On my flight back from Melbourne to the UK on 21st January, I had a window seat. Next to me sat a young woman, probably in her early 30s, wearing a long red dress. She had long, uncut hair, and her features made me think she might be of Greek, Italian, or Spanish background.
After take-off, the cabin lights were dimmed so passengers could sleep. Most people dozed off or watched movies. The lady beside me had her headphones in and was absorbed in a film.
Since it was Amrit Vela, I began Naam Abhiyaas (meditation) with my breath. I covered my head and wrapped myself in a loee (shawl) to stay focused. After only a minute or so, I suddenly felt someone holding my arm.
“I’m fine, thanks” I replied.
She said, “I thought you were having trouble breathing. Do you need help?”
Vaheguru! I didn’t think I was that loud. She had headphones on, watching a movie — maybe she just had very sharp ears. It felt a bit odd to explain to a complete stranger, whom I hadn’t even spoken to yet, that I was actually doing breathing meditation (Swaas Swaas Simran).
From then on, I continued Naam Abhiyaas more discreetly. Afterwards, I quietly recited Nitnem Banian (daily morning prayers), keeping my voice lower than usual. I thought that if I used my phone to read, she would realise I was praying and not just talking to myself — so she wouldn’t feel concerned.
The way she recited it, it seemed as though she found peace and comfort in saying “Vaheguru.” I was stunned. How did this non-Sikh woman know this?
“Wow,” I said. “You know what Vaheguru means?”
“Yes,” she replied, softly repeating, “Vaheguru… Vaheguru…”
I asked, “Which religion do you belong to?”
“I’m Muslim,” she said.
“Where are you from?”
“I was born in Afghanistan, but I studied in Australia. I live in Melbourne now.”
“Many Sikhs once lived in Afghanistan. Do you know about Sikhs?”
She smiled. “Yes, of course. We had many Afghan Sikhs. I remember seeing them while growing up but never really knew much about their faith until I moved to Australia. Now I go to the Gurdwara in Melbourne every week.”
I was amazed. “As an Afghan Muslim, you go to the Gurdwara?”
“Yes,” she said. “My father was a doctor in the Afghan military. He always told me that Sikhs are the most trusted and honest people. He even wanted me to see the Gurdwara in Kabul. Sadly, we could only view it from outside the gate — for safety reasons, only Sikhs and Hindus could go inside.”
“Wow. So how did you know to say ‘Bolo Jee Vaheguru’?”
She replied, “At the Gurdwara, when the congregation stands, they say it. It gives me so much peace. I love how welcoming Sikhs are — they feed everyone, welcome everyone. Now I have many Sikh friends.”
That flight reminded me of how limitless Vaheguru’s love is. Here was a Muslim sister from Afghanistan, finding peace in Naam and Gurbani that had touched her heart. Her words about her father — that Sikhs are the most sincere and truthful people — echoed in my mind. Where I praised Guru Gobind Singh Ji for blessing us with the most beautiful path, I also prayed that Vaheguru makes me worthy of living up to this Afghan sister’s expectations of Sikhs.
It left me smiling all the way back to the UK. Truly, Vaheguru works in mysterious ways and shows His wonders in the most unexpected places.
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