Jain Spirit 2003 10 No 16

Author(s): Jain Spirit UK
Publisher: UK Young Jains

Page 48

WORSHIP
AMBIKA — THE PROTECTOR OF FAITH
Urmish Mehta recounts a unique story of courage and devotion which gave
birth to the Goddess Ambika. Illustrated by Charlotte Hodgson
A SACRIFICE OF PERFUME FILLED THE QUIET
hours of the early morning. Ambika with her two sons,
Siddha and Buddha, sat in calm felicity. Her mind was a sea of sincerity, passionate in flow, without a single turbid wave. She was a princess of spotless ecstasies and delight. Ambika's husband, Somabhatt was a Brahmin priest. His nature was quite a contrast to his wife's. He was content to breathe, to feel, to sense, to act. He worked for the body's wants. He did not crave more.
On the day when Somabhatt had gone on a journey a wondering Jain monk, a direct disciple of Bhagwan Neminath, arrived in town. He was begging to break his one-month-long fast. He arrived at Ambika's house and stood outside. He clapped his hands to beg but his mind was not engaged in the begging. His seeking mind had ceased in the Truth that knows. Timeless silence prevailed in his eyes, the one Consciousness that acts as an infinite substrate of the entire universe was alone seen and experienced. His existence was luminosity, force and cosmic harmony.
Ambika saw the Jain monk standing like a fixed pedestal of prayer at her door. He looked calm and motionless, like a marble monument, his body supported a figure of eternal peace. He calmly accepted the alms Ambika offered. She felt as if some holy influence fell on her. A tide of mightier surging bore her life and the divine Presence moved her soul. Her face shone with the grace and beauty of spiritual light. Her doubts, like the murmuring of a celestial fire, broke out seeking an answer and said in a humble voice: "It seems like we move out of the unknown to the unknown. Our brief existence here is always surrounded by the grey shadow of unanswered questions. The dark clueless mysteries remain unsolved behind the starting line of our unknown fate. Life on earth is a brute accident, a net of birth and death in which by chance we live and die. Life's farther end is hidden from our sight. This ignorant and miserable life is a mere chance happening."
A soft response sprang from the Sage's heart to quell Ambika's doubt. "If a living Image that sits in your heart is known then all is known. Go within to find the origin and the master-clue. It is a boundary-less wideness and a fathomless point. It is the Truth and a substrate of all these cryptic shows in the world. Our strivings should always move towards that
which is Real. Know it and you will be freed from the miseries of your earthly life."
"How do I know that living Image within?"
"First, the questioner must admit the existence of the questioner, that is: herself. Examine: who is the questioner? It is the feeling of 'T' in you. Pursue the 'T' till you find that living Image within."
"But it is elusive. When I try to seek T, I don't find anything - no answer comes."
"Don't look for an answer that can be formed by words. Try to see who it is that does not find anything."
Ambika listened to her thought's inner sound and followed the rhythmic meanings of the sage's words. Upon return, Soma's ego was hurt on hearing from Ambika that she gave alms to the Jain monk. Being born in Brahmin heritage, how can one give alms to a non-Brahmin monk? The dragon-bird of anger raged in Soma: "Get out of my house at once and never return." Ambika had no choice but to leave her husband's house with Siddha in her right arm and Buddha clinging to her feet, and began walking through the endless night. She advanced her foot to plunge into the dread and hueless vacancy. At first they moved in a blind stretch of woods with anxious paces. The long green leaves pressed the three forlorn souls dimly through a realm of lonely whispers.
Ambika did not measure her loss with helpless thoughts. She leaned out over her two crying children in the great stillness without stir or voice, as if her mind had died with their hunger and pain. Still the human heart in her beat on. Her only aim, joy and origin were her two children, Siddha and Buddha. Her treasure was saved from the collapse of the entire space. She kept the grief in her personal depths. Even in this moment of her soul's despair, in its grim rendezvous with death and fear, no cry broke from her lips. Her heart was greater than human fate. Courage kept her mute. Yet, only her outward self suffered and strove, her spirit opened to the Spirit in all. A slow, faint, shadowlike remembrance moved in her heart. She felt like the sage was talking to her: "It is not by mere thinking but by a change of consciousness that you will open to the Truth. If you pass from the external thought activities to a direct, intimate,
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Jain Spirit September - November 2003