The recent images from Gurduara Bangla Sahib in Delhi have stayed with me. Protesters, many of them young, sought refuge there. Among them were young women. Watching some being dragged away near the Gurduara was difficult
But something else moved me even more.
When they needed somewhere safe, where did they go?
To the Gurduara.
I know that Gurduara.
When Mum was in pain, she would go to Bangla Sahib. Alone. She would sit there for hours. It wasn’t one day, or two, or even three. She went so often that the sevadars came to know her. They watched out for her.
Whenever I go to India, I visit Bangla Sahib. When Dad was alive, we would go together, sit and listen to kirtan, and have langar. We never spoke about it being Mum’s place.
But we both knew.
When I am in pain, when I don’t know where to turn, I go to the Guru.
And these young people had gone to the Gurduara.
I wonder what Mum would have said had she been alive. I can almost hear her saying, “They are children.”
When children come home seeking protection, we don’t turn them away.
Perhaps there was idealism in their belief that once they reached the Gurduara, they would be safe. There is something precious about such trust.
I have heard so many stories of mothers in India telling their daughters to take a Sikh taxi, particularly at night. I have non-Sikh friends in the West who, when feeling unsafe, would stand near Sikh men while waiting for a ride. More often than not, someone helped.
At Bangla Sahib, the Gurduara opened its doors. The young people were offered food and shelter. According to The Indian Express, a staff member said the management refused a police request to send them out.
That matters.
There have been allegations of political slogans being raised within the Gurduara. I understand the concern. Maryada matters, and the Guru’s house must not become an instrument of political parties.
But offering sanctuary is not an endorsement of someone’s politics.
During India’s Emergency of 1975–77, political opponents of the government also sought refuge at the Sri Harimandar Sahib–Akal Takht Sahib complex. Their political affiliations did not determine their need for shelter.
When anyone comes to the Gurduara seeking protection, what do we see first? Their religion, their politics?
Or can we simply see that they have come to the Guru for protection?
And what happens when honoring that trust comes at a price?
Sikhs have paid that price through centuries. We remember those who stood with the vulnerable, who suffered, and who gave their lives. We speak of their courage with reverence.
But remembering courage is one thing. Quite another when the choice is ours, and the consequences are real.
Will we stand up?
I think of Mum sitting quietly at Bangla Sahib, and the sevadars who came to know her and watched out for her. I think of Dad and me sitting there years later, listening to kirtan, carrying a memory we never needed to speak aloud.
And I think of those young people.
Different lives. Different circumstances. The same trust.
And that trust is not ours to betray.
It is the Guru’s.
