The Story My Grandma Kept Telling Me (and How It Prepared Me for Life’s Hardest Tests)

When I was little, my grandma would tell me the same kahani (story) over and over again. At the time, I didn’t understand why she chose that one. To be honest, I sometimes thought she didn’t even like me. Her face seemed stern to me as a child, and I carried the belief that she didn’t see me the way I longed to be seen. But as the years have passed, I’ve come to realize that the story she repeated wasn’t random. It was a seed she was planting in me, one that would only bloom when I was ready.

The kahani was about Bibi Rajni Ji, a woman from Sikh history. She was married to a man who developed leprosy, a disease that left him disfigured and caused others to reject him. Instead of abandoning him, she cared for him with love and devotion. People judged her and whispered about her, but she refused to turn away. Her faith in Waheguru, the Divine, was unshakable. One day, she brought her husband to the sarovar, the sacred pool of water at the Golden Temple in Amritsar. These sarovars are holy pools where Sikhs go to pray and bathe, believing the water holds healing energy. When her husband bathed in that water, he was healed. The miracle wasn’t only his physical healing — it was also the way her steadfast love transformed hearts around her, teaching that dignity and compassion are stronger than fear or shame.

For years I didn’t know why this story mattered. But in 2013, everything in my life seemed to fall apart. My grandma passed away, and that alone was heartbreaking. Yet her death wasn’t the only wound that year. My heart was shattered in other ways too, through betrayal and heartbreak that left me questioning myself, my relationships, and even my worth. It felt like one blow after another. And yet, it was also in 2013 that I had my spiritual awakening — a moment that cracked me wide open and forced me to search deeper for meaning, truth, and healing.

Looking back, I can see the connection. My grandma’s constant retelling of Bibi Rajni Ji’s kahani was her way of preparing me for the tests I would face. Just as Bibi Rajni Ji endured judgment and pain yet chose compassion, I too was being asked to rise above betrayal, shame, and judgment, and to keep faith in the Divine. The healing her husband experienced at the sarovar reflected the inner healing I was beginning to step into. And the strength she carried in the face of gossip mirrored the strength I would need to carry through my own storms.

You don’t have to be Sikh to understand the meaning of this story. It is universal. It teaches us about the power of compassion when others judge us, the courage to hold on to faith when life tests us, and the quiet miracles that happen when we choose love instead of fear. We all have our own “sarovars” — those moments when we are standing at the edge of our deepest pain, unsure if anything will ever change, and yet, if we surrender and trust, something inside us begins to heal.

Now, when I think of my grandma, I no longer focus on the belief that she didn’t like me. I see instead that she gave me a gift — a story that would carry me through heartbreak and loss, and remind me of the healer, teacher, and guide I was meant to become. Perhaps the stories our elders repeat are not just tales to pass the time. Perhaps they are seeds of wisdom, waiting for the right season in our lives to bloom.

So I leave you with this question: what stories from your childhood keep returning to you? Could they be carrying wisdom for the life you are living right now?

Hardeep