AN INVOCATION TO MY ANCESTORS
I once awoke from a dream in which my ancestors were sitting by the edge of a river chanting “birth and death, the river flows on, the river flows on…..” Later on that auspicious day, I gave birth to my daughter, Jenna Devi, she who was now part of the rivers ancestral flow.
During this time of the full moon, as I invoke the memory of my ancestors, I find myself in the dusky mountains of Kurdistan, a region near Afghanistan where my ancestors hailed from - camel herders, wandering nomads and simple merchants who made their way along treacherous mountain passes and along the Silk Road, guided by the light of the moon.
They finally settled in the Land of Seven Rivers – Sapta Sindhara - the Vedic name for Punjab, a vast fertile plain in the Indus Valley, now Northern India and Pakistan.
Some were warriors marching alongside fierce battalions, plundering their way through conquest, proudly bearing the banner of their Kshatriya warrior caste. They were fiercely independent and strong. Some were thugs, bandits and drunkards glorifying in the vicious spoils of conquest, blinded by petty ambitions.
Others became scholars and teachers, drawn to ancient centers of learning that rose up in the region. Many – mostly men - would be drawn to the professions becoming lawyers, doctors, professors and writers. One, would break all tradition, and become the first woman lawyer in the lineage, my mother, Asha.
Some were drawn to the path of the mystic, holy men and women reciting the mantras of Shiva and Shakti in mountain caves, ashrams and sacred temples. They were pilgrims and sages, devotees of God, drawn to the sacred Divine. My great grandmother, Jumna Devi, would take her last breath reading the sacred text of her beloved Bhagavad Gita, her mala beads still resting in the palm of her hands. My great grandfather, Somlal, would retreat to a remote ashram in the mountains at the age of 80, put on the simple robes of a sannyasin and according to Hindu tradition begin intense preparations for his death, far away from his family.
They were fathers and mothers, daughters and sons, brothers and sisters, each with their own stories, their unique sorrows and joys. Some lived in opulent prosperity, others in weary poverty; some lived quietly, others with ferocity; some lived in joyful ease, others in silent despair.
But no matter what their circumstances, all were bound by the sacred thread of life, all carried by the rivers flow.
One thing I know for sure is that throughout all of time past, my ancestors would have looked up at the night sky and gazed with longing at the full moon, as I do today. For this luminous deity would bequeath us our ancestral name: Chand, meaning Moon.
Little did they know that one day, this name would reside in a little girl born on the equator in a city surrounded by seven hills, a city at the source of the Nile. A little girl whose mother would search for the moon on the night of her birth and based on its position in the sky give her her precious name.
And so it was that on that warm August night, on the eight day of the month, on the eight month of the year, as the full moon greeted the African sky, I was born and given the name Amber Chand, Moon in the Sky.
The ancestors smiled.
The river flowed.
Painting: The Dancer (acrylic on paper)