she had thought she was disfigured when her hair grew, yet it dawned on her consciousness now that actually all these years she had been disfiguring herself by removing her hair and painting her face. Even some other ladies in the community had followed her mistakes.
She went to her room and wept some more. She had tried so hard, and it had all ended in failure. She had taken off her tight white knits, and started wearing Salvaar Kameez over her Kachhera, wearing black to reserve her inner strength. Removing the white turban she had grown up in, in favour of a Keski (small under-turban), she tied a black one and had worn it day and night, despite many protests from the children’s father. She slept in her Kirpaan, and Kachhera, and kept all 5 of her Kakkaars (articles of faith), even during ishnaan (bathing), and had never ever removed her KaRa since the first day she put it on, 20 years ago. And still she failed. She had struggled to learn her nitnem, gotten up at every morning for Amrit-vela, and done Naam Simran for at least an hour, for the past year or two. She carefully never ate outside and did all her cooking in her own utensils, yet still she failed miserably.
She failed because she hadn't understood. But now she did understand, and she firmed her resolve never to make foolish mistakes again.
Vaisakhi day came and she went alone to the Guru-Roop Panj Pyaare weeping. They would not allow her without the children's father. She wept harder, "He is fed up with me." She wept so piteously that they accepted her but with restrictions until the children's father came also before Panj Pyaare. She was so grateful. They gave her some instructions to recite Baani (prayers) and told her "Do not touch your face, it is poison."
She wore the Kesri Keski (saffron colour small turban) that she received in the Amrit Sanchaar for nearly a year after, day and night as her Chunni (scarf) and touched her face only with the Kesri Kapraa (cloth) covering her hands between it and face until her hands could be trusted to touch with love rather than remorse.
The children's father had been completely fed up with her and had threatened her security. But she knew that just as she had struggled with change; he also was going through incredible adjustments. Of course that didn't really make it any easier to deal with the flares of anger, but it drove her closer to Guru Sahib, her shelter, her honour, as she frequently wet the rumaalas flooding them with her tears.
Something had happened, she changed. Everybody said so. It was true. She had changed. Now she was a Singhni for real. Maybe she wasn't beautiful, or perhaps she didn't even know what beauty was. Her daughter always told her she was beautiful, but that was just love wasn't it? She knew now though that she was loved. Loved by Guru Sahib, and loved by Saadh Sangat (the Company of the Holy). She knew “Waahe” (amazement and awe) too... because inside she had “Guroo” (the Light, which dispels Darkness)... WaaheGuroo WaaheGuroo WaaheGuroo WaaheGuroo WaaheGuroo WaaheGuroo... Because rather then being apart from, she now was a part of ~