“To save a life,” “To protect a cow,” “To counteract the thriftless ways of husbands,” have added Hindu women of my acquaintance.
Simple is the ritual of the worship of Wisdom. “With folded hands I bow before the Goddess, the Goddess who provides all wealth, and vouchsafes the power of speech.” “May the Goddess of Wisdom protect me, the Mother of the Vedas, who from the crimson lotus of her hands pours radiance on the implements of writing, and on the works produced by her power.”
“May the Goddess of Wisdom protect me—She who robed in white, sets far all ignorance. She who abides with the Creator may she abide with me ...;” and the rest of the prayers are either said by the Priest, or found in the heart of the worshipper. The battered lesson book, the oft-used pen, are these not prayers in themselves?
The last time I saw the Goddess was at the Children’s Festival. Wisdom danced on her lotus flower, in a little bower of bamboos and marigolds, out in the open courtyard. At her feet sat children, row upon row, ranging in age from three years to twelve. I watched them come so happily, tripping hand in hand with some friend or comrade. They wore their best gay little saree, gold-spangled and bordered, in their hair thread of gold, or great heavy ornament, or just some flower among the light close braidings. And, as they took their seats in the Great Cathedral roofed by God’s sky, the Priests moved among them anointing each little forehead with oil of sandal wood from off the altar of her who is named Wisdom.
Then the musicians beat their drums and rang the bell of worship, and every single forehead was on the ground before the Goddess. The worship had begun.... First be consecrate, then bring your offering—is the creed.... I heard no prayers, but there-after, one by one, the Babies passed before her, throwing at her feet sweet-scented wreaths of Jasmine. I needed not then to hear their prayers.... And that was all the Service. The play of the children at the feet of Wisdom.
Thus then the Hindu honours his Guest. And, on the second day—for even Wisdom must share at length the waters of oblivion—with music and singing with the happy laughter of children and a gay following of the faithful, her image is taken to the Ganges; and with love and much injunction as to next year’s journey from the Mounts of Blessing, is it set afloat on that sacred river whose bourne is the Eternal Sea.
Wisdom, in Sanskrit story, is Creative Power to the Great God himself, his energy—without her he is but a great incommunicable passive force.
“I make strong whom I choose—originating all things I pass even as a breeze. Above the Heavens am I, beyond the Earth, and what is the Great One, that am I. I make holy the Great God Himself. For the Great Archer it is I bend the bow; it is I who stay evil in the name of the Destroyer. Few know me, yet near to all alike am I. God is he from whom Wisdom and Speech—after reaching Him—return.”
Unravelling it all, what quaint teaching may we not piece together? That is true wisdom which puts man in touch with God—creature with Creator. And the same power of God refrains not from blessing the things that are of value to the Earth—the written, the spoken word, all arts and harmonies and science.
Then, is it not a parable that the Goddess of Speech is primarily the Goddess of all Learning? Let the ignorant keep silence.