Bani Bhagat Beni Ji

Bani Bhagat Beni Ji

The composition is set to rag Prabhati, a musical mode associated with early morning, when the sunlight is just about to emerge, the world begins to stir, and everything seems quietly expectant. In many traditions, this early hour is seen as a time of affection and longing to connect with the One. It is a time when seekers, ascetics, and practitioners across spiritual traditions engage in their devotions. This idea of devotion isn’t confined to religious settings. Today, CEOs begin their day before sunrise. Military drills are conducted at dawn. Artists, dancers, and yogis rise early to perfect their practice. Whether it’s preparing for a performance, a mission, or a meditation, the early morning reflects a deep commitment—an embodied devotion—to something greater. In this way, it becomes a global concept. It signifies a conscious choice to greet the day with purpose, reverence, and clarity. It’s about showing up—whether heading to the gym, the temple, the studio, or simply sitting in silence. This composition is attributed to Bhagat Beni, one of the fifteen revered bhagats (devoted beings) whose compositions are included in the Guru Granth Sahib. His life revolved around the devotion to the One, and became not just a practice but a guiding force throughout his life. Here, Bhagat Beni presents a powerful reflection on the difference between outward rituals and true inner devotion. Through vivid metaphors and examples, we are challenged to examine the authenticity of our daily practices. Are we simply going through the motions, wearing a façade of devotion, or is there a deeper, more genuine connection with the One at the core of our being? We are invited to look beyond external displays and delve into the essence of devotion, questioning where our actions stem from—our heart or our habit.

The creative and all-pervasive IkOankar is One that is unparalleled. IkOankar is realized through the grace of eternal Wisdom (Guru). The composition commences with the invocation to the One and the anchoring of the omnipotence of IkOankar. It is an invitation, a grounding reminder, perhaps even a call to action, urging seekers to center the One in their remembrance. 

Hail Bhagvant for a long time in the world. The sight is cruel; day and night, the being is steeped in argument. Through the Pause line, Bhagat Beni presents us with the central idea of the composition, a piercing reflection—one that sits at the very heart of this composition. The message is not addressed to some distant other, but to the part within each of us that longs for connection yet gets entangled in contradiction. It speaks to our condition in the Kaliyug—the age of darkness, not just as an era but as a metaphor for confusion, ignorance, and inner disconnection. We hail the Bhagvant or the adorable One, a divine name synonymous for IkOankar, perhaps for years, with our words, rituals, and outward expressions. But what unfolds inwardly? The heart remains turbulent, often steeped in bitterness, cruelty, and arguments. There is a dissonance between what we perform and what we embody. We may stand in temples or sacred spaces, bowing in devotion, yet be consumed by conflict within and judgment toward others. This mirror is held up to hypocrisy, not to shame, but to awaken. After all, who among us has not, at some point, appeared one way and yet felt another? We wear our devotions like well-fitted clothes: marks on our foreheads, rosaries in our hands, ornaments and dresses that signal piousness across traditions and cultures. These can become a spiritual “public display of affection”—gestures of love that, while visible to the world, may not match the inner reality. We ask ourselves: How long will we continue like this—worshiping outwardly while struggling inwardly? This is not a condemnation, but an invitation towards accountability—to let our outer displays of devotion flow from an inner alignment. In the age of darkness or delusion, it is easy to become performers of love rather than participants in it. It is easy to master the choreography of devotion without stepping into its lived experience. External effort without internal cohesion cannot sustain the journey. Real devotion is not about spectacle—it is about sincerity. It’s not about being flawless, but about being willing to pause, reflect, and move toward congruence. When the heart and the hands move together, even the smallest act becomes radiant.

On the body, sandalwood; on the forehead, leaves. Inside the heart, it is as if scissors are placed on the palm. With fragrant sandalwood paste applied to the body and ceremonial leaves placed neatly on the forehead, there is an appearance of serenity and holiness. But the question arises—what lies beneath these symbols of devotion? Bhagat Beni offers a striking image: While the body appears adorned and sacred, the heart holds scissors on the palm—a vivid metaphor for inner turmoil, defensiveness, for sharpness, for the readiness to hurt or divide. And what do we divide? We divide people by class, by caste, by race, by gender, by religion, by political beliefs. We divide our own minds—saying one thing, feeling another, doing a third. We divide our homes, our institutions, our hearts. While we may claim compassion, our capacity to extend it meaningfully is often limited or conditional. There is a disconnect between the soothing, sacred symbolism of the body and the piercing, scheming tension within. This composition holds up a mirror to the human tendency to cultivate an image that does not align with our inner state. The calm posture masks inner cunningness. The surface is composed, even saintly, but just beneath lies a restless energy, one not of devotion but of deceit. The comparison to a crane is compelling here. The white crane is still, graceful, appearing peaceful and composed—but it is a predator, waiting to strike. In the same way, we may cultivate stillness in appearance, calmness in posture, but internally be ready to pounce—to harm, to manipulate, to divide. The whiteness of the crane and the scent of sandalwood both symbolize qualities—purity, harmony, and balance. Yet internally, the energy may be either heavy, dark, lethargic, or destructive. The appearance is that of a devotee—specifically, a Vaishnav, one of the largest devotional traditions within Hinduism, centered around the worship of Vishnu, who is often seen as the sustainer or protector. Vaishnavs are traditionally known for values of nonviolence, vegetarianism, and compassion. However, Bhagat Beni uses this imagery not to critique the tradition itself, but to question the emptiness of external display when it is disconnected from inner authenticity. We can imagine this in modern terms: someone might wear the clothes of a spiritual seeker, recite sacred words, attend places of worship, and even share verses on social media—yet remain internally filled with resentment, competition, or prejudice. This is not limited to any one culture or faith; it is a human tendency. We polish the outside, hoping to impress others, while neglecting the garden within. This is not a critique of external rituals or the Vaishnav tradition. Instead, it is a poetic and pointed call to reflect on how easily meaningful acts slip into performance—into costumes that cover, rather than reveal, our inner state. The question is not whether we practice rituals, but whether our rituals are sincere expressions of inner devotion—or props for public approval. In this moment, Bhagat Beni offers us an honest invitation: To look within, to realign what is seen with what is truly felt. The One does not require decoration; the One asks for honest devotion. This is not necessarily about abandoning practice but harmonizing it with integrity, presence, and love.

Daily, you take a bath of the body, you keep two loincloths, perform religious rituals, and put milk in the mouth. Bhagat Beni continues to peel back the layers of spiritual pretense with piercing clarity. A body washed clean with daily baths. Two pristine loincloths folded with care, marking purity. Rituals are carried out with precision. A mouth that touches only milk—no grains, no meals—presenting the image of austerity and purity. On the outside, everything appears composed, restrained, almost monastic. Within, the reality is far from peaceful. A knife is drawn inside the heart—ready, sharp, aimed. The practice of taking what belongs to others has become second nature. The reference to wearing two cloths, abstaining from solid food, and sipping only milk also comes from the Vaishnav tradition. Using the tradition as a metaphor, a more profound human contradiction is exposed here: The performance of purity alongside the harboring of harm in the mind. This duality isn’t limited to one tradition or culture. It is a pattern repeated worldwide for as long as humans have inhabited the earth—people adopting visible signs of devotion, ritual cleanliness, dietary codes, and religious regimens while internally nurturing harmful thoughts, intentions, and desires. We may dazzle the world with symbolic acts, but what do these symbols signify if cruelty simmers underneath? The image of a knife in the heart is more than metaphorical violence—it speaks to our capacity for harm that begins in the mind. All violence begins there. Before it is ever enacted, it is imagined. Before the hand moves, the thought has already taken shape. The craving to possess what isn’t ours, especially others’ wealth—whether material, emotional, or even spiritual—is a form of internal aggression. This stanza also comments on the commodification of religiosity in today’s world. Bhagat Beni points to how religious practice can become a performance or even a transaction. For some, it becomes a business that exploits faith, using rituals as products and purity as a brand. When those who appear saintly manipulate others, when faith becomes a means of power or control, the damage is not only personal but also collective. This is not just about outward hypocrisy. It is also about our personal relationship with devotion. Bhagat Beni’s words are not an accusation, but an invitation—to reflect on what we are becoming through our daily practices. Do our rituals soften the knife in our hearts—or do they simply distract us from it?

You worship the stone idol, make circles of Ganesh. To enter into devotion, you stay awake at night. Bhagat Beni invites us to reflect on the intention behind our love. Some place their faith in a stone idol. Others draw sacred symbols—circles of Ganesh (a deity in Hinduism)—upon their bodies. Some stay awake through the night, believing that wakefulness alone is a sign of devotion. Some dance, adorned in ritual anklets, moving their bodies as if in divine ecstasy. And yet, the mind is elsewhere—submerged in deception, craving, and indulgence. Bhagat Beni gently exposes this contradiction: What appears to be spiritual engagement is, in truth, disconnected from inner virtue. Such dances are hollow—they do not lead to transformation. This isn’t a blanket critique of traditions that include physical expressions of devotion. In many cultures around the world—in South Asia, South America, Central America, or global Indigenous communities—ritual dances, night vigils, and ceremonial markings are powerful and sincere practices of connection. But Bhagat Beni is asking: Are our movements aligned with our hearts? There is a powerful metaphor here: The dance of the feet and the dance of the heart. When these dances are not in harmony, we are like actors on a stage who have forgotten the script. We perform the part of the devoted, yet our thoughts remain drenched in greed, resentment, or desire. It’s like dancing with poisoned feet—every step appears graceful, but each movement is propelled by something toxic within. This is not about pointing fingers at those who physically dance in devotion. Rather, it’s a metaphor for all of us—because we all dance. We dance in our daily performances: how we present ourselves, how we perform for those around us, for those on social media, how we engage in rituals, how we carry out duties that appear pious or righteous. But are we internally aligned? Or are we choreographing these movements while lost in our own internal chaos? Even the most elegant performance can become anti-worship if it is devoid of sincerity. Devotion is about the inner pulse of integrity that animates those movements. The dance—the one entangled in vices—is not unique to any one culture. It is the human condition. We often believe we are dancing in celebration of the One, when we are simply spinning in circles—entranced by illusions, unaware that the music we follow is discordant. This is a call, not to abandon our traditions, but to realign them. When our hearts beat with clarity and our movements follow, the dance becomes real. 

Seat of deer-skin, rosary of Tulsi. With clean hands, you apply a mark on the forehead. Bhagat Beni emphasizes the disconnect between our outer rituals and our inner reality. In the performance of rituals, some sit on a deerskin mat, hold a rosary made of Tulsi (holy basil) beads, and carefully anoint their forehead with sandalwood paste after thoroughly washing their hands. Some wear a necklace of Rudraksh beads, symbols of spiritual purity and devotion. But what is truly happening within? The heart, filled with falsehood, contrasts sharply with these external displays. The absolute devotion—the connection to One, the Source of all beauty and attraction—is missing. We often spend so much energy on physical cleanliness and outward symbols of purity, yet we neglect the most essential aspect of all—purity of heart. These external markers of piety, while revered in many traditions, cannot cleanse the inner turmoil of a heart filled with deceit. It’s not about rejecting these practices; they are meaningful symbols in various spiritual traditions. Just as simply wearing a necklace of Rudraksh beads or sitting on a deerskin mat does not guarantee liberation, so too can our actions of devotion, however meticulously performed, become hollow if they are not accompanied by genuine inner transformation. We dress ourselves in sacred symbols, hoping to attract the One, yet without cultivating sincerity within, our devotion remains empty. The real question is: Are we truly invoking the One, or are we simply indulging in rituals to display our piety? No external mark, whether a leaf, a Rudraksh, or a necklace of rosemary, can please the One unless the heart is aligned with devotion. Rituals, without the inner connection to the One, become mere gestures—a way of deceiving ourselves rather than a true form of worship. This is an invitation to look beyond the surface, to recognize that absolute devotion requires inner integrity, not just outer displays. It is a call to stop pretending that external rituals alone are enough and to remember that the actual transformation begins within the heart.

One who has not recognized the inner reality, all ritual practices of that blind being are meaningless. Bhagat Beni draws a clear distinction between superficial religious practices and the profound inner realization of the One. Any rituals, no matter how meticulously performed, are meaningless if one has not recognized the true essence of life—One, the Source of all existence. Without this inner understanding, we are like the blind leading the blind, caught up in endless cycles of external displays, missing the essence of what those rituals are meant to connect us with. According to Bhagat Beni, a true devotee aligns their heart with the One, not through performative rituals, but through love and devotion that stem from inner understanding. However, this is not a path we can walk alone. The true Wisdom—the eternal Guru—guides us on this journey, helping us see beyond the surface and into the heart of the matter. In pursuing spirituality or religiosity, it is not enough to simply go through the motions, to wear the mask of devotion without embodying it. The One is not pleased by mere outward gestures, but by an inner connection, a recognition of the self as part of the greater whole. Only through the Wisdom-Guru can we hope to discover this truth and walk the path of true devotion.

Bhagat Beni brings us face-to-face with the essential truths of spiritual or religious life, urging us to look beyond the outward displays of devotion and confront the deeper reality within. He underscores a recurring theme: True faith is not about external rituals, symbols, or appearances, but about a sincere and transformative connection with the One that arises from within. This message resonates deeply across time and culture. We are reminded of the importance of aligning our outward actions with our innermost thoughts and feelings. We are challenged to live authentically, to let our actions reflect the love and devotion we hold for the One, and never to be satisfied with mere appearances or empty rituals. True spirituality or religiosity, he shares with us, is not about what we show on the outside, but what we cultivate within. We are invited to reflect: Which outward symbols or actions are we using to create this false sense of devotion? Do we engage with the One to seek transformation or to be seen as pious? Are we becoming softer, more generous, more honest? Or are we clinging to rituals while becoming increasingly hardened inside? If we were to set aside all rituals, what qualities or characteristics would we describe in a true devotee? What would that authentic devotion look like?