A Prayer to the Mother of All Words

 

Nila Saraswati (Matangi Devi):  Queen of impure speech made pure, the patroness of outcast wisdom, of broken words transformed into mantras. She speaks through the wild, the margin, the forbidden—and makes it sacred.

O Devi,

Mother of Sound, Weaver of Wisdom, Flame of Infinite Tenderness—
I bow at Your lotus feet.

Grant me the innocence of a child—
not ignorance, but that unspoiled sincerity
which speaks without cunning and receives without fear.

Let my words come to You like a three-year-old’s offering—
crumpled, messy, but full of love.
Let there be no performance in my heart,
no striving to impress—only the joy of sharing what You place within me.

Wrap my speech in the heart of a mother—
soft, listening, infinitely patient.
May every sentence I shape carry the fragrance of compassion,
the warmth of arms that comfort,
and the quiet power of a love that never needs to prove itself.

And yet, O Saraswati, Light of the Vedas,
let my voice be sharp with clarity—
not harsh, but precise, like the moon reflected in still water.
Let the intellect You’ve gifted me serve You humbly—
never as a sword to divide, but as a lamp to illumine.
Let my scholarship bow to Your mystery.

May I speak of deep things without pride.
May I walk through the śāstra without becoming a gatekeeper.
Let not even the faintest trace of elitism stain the words You give me.
Burn it all in Your fire.

Make me a flute, O Devi—
hollow, open, and ready.
Blow through me as You will—
a child’s laugh, a mother’s song,
a scholar’s mantra whispered to the dawn.

Let the world forget me,
but remember the love behind the words.
For it was never mine to begin with.

All this is Yours.
Always was.
Always will be.