We arrived at Gurdwara Bangla Sahib just after sunrise.
Buses hadn’t started bringing tourists yet. For now, the worshipers outnumbered visitors.
As we stopped outside the entrance, an Indian man overheard us talking.
“You’re American?”
“California.”
He smiled.
“Me too. I’m from Sacramento.”
For a moment, we forgot we were in Delhi.
He pointed toward the shoe counter.
“Remember. Shoes off. Cover your heads.”
Then he disappeared into the crowd before we could thank him.
~
We left our shoes with the attendants and dug through a basket of borrowed head coverings.
Dani found a blue lace scarf.
Mine glittered with oversized gold sequins that looked better suited for a costume than a temple.
I put it on.
Dani looked at me.
I looked at her.
“Do I have to wear this?”
She laughed.
Barefoot, we stepped onto cool marble.
Beyond the entrance, a broad pool reflected the white buildings.
Worshipers bathed in the water.
Others sat along the edge watching the ripples.
Music drifted across the courtyard.
We followed it.
Inside, three bearded musicians knelt around an enormous book beneath an embroidered canopy.
One bowed a stringed instrument.
Another played hand drums.
Together they sang.
Television screens translated the verses into English.
People entered quietly, bowed before the book, and moved on.
“Blessing us with His Glance of Grace, the Kind and Compassionate Lord comes to dwell within the mind and body. My soul, body, and wealth are His.”
I tried following the words on the screen.
After a few verses, I stopped.
The singing continued.
We stayed until the music had become part of the room, then stepped back outside.
~
As we pulled our shoes on, Dani noticed another doorway.
“A museum.”
We laughed, took our shoes off again, and stepped inside.
The orange carpet felt soft between my toes.
The first rooms explained the things we’d just seen.
Turbans.
Uncut hair.
Steel bracelets.
Ceremonial blades.
We moved from one display to the next with families who stopped to read each panel.
They spoke of God.
Community.
AC WAS ceptance.
Then we entered the next room.
A painting showed a man being executed.
We stopped.
The next showed another.
Then another.
Men were being sawed in half.
Others were being flayed.
In one painting, soldiers built a wall around two children.
Dani stopped walking.
I looked at her.
She was staring at the painting.
Behind us, through the open doorway, the musicians were still singing.
She turned toward the sound.
Then back to the painting.