7. Heroes and Villains of the Indus Valley - Jainism in Ancient India

Jainism in Ancient IndiaMy Name is Mahavira: My Birth and Royal Beginnings

I was born in 599 BC in the kingdom of the Vajji confederacy, in a place called Kundagrama near Vaishali, in what is now Bihar, India. My given name was Vardhamana, which means “increasing,” for it was said that the kingdom flourished when I came into the world. My parents, King Siddhartha and Queen Trishala, were noble and devout followers of the Jain tradition. From birth, signs surrounded me that hinted at a great destiny. My mother, Queen Trishala, dreamed of sixteen auspicious symbols while carrying me, signs that Jain seers later interpreted as an indication of a future spiritual liberator.

As a prince, I was raised with every comfort imaginable—fine garments, soft beds, delicious food, and the teachings of the scriptures. But even amid this splendor, I was a child of reflection. I questioned life’s deeper meaning and was troubled by the suffering I saw beyond palace walls. I married a noblewoman named Yashoda and had a daughter, but the seeds of renunciation had already taken root in my heart.

The Great Renunciation

When I turned thirty, my life changed forever. My parents had passed away, and with their worldly duties fulfilled, I resolved to leave behind the comforts of royalty. I gave up my family, my titles, and my possessions. I removed my ornaments, donned simple garments, and left the palace silently, without anger or sorrow. I began my life as a seeker, determined to conquer not kingdoms but my own passions and attachments.

For twelve long years, I wandered through forests and villages, practicing severe austerities. I fasted for days, meditated without movement, and bore insults, abuse, and even physical assaults without resistance. People mocked me, threw stones at me, and treated me as a madman. Yet I remained steadfast, seeking not their approval but inner truth. I let go of clothing entirely, choosing nudity to represent freedom from material attachments and pride.

The Moment of Enlightenment

It was after twelve years of these rigorous trials that my soul reached its purest state. Under a sal tree near the banks of the Rijupalika River, I attained Kevala Jnana—infinite knowledge, perception, power, and bliss. It was as if a veil had lifted, and I could see the entire universe, its cycles of birth and death, karma and liberation. I understood that the soul is eternal, and that only by shedding karma could one attain moksha—freedom from rebirth.

At that moment, I was no longer merely Vardhamana. I became Mahavira, the Great Hero, the twenty-fourth Tirthankara in a long line of spiritual teachers who had found the path to liberation.

My Teachings to the World

After my enlightenment, I traveled on foot throughout the lands of ancient India for the next thirty years. I taught that every soul is divine and capable of liberation. I preached non-violence—ahimsa—not only in action, but in speech and thought. I instructed my followers to avoid lying, stealing, sensual indulgence, and attachment to possessions. My teachings were simple yet demanding, requiring complete honesty, compassion, and detachment.

I gathered both ascetics and householders. Some chose to renounce the world entirely, while others lived righteously while remaining in society. I spoke in Prakrit, the language of the people, so that all—regardless of caste or status—could understand. My fourfold community, or sangha, included monks, nuns, laymen, and laywomen. All were capable of progressing on the path.

The Final Liberation

In my seventy-second year, I journeyed to Pavapuri in modern-day Bihar. There, after fasting and meditating in silence, I gave up my body and attained final liberation—nirvana. It was 527 BC. My soul was now free from the cycle of birth and death, resting in eternal bliss.

The fire that cremated my body became a sacred place for my followers. Over time, Jainism grew into a major tradition, preserved by devoted monks and scholars. My message of non-violence and self-discipline lived on.

The Legacy I Leave Behind

My teachings are not meant for any one people or time. They are for all who seek freedom from suffering. They are for those who wish to live in peace with all living beings. Kings and commoners alike have found meaning in my words, including in later generations, those like Mahatma Gandhi, who drew inspiration from the principle of ahimsa.

Though I no longer walk among you, my presence remains in the vow of a monk walking barefoot, in the prayer of a laywoman seeking truth, and in every act of compassion that reduces harm. I invite you to see yourself not just as flesh and blood, but as a soul—capable of infinite knowledge and bliss—waiting to be awakened.

The Roots of Our Path – Told by Mahavira

When I walked the forests of Bharat as a seeker and later taught as Mahavira, the last Tirthankara of this age, I did not come to create a new path, but to renew the eternal one. The truth I realized through long years of silence and austerity was simple yet profound: all souls seek liberation, but they are bound by karma, actions that cling to the soul like dust to wet skin. Freedom comes not through violence or conquest, but through discipline, non-attachment, and deep compassion for all forms of life. This is the heart of Jainism. These principles matter not only because they lead to liberation, but because they teach how to live with integrity, peace, and reverence for the world.

Ahimsa: The Sacred Principle of Non-Violence

Above all, I taught ahimsa—non-violence. It is not merely the absence of harm, but the active commitment to avoid injury in thought, word, and deed. This is not limited to humans. Every living being—an ant, a bird, a plant, even microorganisms—has a soul and therefore has the right to live. A Jain walks carefully, speaks gently, and eats mindfully. In my time, I often swept the path before me to avoid stepping on insects. For one who truly understands ahimsa, compassion becomes second nature. This principle, more than any other, has shaped the Jain way of life and deeply influenced Indian culture, inspiring saints, scholars, and even political leaders like Mahatma Gandhi.

Satya: Speaking Only the Truth

Truth is sacred. Satya means more than just telling the truth—it is the commitment to speak what is honest, useful, and kind. Words have power. They can heal or they can harm. I taught my followers to speak only after thoughtful reflection, to avoid gossip, lies, and even harsh truths when they serve no good. Silence, when it preserves harmony, is greater than speech. Truth aligns us with the natural order and strengthens our inner purity.

Asteya: Not Taking What Is Not Given

The principle of asteya, or non-stealing, teaches that nothing belongs to us unless it is freely offered. To take what is not ours—be it a thing, an idea, or another’s time—is a subtle form of violence and greed. Even desire for another’s property can tie us to karmic chains. A Jain, therefore, learns contentment and asks only for what is necessary and rightfully theirs. In this practice lies both honesty and peace.

Aparigraha: The Freedom of Non-Possessiveness

Attachment is bondage. Aparigraha, or non-possessiveness, frees the soul from the weight of desire. Possessions, whether they are objects, wealth, or even people, are impermanent. To cling to them is to invite suffering. I gave up my kingdom, my family, and my clothing so that I could walk this path unburdened. For monks and nuns, aparigraha means complete renunciation. For householders, it means living simply, giving generously, and detaching from the illusion that anything is truly ours. Through this, one finds inner stillness.

Brahmacharya: The Discipline of Chastity

The path of liberation demands self-control. Brahmacharya is the vow of chastity. For ascetics, this means celibacy. For laypeople, it means fidelity, modesty, and the wise use of one’s desires. Sexual cravings are powerful distractions that bind the soul through intense karmic attachments. By mastering them, we become masters of ourselves. When energy is not scattered through indulgence, it fuels spiritual progress and clarity.

The Nature of the Soul and Karma

What is it we seek to free? The answer is jiva—the soul. Every living being has a soul, radiant, pure, and eternal. But it is covered by ajiva—non-living matter, especially karmic particles. These karmic elements bind to the soul due to passion, anger, greed, pride, and deceit. As long as karma clings to the soul, we are trapped in samsara, the cycle of birth, death, and rebirth. Liberation (moksha) is achieved when all karmic matter is shed and the soul rises to its natural state of omniscience and bliss.

To free the soul, one must live in accordance with the Five Great Vows: Ahimsa, Satya, Asteya, Brahmacharya, and Aparigraha. These vows are the ladder that lifts the soul from the prison of the body into the light of eternal freedom.

Why These Beliefs Still Matter

The world today still trembles under the weight of violence, greed, and falsehood. My teachings remain relevant because they offer a way out—not through domination, but through discipline and deep respect for all life. In every moment of restraint, in every kind act, in every sacrifice of comfort for the sake of truth, the soul grows lighter. Whether one is a monk or a merchant, a ruler or a servant, these principles can guide anyone toward a life of harmony and spiritual clarity.

I did not speak these truths to win followers or build temples. I spoke them so that each person might awaken to their own divinity and walk the path of liberation with joy and fearlessness. That path is open still.

Why I Chose the Path of Renunciation – Told by Mahavira

When I left the palace at the age of thirty, I did so not out of sorrow or despair, but out of clarity. I had seen the illusions of comfort and the fleeting joy of possessions. The soul, I realized, could never be free while tangled in attachments, no matter how golden the chains. I chose to become an ascetic, to walk barefoot under the sun and moon, to sleep without shelter, to eat only what was given without asking, and to own nothing—not even a bowl or a garment. In doing so, I followed a path trodden by the great Tirthankaras before me, a path of total renunciation. That path became the foundation for the lives of Jain monks and nuns who followed after me, those who vowed to live by discipline, humility, and truth.

The Sacred Vows of the Ascetic

Every monk and nun in the Jain tradition begins by taking the Five Great Vows. These are not mere promises—they are the very pillars that support the soul on its journey to liberation. First is Ahimsa, non-violence, the commitment to never harm any living being through thought, word, or deed. Second is Satya, truthfulness, to speak only what is true and kind. Third is Asteya, non-stealing, which forbids taking anything not freely given. Fourth is Brahmacharya, chastity, the complete renunciation of all sensual pleasure. And fifth is Aparigraha, non-possessiveness, the rejection of all attachments to people or things.

These vows are stricter than what lay followers observe. For a monk, even the smallest lapse—an angry word, a careless step that crushes an insect—can bind the soul with heavy karma. That is why the monastic life demands constant mindfulness.

The Discipline of Daily Life

A monk’s day begins before dawn, often with silent meditation. In silence, we listen to the soul and reflect on our conduct. We do not bathe in scented water or eat prepared meals. We walk barefoot to collect alms, never asking for food, only accepting what is freely offered. We do not store food for later. We do not cook. We eat once a day, in silence, without pleasure or disgust. It is nourishment, nothing more.

We clean our own place of rest with a broom of soft peacock feathers, so that even tiny lives are spared. We sweep the path before us. We drink filtered water. We sit on the floor. We do not seek comfort, for comfort breeds carelessness. We do not beg with sorrowful eyes, for this is not a life of suffering, but of purpose.

We fast often, some for days or even weeks, to weaken the body's hold on the soul and to burn away karma through discipline. We study the scriptures, practice meditation, and engage in reflection. And each evening, we confess our faults and resolve to do better.

Clothing and the Two Great Traditions

Some monks, in the Shvetambara tradition, wear simple white robes, symbolic of purity and humility. Others, in the Digambara tradition, like myself, wear nothing at all. This nudity is not shameful. It is a declaration of freedom from all possessions, even the last veil of fabric. A Digambara monk carries no bowl, no cloth, no books—only his soul and his vows.

Each tradition honors the same goal: to purify the soul and reach liberation. Though the paths vary in form, they share the same essence of detachment and discipline.

Why Asceticism Still Matters

Some may ask, why must the path to truth be so hard? Why live without comfort, without family, without joy? But I say this: comfort deceives, and joy tied to the senses fades. The ascetic’s life may seem severe, but it is a life of clarity, of peace deeper than any palace can provide.

Monks and nuns are the torchbearers of Jain ideals. They remind the world that freedom is possible. They show that it is not only kings or warriors who have strength, but those who conquer desire, who subdue anger, and who walk gently through the world leaving no harm behind. Their lives are a mirror to our own cravings and a guide for those who wish to live with greater truth and compassion.

Even if one does not walk the path of a monk, the example they set teaches us to live with less, harm less, and love more deeply. This is the power of renunciation—not escape, but mastery of the self. That is what I learned when I left my crown behind, and that is what I offer to those who seek freedom.

My Name is Chandanbala: From Royalty to Spirituality

I was born as Vasumati, the beloved daughter of King Dadhivahana of Champa and Queen Dharini. Our palace was adorned with riches, music, gardens, and wisdom. From a young age, I was raised in the comforts of royalty and educated in the scriptures and the arts. My heart, however, always inclined toward kindness and compassion. I remember feeding the birds, offering food to the poor, and listening intently whenever the sages spoke of the soul and liberation. My life was peaceful and full of promise—until the day war shattered it all.

The Fall and My Captivity

Our kingdom was attacked by a rival ruler, King Shatanik of Kaushambi. In the turmoil, our palace fell, and I, the princess of Champa, was captured and separated from my family. I was brought to Kaushambi in chains, stripped not only of my ornaments but of my identity. The conqueror sold me to a cruel merchant, who treated me as a slave and gave me a new name—Chandana. I was forced to live in a shed, given meager food, and subjected to humiliation and hard labor. My soft hands became calloused, but I bore it all in silence. What they could not steal was my faith in the truth and my devotion to ahimsa.

The Vow of Fasting

During my days in bondage, I began to fast. Not out of bitterness or sorrow, but out of spiritual resolve. I took a vow: I would not eat until I could offer food to a truly worthy ascetic. I waited, day after day, enduring hunger while keeping hope alive. My captors thought I had gone mad. But I remained firm. Inside me burned a silent flame—a prayer that I might one day meet a soul who had renounced all pride and possessed pure wisdom.

Meeting Mahavira

One day, as the sun was high and my body weak, I saw a radiant figure approaching the house. He was tall and noble, unclothed and calm, with eyes that saw through suffering. I knew at once—this was no ordinary monk. This was the one I had waited for. He was Mahavira, the twenty-fourth Tirthankara. I rushed to offer him food, but the cruel merchant locked me away, fearing I would feed a wandering beggar. By divine grace, the lock broke open on its own. I rushed again with my humble offering—just a few grams of dried peas, soaked in water. Mahavira accepted the food silently and with dignity. I wept with joy. My fast ended, and my soul felt free.

My Liberation and Devotion

Word spread quickly through Kaushambi of the miraculous event. When King Shatanik and Queen Mrigavati heard of what had happened, they came to see me and recognized me as the lost princess of Champa. With great sorrow and honor, they welcomed me back. But I no longer wished for silks and thrones. I had tasted a joy greater than all palaces could offer. I had met Mahavira and seen what it meant to live in perfect renunciation.

From that day on, I became his devoted follower. I listened to his teachings and practiced the vows of Jain dharma. Eventually, I became the first woman to take the vow of diksha—the renunciation of the world—and thus I became the first Jain nun of this age. My name, Chandanbala, came to symbolize the strength of devotion, the triumph of patience, and the grace of liberation.

Why My Story Still Matters

Though I was born a princess and lived as a slave, my true life began when I found the path of the soul. My story is not one of despair, but of transformation. It is a reminder that greatness does not lie in power or status, but in purity of heart and commitment to truth. Anyone, regardless of their birth or pain, can walk the path of liberation.

Even today, when Jain nuns walk barefoot and carry no possessions, they remember that the first among them once suffered in silence but rose in spirit. My journey stands as a light to those who feel forgotten, reminding them that the soul is never bound forever—and that truth, once embraced, brings freedom.

Why I Chose the Life of Renunciation – Told by Chandanbala

I was born a princess and lived as a slave, but in both roles, I saw that suffering and joy come not from outer conditions, but from the state of the soul. When I met Mahavira and offered him soaked lentils after many days of fasting, my heart was filled with such peace and clarity that I knew my true purpose. I no longer wished for ornaments, praise, or comforts. I wished only to walk the path of liberation. That is why I chose the life of an ascetic—a life not of sorrow, but of freedom. In Jainism, monks and nuns are not simply wanderers; they are models of spiritual discipline, living examples of how to transcend this world while still within it.

The Sacred Vows That Guide Us

When I received diksha, or formal initiation, I took the Five Great Vows, as all Jain monks and nuns do. These are not just rules—they are a way of cleansing the soul, of burning away karma and attachments. The first vow is Ahimsa, non-violence, the deepest commitment to protect all life, from the smallest insect to the largest beast. The second is Satya, to speak only what is true and beneficial. The third is Asteya, not to take anything not willingly given. The fourth is Brahmacharya, the vow of celibacy, to keep the mind free from desire. The fifth is Aparigraha, to possess nothing and be attached to nothing. These vows are the very foundation of our path and must be kept with complete attention and care.

The Way We Live and What We Wear

Jain monks and nuns live with utmost simplicity. We do not own homes or wealth. We carry only what is needed for our survival—perhaps a bowl for food, a broom to gently sweep the ground, and sacred texts for study. In the Shvetambara tradition, we wear simple white garments, free of color or decoration, to symbolize purity and detachment. In the Digambara tradition, monks wear no clothing at all. This is not out of shame or pride, but to show complete renunciation. Even the last thread of possession is released.

We do not bathe in luxury, eat for pleasure, or speak to please the world. We walk barefoot from village to village, relying only on what others freely offer. If nothing is given, we fast. We ask for nothing, expect nothing, and yet we are never in want, for the soul is nourished by truth.

The Rituals and Discipline of Our Days

Our days begin before the sun rises. We meditate and recite pratikraman, a practice of reflecting on our actions and confessing any faults. We purify our minds through chanting and study. We eat only once a day, and only what is given by others without request. We drink water carefully filtered to avoid harming even the tiniest forms of life. We sweep the ground before us as we walk, speak softly, and avoid careless movement. Silence is often preferred over speech, for silence teaches the soul to listen.

We fast regularly, not as punishment, but as purification. When the body grows weak, the soul grows alert. Fasting helps burn away old karma and cultivates endurance, humility, and awareness of impermanence. We do not fast to prove anything, but to become light, within and without.

Why This Life Still Matters

Some see our life and wonder why we choose it. Why give up family, comfort, beauty, and joy? But I say this: we have not lost joy—we have found a joy that does not fade. We do not escape the world; we rise above its illusions. Monks and nuns show the world that it is possible to live without harm, without greed, without fear. In a world full of noise and desire, our silence and simplicity become a teaching.

Even those who do not renounce the world can learn from us. They can take smaller vows, practice kindness, speak truthfully, and give generously. The life of a monk or nun is not an escape—it is a living fire that purifies the soul and lights the way for others.

When I look back at my journey—from princess to captive to nun—I do not grieve any loss. I rejoice in the clarity that Jain ascetic life has given me. In this life of discipline and detachment, I have found peace. And peace, once found within, can never be taken away.

The Silent Strength of Jainism in Indian Life

When people speak of India, they often tell of towering empires, mighty battles, and dazzling cities. But beneath the loud footsteps of kings and conquerors, there has always flowed a quieter current—a current of peace, self-discipline, and reverence for life. That is the path of Jainism. Though our numbers have never been great, our presence has touched the soul of India. Through our temples, our vows, our scholarship, and our conduct, Jainism has shaped Indian culture in ways both visible and subtle. I saw it with my own eyes in my later years—how Mahavira’s teachings transformed lives, inspired art, guided scholars, and softened the hearts of even the powerful.

Temples of Silence and Light

Among the greatest testaments to Jain devotion are our temples. Carved from stone yet filled with stillness, these sacred spaces reflect our inner discipline. One only has to stand within the marble halls of the Dilwara Temples on Mount Abu to feel the spirit of renunciation made manifest in art. Every carving, every column, every ceiling is a hymn to simplicity, precision, and beauty. These temples do not shout—they whisper. They invite contemplation, not awe.

Another sacred site, Shravanabelagola in Karnataka, is home to the colossal statue of Bahubali, carved from a single rock, standing over 50 feet tall. It is not a statue of a king or a god in conquest, but of a man in meditation—naked, still, serene. It reminds all who visit that true greatness lies in conquering the self, not others.

These works of art were not built in haste, nor for pride. They were offered to the world by communities devoted to purity, who saw beauty not as indulgence, but as a reflection of spiritual order.

The Heart of Compassion: Vegetarianism and Animal Rights

Jainism’s first and foremost vow is ahimsa, non-violence. From this springs our most visible legacy in Indian life: the widespread practice of vegetarianism. Mahavira taught us to see the soul in every living being. I learned that lesson myself when, as a slave, I would feed birds and insects before I fed myself. Today, millions across India follow plant-based diets not because they are Jains, but because they were touched—directly or indirectly—by Jain ethics.

We do not consume meat, eggs, or even root vegetables that harm the plant when harvested. We filter water and tread gently to protect life. Our influence helped shape laws, customs, and spiritual practices that protect animals and elevate kindness. In India, compassion is a public value—and much of that came from Jain hearts.

Wisdom in Words: Jain Contributions to Thought and Language

Our reverence for truth and clarity led Jains to become great thinkers, writers, and teachers. Long before my own time, Jain monks preserved and expanded vast bodies of knowledge—not only on spiritual matters, but on logic, grammar, mathematics, and cosmology. The Jain tradition produced sophisticated treatises on how to debate, reason, and understand multiple perspectives. One such idea is anekantavada, the doctrine of many-sidedness, which teaches that truth is complex and cannot be grasped from a single viewpoint. It teaches humility in thought.

Jain texts were written in many languages—Prakrit, Sanskrit, Tamil—and helped shape the development of Indian literature. They preserved history, codified rituals, and explored the deepest questions of life. Even today, scholars study Jain logic to understand how to reason ethically and clearly.

Merchants of Virtue: Jainism and Trade

Though we renounce the world as monks and nuns, Jain laypeople often found their dharma in honest trade. Guided by the vow of non-violence, they avoided industries that harmed life and instead built networks of commerce rooted in trust, fairness, and philanthropy. I witnessed Jain families who used their wealth not for display, but to support temples, schools, hospitals, and the poor.

Jain merchants helped build India's urban centers, yet always carried with them a spirit of restraint. Their wealth was offered for learning, for feeding the hungry, and for building places of refuge. In many parts of India, Jain-supported institutions became the center of education, open to all castes and communities.

A Legacy Carved in Stone and Spirit

Our temples rise in silence. Our scriptures argue in reason. Our footsteps avoid the smallest ant. And our kitchens refuse harm. Jainism’s influence on India may not roar like the chariots of kings, but it endures—carved into marble, spoken in prayers, practiced in kitchens, and written into the lives of millions.

I, Chandanbala, was once a princess, a slave, and a nun. But my journey was never mine alone. It was one thread in the great tapestry of Jainism, a tradition that has gifted India with beauty, compassion, wisdom, and peace. And that thread continues, wherever someone chooses truth over pride, peace over harm, and silence over noise.

My Witness to the Path’s Many Branches – Told by Chandanbala

When I took the vows of renunciation and became the first woman to join Mahavira’s fourfold community, I entered a path of great discipline and clarity. Yet even in those early days, I saw that those who followed Mahavira did not always live in the same way. Some, like my beloved teacher, wore no clothing at all, giving up every last possession, even a piece of cloth. Others, more practically, chose to wear simple white robes to guard modesty and dignity while keeping their commitment to non-possessiveness. These small differences, over time, became the roots of two main sects within Jainism—Digambara and Svetambara. Though they walked slightly different paths, their destination remained the same: liberation of the soul.

The Digambaras: Sky-Clad Seekers of the Highest Discipline

The Digambara monks are known as “sky-clad,” for they go without clothing entirely, following the purest form of renunciation. They believe that true detachment means giving up every worldly tie, even garments. Their lives are marked by extreme austerity—they eat only once a day, standing, from cupped hands, without any bowls. For them, women cannot become monks in the same way, as they believe one must first be reborn as a man to achieve liberation through full monastic life. The Digambara tradition holds that the original Jain scriptures were lost over time, and they preserve their own interpretations passed down through sacred commentaries and oral teachings. Their images of the Tirthankaras, such as the great statue of Bahubali, reflect this nudity and stillness—unmoving and utterly detached.

The Svetambaras: White-Clad Guardians of Compassion

I belong to the Svetambara tradition, whose name means “white-clad.” We wear simple white robes, symbolic of purity and humility. Our tradition believes that women too can achieve liberation directly, without first being reborn as men. We use bowls and basic items to sustain ourselves, and we preserve a large body of sacred texts written in the Ardhamagadhi Prakrit language. These scriptures detail Mahavira’s teachings, stories of the Tirthankaras, rules for monks and nuns, and philosophical insights into karma and reality. While we are devoted to the same Five Great Vows, our practice emphasizes balance—discipline without harshness, fasting without harm, knowledge paired with compassion.

The Harmony Beneath the Differences

Though Digambaras and Svetambaras may differ in dress, discipline, and interpretation, our hearts beat with the same vow: Ahimsa, non-violence. We both revere Mahavira. We both believe that the soul is eternal, that karma binds it, and that liberation is achieved through right faith, right knowledge, and right conduct. We both teach compassion for all living beings and the renunciation of greed, lies, and harm. Our outward forms may vary, but our inner goal is one and the same. This is what I have always found most beautiful—that Jainism, though diverse in form, remains unified in spirit.

Jain Sects and Christian Sects: A Reflection Across Traditions

As I grew older and met travelers and thinkers from other lands, I learned of another great tradition—Christianity. Like Jainism, it too has many sects: Catholics, Protestants, Orthodox, and others. Each of them follows the teachings of Jesus, just as we follow Mahavira. But they have different ways of worship, different scriptures, and different understandings of authority and salvation. In some ways, this is similar to how Digambaras and Svetambaras differ—especially in scripture, ritual, and leadership.

But there is a key difference. In Jainism, our sects emerged quietly, gradually, through interpretations of practice and philosophy, yet we never sought to conquer or convert others. Christian sects have sometimes been shaped by conflict and reform, with deep divisions and even wars over doctrine and power. We do not have such a history of violence or forced conversion. Our tradition, from its very root in ahimsa, teaches that truth can have many sides. We do not say “only this is true,” but instead, “this is one perspective among many.” And this spirit of anekantavada—many-sided truth—helps us see that even our differences are part of a greater whole.

Why This Diversity Matters

To understand Jainism fully, one must see the harmony within our differences. One must learn that discipline takes many forms, and truth may be expressed in more than one voice. Whether sky-clad or white-clad, whether fasting for weeks or studying scripture, each monk, nun, and layperson is walking toward the same light. And just as we learn to appreciate the variety within Jainism, so too must we look with respect upon the many traditions of others.

Religious pluralism is not weakness—it is wisdom. It teaches patience, humility, and the courage to listen. I, Chandana, have lived in chains and walked free. I have been called a slave and a saint. And I have learned that every soul’s journey is unique, yet all are joined by the longing to be free. That longing is what unites every sect, every seeker, every path.

In the Beginning, Unity – Told by Chandanbala

In the days when I first walked behind Mahavira, there were no sects. We were one community—monks, nuns, laymen, and laywomen—bound not by appearance, but by shared vows. I remember listening to Mahavira speak of ahimsa, of shedding karma like old garments, of seeing every soul as worthy. We did not yet argue over texts or clothing. We lived simply, meditated deeply, and supported one another. But over time, as centuries passed and memories faded, even among the faithful, differences grew. They began not in hatred, but in confusion—how should we practice, what had Mahavira truly said, and how do we live when the world around us keeps changing?

The Dividing Paths

One of the earliest causes of division came during a time of famine, long after my earthly life had ended. Many monks migrated south to survive, while others stayed behind. Those who remained began to adapt their practices slightly, preserving texts in written form, allowing the wearing of white robes for modesty. Meanwhile, the monks who had left continued to uphold the strict ideal of complete nudity and claimed that the sacred texts had been lost or corrupted during the separation. When these two groups reunited, they no longer saw eye to eye.

Those who embraced the tradition of nudity became known as Digambaras—sky-clad—and they rejected the authority of the texts preserved by the other group. The others, wearing simple white robes, became Svetambaras—white-clad—and believed the teachings they had safeguarded were true to Mahavira’s voice. From these two paths, a great division arose—not just in appearance, but in belief. Digambaras taught that women must be reborn as men to attain liberation. Svetambaras said that Mahavira’s own female disciples, myself among them, were capable of reaching moksha directly. These differences reached deep into the heart of how we understood the path.

Moments of Conflict

For the most part, we Jainas have lived without war or conquest. But there were times, in certain regions, where this division brought conflict—not with swords, but with words, with property disputes over temples and images, with arguments in courts and among kings. In some towns, temples built by one sect were claimed or altered by another. In others, sacred idols were removed or worshiped differently. These moments of tension were not born of violence but of deep emotion, rooted in sincere devotion and differing memory.

I have heard tales of monks debating in the courts of rulers, each trying to prove the purity of their tradition. I have heard how kings and merchants sometimes took sides, donating only to one community, causing bitterness in the other. Such moments wounded the unity that once was, yet they also pushed both paths to strengthen their teachings, refine their practices, and preserve what they each believed was the essence of Mahavira’s path.

The Long Road to Peace

With time, the sharp edges softened. Dialogues emerged between the sects, especially among scholars and reformers who saw more similarity than difference. Both groups continued to build temples, educate the young, support non-violence, and maintain rigorous vows. They realized that the enemy was not each other, but forgetfulness of the soul’s purpose.

In recent centuries, especially under foreign rule and modern reform, both Digambaras and Svetambaras began to respect one another’s sincerity. Though they remained separate in practice and leadership, they came to speak kindly of one another, sometimes even celebrating festivals side by side. The deep shared values—compassion, truth, renunciation—proved stronger than doctrinal differences. Even now, some Jains identify not as either, but simply as seekers on the path, drawing strength from both traditions.

What We Can Learn from This

I, Chandana, lived in a time of unity, but I see no shame in division if it leads to greater understanding. Disagreement can strengthen a tradition, as long as we do not lose the spirit beneath the form. When two branches grow from the same root, they may stretch in different directions, but both still drink from the same soil.

The story of Jain sects is not one of enemies, but of sincere disciples striving to remember the truth. And when differences are met with humility, and when compassion outweighs pride, even the deepest divisions can become lessons in spiritual maturity.

So I say this to those who wonder at the split—see not conflict, but continuity. Mahavira’s teachings live on in many voices. What matters is not how we dress or which text we cite, but whether we are free of anger, greed, and deceit. That is the real path—and it belongs to all of us.

The Richness of the Indian Spiritual Landscape – Told by Chandanbala

India is a land where spiritual questions fill the air like the scent of incense. No single path claims the whole truth, but each offers a window into the soul’s journey. Jainism, the path I chose, stands alongside other ancient traditions—Buddhism, Hinduism, and many more. Though our robes, rituals, and doctrines may differ, we all share a deep longing to rise above suffering, to understand the nature of the self, and to live with meaning. To understand one tradition, we must also look with respect upon the others.

Our Shared Silence with the Buddhists

Among those closest to us in spirit are the followers of the Buddha. Like us, they left behind palaces and comforts to seek liberation through discipline and renunciation. When I first heard of Gautama, the Buddha, I felt a kinship with him. He, like Mahavira, walked barefoot, fasted, meditated, and taught that life is filled with suffering caused by desire and attachment. Both Jain and Buddhist monks live simply, avoid violence, and teach the law of karma, the truth that actions bear fruit and shape our rebirths.

Yet beneath these surface similarities lie key differences. We Jains believe that the soul, or jiva, is eternal. Each soul carries within it infinite knowledge and bliss, but it is weighed down by karmic matter. The Buddha, however, denied the existence of a permanent self. In his view, what we call the self is but a bundle of changing processes. Where we seek the liberation of the soul, Buddhists seek the extinction of selfhood into a state beyond individuality.

We also differ in our view of karma. For us, karma is a substance that clings to the soul—literal and real, like dust to wet skin. For the Buddhists, karma is more a moral law than a material bond. These differences shape how we meditate, how we interpret liberation, and how we view the journey of life itself.

Our Deep Ties with the Hindus

With Hinduism, our connection is even older. We were born from the same soil, and our languages, symbols, and customs often overlap. Many of us use Sanskrit and Prakrit. Our festivals share the rhythm of the Indian seasons. We speak of dharma, karma, and moksha, though we do not always mean the same thing. In my youth as a princess, I remember hearing the hymns of the Vedas in the palace. Later, as a nun, I chanted Jain scriptures that shared many of the same words but offered different meanings.

Hindus often believe in a supreme being—Brahman—that pervades all things. We Jains do not. We see the universe as eternal, without a creator. The soul does not merge with a god, but becomes free on its own through discipline. The gods in our tradition, though present, are not creators or rulers. They are souls who have risen high, but even they are bound by karma and must seek liberation.

Our rituals also differ. Hindu rituals often involve fire, offerings, and priestly chants. Jain rituals avoid fire, for it may harm life. We offer devotion not to please a god, but to honor the example of the liberated ones. While Hindus perform many life-rituals for marriage, birth, and death, our focus remains on renunciation, meditation, and ethical conduct. Where they often embrace the world, we step back from it.

Why These Comparisons Matter

Some might ask, why dwell on our differences? But I say, it is only by seeing clearly what is distinct that we can appreciate what is shared. In my journey, I have never seen other paths as rivals. I have seen them as reflections—some nearer, some more distant, but all sincere. Jainism teaches us anekantavada, the doctrine of many-sided truth. No one view captures the whole. Just as a gem has many faces, so too does spiritual truth.

When we learn about Buddhism’s deep insight into suffering, or Hinduism’s devotion and vast imagination, we do not weaken our own path. We make it broader, wiser, more compassionate. And perhaps they too, in turn, may learn from our discipline, our vow of non-violence, and our deep respect for all life.

In the end, all paths that lead to kindness, to mindfulness, and to liberation deserve to walk side by side. Whether one prays in a temple, meditates under a tree, or walks unclothed through the forest—what matters most is the intention of the soul. I have learned that in silence, in stillness, we often find the deepest unity. And from that unity, understanding blossoms.

Living Among Many Paths – Told by Chandanbala

In my early life in the palace, I heard the hymns of the Vedas and watched Brahmin priests perform rituals to the gods. In captivity, I whispered prayers silently to the soul within me. And once free, I sat at the feet of Mahavira, learning the way of renunciation and truth. But even as I embraced the Jain path, I never forgot that I lived among many seekers—followers of Vedic rites, wandering Buddhists, forest hermits, and householders devoted to their chosen deities. India was—and still is—a land of many voices. And as with any land of many voices, there were times when harmony gave way to conflict.

The Roots of Religious Tensions

The earliest tensions I remember hearing of arose not from swords, but from words—debates about truth, about the soul, about how one should live. As Jainism and Buddhism grew, they challenged the authority of the Brahmins, who had long claimed that spiritual truth could only be reached through sacrifice and sacred chants. Mahavira and the Buddha both said that anyone—king or servant, man or woman—could attain liberation through their own efforts. This message shook the foundations of power. Some priests welcomed the dialogue. Others felt threatened.

There were times when Jain or Buddhist monks were mocked or excluded from royal courts. I recall stories of public debates in cities like Rajagriha and Varanasi, where scholars from different traditions challenged one another before kings and citizens. These debates could bring glory or disgrace, depending on who prevailed. Though these were not battles of weapons, they carried the heat of pride and rivalry. Monks of rival sects would sometimes accuse each other of heresy or falsehood, especially when competing for royal favor or patronage.

When Ideas Turned to Hostility

Not all conflicts remained in the realm of words. There were moments—rare but real—when differences led to violence. I heard tales of temples being desecrated, statues of the Jinas defaced by those who saw them as heretical. In some cities, Jain monks were driven out by supporters of Brahmanism who saw them as defilers of dharma. Likewise, in Buddhist centers, Jain ascetics were sometimes barred from entering or preaching. These acts grieved my heart deeply. How could those who taught compassion turn on one another?

In one region, a Jain monastery was burned during a political shift in favor of another tradition. In another, kings who had once supported Jainism switched allegiance and allowed rival monks to take over sacred sites. I remember the sorrow of the elders when they spoke of these events—not with hatred, but with mourning.

The Role of Wise Rulers and Scholars

But the story does not end in conflict. India also raised rulers of great wisdom who sought peace among the faiths. The Emperor Ashoka, though a devout Buddhist, showed respect to Jains, Ajivikas, and Brahmins alike. He encouraged tolerance in his edicts, urging all sects to speak kindly of one another. Later, kings from the Maurya and Gupta dynasties supported Jain, Buddhist, and Hindu institutions at the same time. They built temples side by side, and even hosted gatherings where scholars from different traditions could learn from one another.

It was not only kings who helped ease tensions. Monks and nuns from various paths began to recognize the shared values in one another’s teachings. Dialogues between Jain and Buddhist scholars clarified misunderstandings and even borrowed from each other’s practices. Some Hindu thinkers came to admire Jain ahimsa and incorporated its spirit into their ethics. Over time, the harshest disputes softened, not because all agreed, but because all grew wiser.

Harmony in Diversity

I believe it was anekantavada—the Jain principle of many-sided truth—that helped guide us back toward harmony. When we accept that truth may be larger than our view, we become less eager to silence others. Instead, we begin to listen. The conflicts of ancient India were never simply about gods or doctrines. They were struggles between pride and humility, fear and openness, division and compassion. And they were resolved—imperfectly, but earnestly—through patience, dialogue, and shared acts of goodness.

What I Learned from It All

I have bowed before statues of the Tirthankaras, but I have also listened quietly to the teachings of Buddhists, and I have shared shade with those who follow the Vedas. From this, I learned that a soul clothed in humility does not need to defeat others to feel secure. Our goal is not to win arguments, but to free ourselves from anger, pride, and ignorance.

Let this be our guiding thought: that the highest path is not the one that shouts the loudest, but the one that walks gently, heals wounds, and brings peace. In the end, every true path leads inward—to a place of silence where all conflict dissolves.

From Ancient Vows to Modern Voices – Told by Chandanbala

I, Chandana—once a silent servant behind locked doors and later a nun walking barefoot on sunlit roads—never imagined how far the words of Mahavira would travel. In my time, we shared his teachings face to face, beneath trees, in humble huts, or temple courtyards. But today, the truth we lived by has crossed oceans, entered schools and books and city halls. Jainism, though small in number, continues to shine across the world. Its ancient vows now guide lives not only in India, but in London, Nairobi, Toronto, and New Jersey. To see the path still alive fills me with quiet joy. For even the gentlest truth, if preserved with care, can echo for centuries.

The Jain Community Today

Modern Jains live in bustling cities and quiet villages alike. In India, they are known for their honesty, discipline, and commitment to education and business. Many still follow strict vegetarian diets, observe fasting days, and honor the lives of even the smallest creatures. Abroad, Jain communities have built temples and community centers, teaching their children the values of non-violence, truthfulness, and simplicity. I have seen photos of young Jains walking in processions during Paryushana, reciting prayers just as we once did in whispered reverence.

They wear modern clothes, use computers and mobile phones, but they still carry forward the sacred principles. Their temples may rise from concrete instead of stone, but the prayers are the same. In classrooms, conferences, and even scientific circles, Jain thought continues to inspire.

The Influence of Mahatma Gandhi

One of the brightest echoes of Jainism in modern history came through a man who was not Jain himself—Mahatma Gandhi. He grew up in Gujarat, among Jain neighbors, and was deeply moved by our vow of ahimsa. He carried that flame into his fight for India’s independence. But he did not fight with swords—he fought with silence, fasting, patience, and non-cooperation. He showed the world that truth and peace are stronger than violence and hate.

Gandhi often spoke of how Jain monks inspired him as a child. Their gentleness, their refusal to swat even a fly, made a lasting impression. Through him, Jain principles walked boldly into the world stage. Martin Luther King Jr. and Nelson Mandela were later moved by the same ideas, proving that a vow taken in ancient India could one day shake the chains of empires.

The Call to Protect Life and Earth

In my days as a nun, we swept the ground before us so that we would not step on insects. We filtered water, fasted, and refused to harm even the smallest life. Today, this same reverence has found new purpose. In a world wounded by pollution, greed, and waste, Jainism offers a way forward. Our vow of aparigraha, or non-possessiveness, teaches us to take only what we need. Our belief in the sanctity of all life calls us to protect forests, rivers, and animals.

Many Jain communities now lead efforts in environmental protection. They promote veganism, plant-based living, sustainable farming, and wildlife preservation. They support sanctuaries for animals, create awareness about reducing harm to ecosystems, and fund clean water projects. Where others debate, they act—quietly, persistently, like a stream that wears away stone.

Festivals of the Spirit and the Community

Even in modern times, our festivals remain vibrant and full of devotion. During Paryushana, Jains reflect on their actions, seek forgiveness, and fast to purify the soul. I remember the beauty of this time—when the entire community would pause, turn inward, and pray together. Today, cities light up with processions, chants, and lectures. Jains send digital messages of Micchami Dukkadam, asking forgiveness not only from those nearby but across the world.

Jain youths organize service events, food drives, and environmental cleanups. Laypeople sponsor schools and hospitals. Doctors, teachers, engineers, and merchants all contribute to society while honoring the vow to live with compassion. Jainism has never been a faith of isolation—it is a path of contribution, offered with humility.

Why Jainism Still Matters

Though centuries have passed since I walked the earth, I see clearly how the seeds sown by Mahavira continue to grow. In a time of noise and haste, Jainism teaches patience. In a world divided by hatred, it offers peace. In an age of waste, it reminds us to live with restraint. Its truth remains simple: harm no one, speak truthfully, take only what you need, and purify the soul.

We do not need large temples or armies to change the world. We need discipline, love, and silence deep enough to hear the voice of the soul. That is what Jainism gave me, and what it still offers to the world today. May its light continue to guide the steps of those who seek a gentler way to live.