A Thousand Names

Chapter 1: I Pay Homage to the Source of Material Existence

ōṁ prakr̥tyai namaḥ

IAM JAYA. I am the Great Victory. I am the great triumph over death. The one who has truly loved, even if it is but once in his lifetime, may never die. For his life, even in death, becomes a thousand names. A thousand names he leaves behind as the legacy of his life.

The roots of love run deep, echoing in the hidden chambers of a yearning soul, where it lingers sweetly like morning mist. Love, a resplendent forest of wildflowers which blooms within the heart, thrives amidst the rich soil of unspoken thoughts and the gentle rain of unexpressed feelings.

In death, a thousand names were created out of the story of my life. You did not choose me for it is I that chose you. Mahamrityunjaya.   My name is Jaya and I am the great victory over death.

∞

Sleep did not come to me. My restless heart, wounded by the trials of life, fluttered, pleaded and ached like a hummingbird’s fragile wing in flight. Like the hummingbird, I, too, restlessly courted flower after flower. My journey had become an endless and seemingly eternal search where the destination I sought completely and entirely eluded me. The time had come to stop my seeking.

As I tossed and turned, my spirit bruised but not broken, the twilight which descended upon me offered a brief moment of respite. I found solace in the moonlight’s enchanting glow. A shroud of uncertainty descended as the dark night’s embrace deepened, leaving me adrift in an ocean of doubt filled with the anticipation of what may never be.

I had sought the One for whom my soul yearned. Even though my soul searched every beautiful flower of this city, I found him not. No matter where I went, the silent pangs of loneliness were my only companion.

I painstakingly sought him who my heart truly desired. I called out to him in my prayers, but my mumbled pleas and muted supplications had all gone unanswered. Like the hummingbird, I drank to my fill of the temporary sweetness of the flowers. I sought him in all of the flowers of the city, but I found him not.

Restless and sleepless, I rose from my bed and went about the entire city. I visited all the tall buildings made of gold and granite. When that attempt and that excursion failed, I asked around at the churches and the temples. I even chanced upon a few obscure sects and visited the centres of a few cults.

The One for whom my heart yearns, is he here?

Like the hummingbird, I courted every flower. I found much, but I found him not. Like the hummingbird, I am small and insignificant. My tiny heart yearns for the sweetness of the true nectar which lays beyond the flowers. Small I am, short I am, sorrowful I am. Truly, there is no remedy when this fleeting life of mine—filled with the fleeting pleasures of all manner of flowers—comes to its inevitable conclusion and its definite end.

Who knows how much time the Maker has allocated for us? One day, the breath of life will be extinguished from my tiny body. Even I, like the hummingbird, adorned in the brilliant colours of the rainbow, shall turn grey: the colour of ash, death and decay.

The allotted time I have been given to find what I seek, I do not know. I have enjoyed the nectar of many flowers, and yet, the flower my heart is seeking has eluded me. I, small and insignificant though I am, have had a taste of so many flowers.

Why does the fragrant flower I seek elude me so!

The transient and fragrant beauty of the flowers I know truly to be a tragedy, for once our allotted time is over, we—the beautiful creatures of this world—become but passing shadows. The names we were once given will be forgotten. Perhaps the flowers I so tenderly caressed will forget me and I them. Perhaps neither they nor I will recollect this chance encounter of courtship so carefully constructed by fate.

There is no return from the grey hue of death for what the grim reaper takes, he does not give back. What Death claims, he never returns, no matter how much you plead your case. In the exuberance of youth, perhaps we foolishly think we have all the time in the world to relish all the flowers of the world. I cannot deny that I briefly and succinctly enjoyed the nectar of each lonely rosebud before it withered.

For all of mankind, there is only one common entrance by which we come into this world. And yet, no one knows through which exit we will depart. Does the human soul—like the hummingbird’s journey amongst the flowers—flutter from womb to womb? How many lifetimes will it take to find that which my soul is seeking?

This perishable body in which my soul is housed is but an earthly tent. This immortal spirit of mine is weighed down by the burden of its earthly abode. The soul is in all, but it is no longer in the vessel that has perished.

I hibernate by night when sleep comes to me, not knowing where or whence my soul goes. The soul lies dormant within the vessel, sleeping sweetly through the night. When I awake and realise the shackle of this human body, I continue my endless and mindless search among the flowers.

Ah! Am I to be blamed for seeking my soulmate among the flowers which bloom only to wither? Have I gone astray in my path to find him; him for whom my heart incessantly yearns? I live and seek the One amongst His works—in the bountiful magnificence of His creation—and yet, the love my soul is seeking, remains as elusive as ever.

The hummingbird kisses and courts the flowers with its mouth. The nectar of the flowers is superior to that of wine, for unlike wine, the nectar of the flowers does not intoxicate. I have exulted and rejoiced in the sweetness the flowers have offered me.

Alas! I must admit that I courted the flowers, but did not fall in love with them. It is not possible to love that which is fleeting. Experience has taught me that it is foolish to fall in love with the evanescent, no matter how beautiful it appears in springtime.

I urge those, who, like me, have sought the true treasure of their heart, not to even attempt to stir, awaken or hunt down their true love till it is ready to be fulfilled. When you find the one whom your heart truly loves, hold him and do not let go; not till you have conceived in your body the earthly destiny which awaits your soul.

Behold! How beautiful Divine Love is! Not only is the love of the Divine fruitful and bountiful, it is when all is fair and one realises that there is naught left to do but realise that love is stronger than death. Jealousy’s evil eye will shut on its own for what the Divine has ordained for you is eternally and always yours. None will ever be able to ensnare it away from you.

O Lord, I shall search the fruitless flowers no more. My search is over. May he—the one that I am destined to be with—find me instead. My heart has grown weary of waiting for someone who has not yet materialised. My heart is wounded by the trials of life and I need a man of wisdom who can heal the wounds of my heart. I need a true man who can satisfy the stirrings of my soul.

I shall now retire my search amongst the flowers; for I have tasted the transient nectar of life and have yet to find the flower which is mine and mine alone. O Lord, I am seeking him who you once showed me in my dreams. This is why I do not sleep for when I awake, he is no longer with me.

I am living in between worlds: in the threshold between dreams and reality. I do not know which is which anymore.

Whose love am I even seeking? It was when the question escaped my lips that I realised that I was seeking someone whom I have neither met nor known. Yet, I am still seeking him; the one who my soul is destined to be with.

I have not found him yet. If you happen to know where he is, can you let him know that I am looking for him?

I shut my eyes in defeat. For I had sought love and it had eluded me. Sleep came to me and there, I saw him, the man of my dreams.

Chapter 2: I Revere The One Who Manifests the World

ōṁ vikr̥tyai namaḥ

IAM JAYA. I AM THE GREAT VICTORY.

The condor, a scavenger of death, soared through the skies pursuing the stench of decay. It had descended to cleanse the world of the carnage of war that had just taken place.

An age and an epoch were ending. The condor, a giant bird of prey whose wings spanned the distance between the mountains and the sea, was sent down to cleanse Mother Earth’s body of the darkness it had just witnessed. A transition would soon take place. This unavoidable war was but a prelude to a new dawn.

As the war waned, as the sun dipped low, and as the old world faded, the condor, descending from the lofty heights of Colca Canyon to the tranquil waters of Lake Titicaca, witnessed a woman of unparalleled beauty.

A young maiden, her laughter as pure as the mountain streams, was tending to her flock of llamas. The maiden’s hair was as black as the raven's wing and her eyes were as deep as the ocean.

The condor saw all that unfolded below, and his heart, though wild, was filled with longing. He descended down and sought her company. The maiden, startled yet unafraid, gazed up at the colossal creature.

With a voice as soft as summer rain, she greeted him, acknowledging his rare presence. The condor’s heart stirred. A bond, as fragile as gossamer yet as strong as the mountain peaks, began to form between them. The girl's heart, however, was anchored to her mother, her duty to her loved ones a steadfast chain of obligation.

Rebuffed by the girl’s refusal, the condor’s predation instinct, swift and consuming, seized the heart of the ancient bird. Driven by his predatory instincts, honed over centuries of survival, the condor disregarded the girl's wishes. The sight of such beauty ignited a desire within him, a primal urge that overrode reason and compassion. He whisked the girl away up into the air upon his back. He flew all the way up to Colca Canyon: his home up in the sky.

Once there, he introduced the girl to his extended family in his world of rock and sky. They welcomed her with kindness, but their diet, a staple of carrion, was a bitter contrast to the girl's familiar world. Her tears painted the sky with sorrow, a silent plea that echoed through the canyons.

The condor's kin, a brood of carrion eaters, were creatures of shadow and decay, their diet restricted to the remnants of life. Unlike them, the maiden was a creature of light and life, her way of life a stark contrast to norms of their world. Even though the condor had trapped the maiden in his lofty nest, he wondered how this being of light would fare in their world of shadows.

The hummingbird, a tiny sentinel of the sky, witnessed the girl's despair. With courage that surpassed its size, the hummingbird approached the condor's nest. With a heart attuned to nature's harmonies, it sensed the deep discord in this forced union. Confronting the towering condor, the hummingbird chided, How can you feed your beautiful bride carrion? Humans nourish on warmth, not decay. I’ve heard news of a roasted alpaca, a delicacy fit for a queen, beyond the mountain's crest.

Driven by a desperate need to see his captive joyous, the condor soared away, leaving the hummingbird as an unlikely guardian. With the coast clear, the tiny bird guided the terrified girl down the perilous cliff face, returning the mysterious maiden to the solace of her mother's arms.

The condor, upon returning to his aerie, found the nest empty. In a rage, he sought the hummingbird: the tiny and insignificant creature who had dared to defy him. Enraged at his own failure, the condor’s fury descended on the hummingbird, tearing it asunder. With a fury that shook the mountain peaks, the condor tore the hummingbird apart, scattering its feathers to the wind.

It was the very first time the condor had taken a life; and that, too, in an act of vengeance. A sense of wrongdoing etched itself into the condor race’s ancient soul for it had gone against what its Maker had created him to do. What the condor did was a violation. It was an unnatural act that went against Nature’s laws. The dormant cruelty simmering within the condor had ignited in a spark of righteous fury, compelling it to act.

And yet, from this act of vengeance and violence, a miracle unfolded. The hummingbird, once a solitary creature, became a multitude. Each bore a name as unique as the flower it courted, a testament to life's endless variety.

The hummingbird, reborn in a thousand fragments, transformed into a shimmering clan of eternal beings. Each fragment of the hummingbird transformed into a new bird: a tiny creature of dazzling colour. A thousand hummingbirds they were; a thousand knights in shining armour. Each tiny being, a testament to truth, carried a name as unique as the flower it loved to kiss.

The hummingbird, once a solitary creature of no great importance, became a thousand birds... with a thousand names.

Chapter 3: I Show My Gratitude to The One Who Bestows Secular and Spiritual Knowledge

ōṁ vidyāyai namaḥ

IAM ZADKIEL. The collective disregard for the natural order of life had reached a tipping point. It was the condor, a creature that had been a silent observer for millennia, that became the catalyst for change; its actions a stark reflection of a world spiralling out of order and balance. The hummingbird, a silent sentinel of the mountains, had felt a primal urge to restore balance.

It is a pity that my heart, as tender as it was and as it still is, never knew that to carry a light burden is sufficient. What I suffered and how I suffered in the war before I came to Atmapur was inhumane. Forgive them... Forgive them... For they know not what they do. It was the voice of Christ at his humiliating crucifixion that guided me away from vengeance towards healing, restoration and peace.

What I am carrying, what I carried, were but needless burdens which belonged to someone else before they were placed upon my young shoulders. Death had released me from that burden for I did not need that burden. It was not my lot in life to carry that burden. The truth, when it was revealed to me, seared my heart for a few months, but it was the lies which had been told to cover the truth that were the real poison.

Once I came to know the truth of who my forebears were; I would thank God for releasing me from the ancestral sins which I never committed. My lineage is filled with gamblers, liars, cheats, womanisers and scoundrels.

The matriline was no picnic either. Injustice towards women was permitted to perpetuate for mothers and mothers-in-law were guilty of child marriage, unfair dowries, domestic violence, abortion and of course, black magic.

I remember, as a child, women, huddled together, speaking of poking needles in dolls, casting spells with knots and all matter and manner of practices that can only ever be performed in isolation and in secret.

For a woman, a male heir was of utmost importance. If God created both man and woman in his image, then why has the image of women been scarred by generation upon generation of injustice? A stark contradiction has marred humanity's history, a persistent chasm between divine intent and earthly reality.

It is futile to mourn the love that one never had. For that mourning is born of thirst. I know now that we continue to live in spite of every and all atrocities because we thirst. Every person who has suffered—no matter how greatly and no matter for how long—continues to thirst. His dreams, like most dreams, are ordinary. All our dreams, despite how mirage-like and faraway they feel, are ultimately ordinary.

What has mankind sought? Wealth, knowledge, power, progeny... and when all those disappoint, he seeks the ultimate aim: immortality. The list is neither inexhaustible and nor is it endless.

Man, however, rarely seeks his own happiness. He seeks all that he does because he thinks it will make him happy; only to realise that misery is a friend that accompanies him everywhere. He scarcely, if ever, seeks love.

A vivid tableau of Christ's crucifixion unfolded in my mind, a heart-wrenching spectacle of human cruelty and divine suffering. The agony etched upon His face was a mirror reflecting the darkest depths of humanity.

I would no longer blame myself for the heinous crimes that my ancestors committed. I would no longer be consumed by the shadows of the past. I refuse to bear the weight of atrocities I did not commit.

With the grace of God, I would be a different person. I would be free of mortal sin.

Chapter 4: I Revere The One That Bestows Grace Upon on All Living Beings

ōṁ sarvabhūtahitapradāyai namaḥ

IAM JAYA. The Paramahamsa—the Supreme Soul—is older than any religion and more expansive than any manmade dogma. It is this Supreme Soul that has guided everyone who has ever existed, exists now, and will ever exist. 

I urge you, as I have many others before you, to listen patiently to what your heart has to tell you. Without patience, it is not possible to hear the musings, the memories and the maladies of the heart. It is the heart that possesses the capacity to heal and to unite with the Supreme Soul.  You must always listen to your heart for it is a guru unlike any other.

When and if the day comes that you are unable to hear the voice that emanates from the heart, you will wander lost in this world. May Almighty God always protect you from the dark veil of deception which resides in the hearts of others. May you be protected at all times and always.

The heart is the best guide for those who, after a long period of isolation, introspection, self-reflection and purification, are able to hear the voice of the Supreme Soul.

It is this very voice that will guide the one who is lost in a terrain utterly unfamiliar to him. It is this voice that does not deceive him and it is this voice you must learn to trust. It is this inner voice that will guide the one who is utterly incapable of understanding the twisted and terrible ways of