When we chant this mantra, we call upon Sarasvatī, the Goddess of wisdom, creativity, and speech. She is a deity, seated on a white lotus, blessing us with clarity of thought and purity of expression. She is also a symbol, a mythic personification of the river of inspiration that flows through us when we create, learn, or speak truth (satya).
If we believe that only what is rational and measurable is real, then the sacred will always seem unreal, for by its very nature it is beyond logic. Sarasvatī is the Goddess of Vāc – of speech, learning, sound and vibration. Her gift is not confined to reason: it is speech that fades into silence, language that leads us beyond itself, into mystery.[1] Words and mantras guide us into the space where truth is experienced, not defined. Like chanting the sound of OM (praṇava) and the silence that follows. Its vibration continues in that silence, guiding us back to what lies beyond words and language. Language and mantra are doorways. Their ultimate purpose is to return us to the source of all sound, śabda brahman, that which vibrates within and around us. Sarasvatī plays the vīṇā (a South Indian instrument) – a kind reminder for us to tune in to the songs of the universe, to practice listening (śravaṇa) to the anāhata nādam, the unstruck sound.
It is important to remember that when we invoke Sarasvatī (or any other deity), we ultimately invoke nothing that is outside ourselves. We ask for guidance – to help us find access again to that source that dwells within us, always. Liberation is not apart from life but shines within it, in everyone and everything.
Working as a behavioral scientist, I highly appreciate the benefits of science. But to not acknowledge its limits in relation to the mystic, to the spiritual, would be foolish. Sarasvatī offers us a world into both. No scientist can ever prove why a river (like the Sarasvatī or the Gaṅgā) is holy. We cannot measure the value of a chant. The mystical is not about explanation but about experience. Our faith (śraddhā) should be grounded in direct experience, otherwise it is just blind faith.
Sarasvatī is one of the many forms of the Devī, the Divine Mother. Through her, everything arises and takes form. She is the Mother of the earth. Mythology reminds us to live in harmony with the wisdom of nature, to recognize our kinship with animals, plants, rivers, and seas; to nurture relationships that are mutually beneficial; to learn from one another, and to grow together; to practice compassion and kindness towards ALL beings.
The swan (haṃsa) is often seen as Sarasvatī’s vehicle (vahana). Myth tells that the swan has the rare ability to take in what is pure (viśuddha) and leave behind what is not. This image expresses the yogic quality of discrimination (viveka), the ability to discern the real (sat) from the unreal (asat), the eternal from the transient. Like the swan that takes only the essence, through practice (sādhana) we can learn to discern what truly nourishes and what merely distracts the mind. Sarasvatī, as the Goddess of wisdom, offers us this inner clarity – revealing our interconnectedness with all life.
She reminds us that the power of reasoned speech, of clear thought, of true knowledge, belongs to all. This is the very foundation of democracy: every human mind (buddhi) is capable of reason, and therefore of truth. No one needs a special authority to dictate how things should be, because wisdom flows within all of us. To speak truth does not require privilege, but clarity – clearing away self-interest, hate, fear, and ignorance so that pure wisdom can shine through. If we wish to come together as society, our words must not serve division or domination but the common well-being of all. Sarasvatī calls us to use our reason and our creativity in service of truth and the collective good. This takes courage, but to forget this, is to betray both her gift and the very principle of freedom in our society. This also means taking action: participating in shaping the world we live in, whether by voting, raising our voices for those who can’t, or taking part in the democratic process. Democracy is not sustained by ideals alone but requires the active choices of its citizens. “What you do makes a difference, and you have to decide what kind of difference you want to make.” (Dr. Jane Goodall)
Ādi Śaṅkarācārya tells us in his poem Bhaja Govindam that even perfect knowledge of Sanskrit grammar will not bring liberation (mokṣa). When he met an aged scholar still absorbed in the rules of the Sanskrit language, he reminded him: at the moment of death, it is not grammar that will save you, but devotion (bhakti). Bhaja Govindam – praise Govinda, praise the divine. In this way, we are reminded that all our scripture study (śāstra), all our refinement of speech and thought under Sarasvatī’s guidance, should ultimately direct us towards devotion. Knowledge reaches its full potential when it develops into love of the divine.
[1] This is what Ludwig Wittgenstein highlights in Tractatus logico-philosophicus: “The limits of my language mean the limits of my world.” (5.7) “Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent.” (7) – Credits to my daughter Luella for pointing this out.
