# Between the Twilights/Chapter 1

BETWEEN THE TWILIGHTS
I
THE STORY OF WISDOM
She comes with the Spring—a two days’ guest in an Indian household. Nor has frequency bred either carelessness or coolness of reception. Early on the morning of her arrival you will see the women hastening from the Bathing Ghat, their garments clinging about their supple limbs, their long hair drying in the wind. They bear full water-pots, for nought but Gunga-Mai to-day suffices—no slothful backsliding to near-by pump.
In the house of my friend, it was Parvati, the oldest serving-woman who undertook to make ready the guest chamber. I watched her as she crossed the courtyard—a handful of the precious liquid for Dharti-Mai the Earth Mother, and the rest—a generous swob, for the black marble veranda. Soon had she helpers, and to spare—the most practised ​among them made the white chalk marks of good luck—tridents, fishes, flames of fire; and the tidiest made the little inclosure—white cotton “railings,” the posts being balls of Ganges mud, in which were buried swiftly-flying arrows—threat for daring devil.
But the centre of interest was naturally the Altar. This was just a plain raised platform of wood, carrying bravely its variety of offering. Great mountains of yellow and white flowers, with fruits, chiefly the cocoanut, fruit of healing, old Sanskrit manuscripts, lettered palm-leaves, thumbed and blotted copybooks and tattered “primers”—the prayers of children—the pointed reed, and ink-horns, glass ink-pots and steel pens from the “Europe” shop across the way; a school edition of “The Vicar of Wakefield,” Ganot’s Physics, quaint combs and mirrors, powder-boxes, and perfumes, “the tears of scented grass,” or that more subtle “scent of red rose leaves.” Why not? Is she not woman, even though a Goddess and learned? The “Europe” products, I notice, carry milk in place of ink. “Sanctify to us this Western Education”—is that what it means in this country, where deepest feeling finds ​outlet other than through doors of speech? So her worshippers made ready, not in private chapel but here where the life of the days pulsed and languished through the years; here, where friend or passing stranger might alike turn to greet her; for Wisdom is one, though her hosts be many. Moreover, She who is called Wisdom loves the voices of little children, and nothing is hushed, or ordered otherwise for her coming. The most unregenerate rogue romps at her feet, the most thriftless housewife, the most rebellious daughter-in-law has access to her Altar, and through the day one after another will come bearing her gift; and, lingering a while, will go away softly even as she came. Sometimes, by no means generally, there will be an image of the Goddess. One such I have seen in the house of a rich merchant. It was a life-sized figure dancing on a lotus, the full bloom, pink-edged, in her hand she bore a bina, for the Goddess of Wisdom is also Queen of Harmony; and the rich man’s friends had honoured her as was meet, with priceless gifts of Kincab, of gem, of trinket. Now Wisdom of necessity has yet one more aspect, she is Goddess of ​Perfect Speech. It is of her that the tongue-tied prays eloquence, the scholar success; and the offering to her in this capacity you will find absent from no Altar, rich or poor. To omit this would mean the curse of the dumb for ever. It is a little cake of rice and milk, this oblation for lapses from accuracy, for “benevolent falsehood.”
“Oh Guest of the hours, remember the past, the puzzling need of the tangled moments, remember—and forgive.”
A list of benevolent falsehoods must needs vary with the age. Manu includes (viii, 130) “The giver of false evidence for a pious motive, for such an one shall not lose a seat in heaven,” his lapses being called the “Speech of the Gods.”
“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 thereafter, 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.
The Tulsi spirals stirred in the hot wind, and the great white red-throated Sarus flapped ​his wings as he walked about the women’s courtyard. The men of the house had taken the Image to the water, and we sat by the empty altar in the hour between the Twilights. “Tell me more about Wisdom,” said I to my Wisest of the Wise, and she told me of how Vishnu gave her as wife to Brahma, and how Brahma put a slight upon the Lady of Wisdom—a slight which she never forgave.
A great sacrifice was going forward, and the Priest bade Brahma call his Lady. For is it not the wife, and she alone who must hold the sacred grass, must sprinkle the offerings. “But Saraswati is engaged in dressing,” was the answer.
Then the Priest “without a wife what blessing can come?”
So Brahma turned to Indra, and bade him find a substitute in hedge or highway.
Indra soon returned, leading by the hand a milkmaid, beautiful and happy. She bore a jar of butter on her head. “She shall become the Mother of the Vedas,” said the Priest; and that is how Gayatri, the Milkmaid, was wed to the Great God Himself.
Then came forth Saraswati all unconscious, ​and very gorgeous, attended by the wives of Vishnu, Rudra, and other of the Gods—a worthy train.
When she heard what had happened, she was wroth beyond power of words to tell.
Said the Great God, shamefaced, “The Priest did this thing; the Priest and Indra.”
But Saraswati said, “By the powers I have obtained, may Brahma never be worshipped in Temple or Sacred Place—except one day in each year—and since Indra, thou didst bring that Milkmaid to my Lord, thou shalt be bound in chains by all thine enemies and prisoned in a strange and distant country, thy power over the winds and thy station on high, given to others. Cursed also be ye—Priests. Henceforth shall ye perform sacrifices solely for the desire of obtaining the usual gifts, and for love of gain alone shall ye serve Temples and holy places; satisfied only shall ye be with the food of others, and dissatisfied with that of your own houses. And in quest of riches shall ye unduly perform rites and ceremonies.” …
In great wrath she called for her peacock, to leave the assembly, but the Goddess of Wealth ​refused to accompany her; and her also did she curse.
“May you always abide with the vile and the inconstant, the contemptible and foolish, the sinful, cruel and vulgar.”
After her departure Gayatri modifies all the curses; so neither need all Priests nor all the wealthy be base and contemptible.
When the youngest daughter-in-law in the house is listening to the story-telling my Wisest of the Wise adds a variation—Saraswati is appeased, and Brahma says he will do with the Milkmaid what the Goddess commands, while the Milkmaid herself falls at the feet of Wisdom, who, raising her, says, “Let be—let you and me both serve my Lord!” ***** And now for a year her Altar is empty but she is not forgotten, and in the practice and devotion of the faithful still does the third watch of the night belong to Wisdom.
“Let the home-keeping ones wake in the time sacred to Saraswati, the Goddess of Speech; let them reflect on virtue and virtuous emoluments; and on the whole meaning and essence of the words of Wisdom.” ***** ​“So desirable, and yet she may be only a two days’ Guest in a Hindu household,” I mused aloud.
“Ah, but,” answered she who worshipped Wisdom, “were Wisdom always with us, how should we live among the sons of men!” …