Solitude is a laboratory for discovering consciousness

 “Alexander David Neel”. She was a French-Belgian explorer, writer, Buddhist scholar, and the first Western woman known to have entered the forbidden city of Lhasa, Tibet, in the early 20th century.

 Alexandra David-Néel?

Born: 1868 in Saint-Mandé, France

Died: 1969 at age 100

Background: Opera singer, anarchist activist, Buddhist practitioner, linguist, and prolific travel writer

Spoke Tibetan fluently and studied Buddhist philosophy deeply.

She is best remembered for her extraordinary travels across Asia, especially her journey to Tibet.

Her Tibet Expedition

In the early 20th century, Tibet—especially its capital, Lhasa—was closed to foreigners. Entering without permission was dangerous and illegal for non-Tibetans.

The Journey (1911–1924)

David-Néel spent years wandering across Sikkim, India, Nepal, Bhutan, China, and Tibet, studying Buddhist practices.

She lived for a time in a Himalayan cave at 4,000 meters, practicing meditation and learning Tibetan customs.

She traveled with her adopted son and companion, the young Sikkimese lama Aphur Yongden.

Disguised Entry into Lhasa (1924)

She entered Lhasa in January 1924 disguised as a Tibetan pilgrim, smudging her skin with soot and wearing yak-wool clothing.

They walked about 2,000 km through winter snows.

They successfully reached the Potala Palace, staying several weeks before slipping back out toward India.

This made her one of the first Westerners — and the first Western woman — to reach Lhasa.

Alexandra David-Néel wrote more than 30 books, including:

“My Journey to Lhasa” (1927)

“Magic and Mystery in Tibet”

Her works popularized Tibetan Buddhism and culture in the West and greatly influenced spiritual seekers, explorers, and scholars.

My Journey to Lhasa is Alexandra David-Néel’s most famous travel narrative, published in 1927. It recounts her extraordinary, perilous journey—largely on foot—into the forbidden city of Lhasa, Tibet, in 1924, after years of wandering across the Himalayas.

My Journey to Lhasa 

1. Background of the Journey

Tibet was closed to foreigners at the time; entering Lhasa without official permission was illegal and dangerous.

Alexandra David-Néel had already spent more than a decade in Asia studying Buddhist philosophy, learning Tibetan, and mastering local customs.

Her intention:

 To reach Lhasa not as an intruder, but as a pilgrim deeply immersed in Tibetan culture.

 2. The Trek to Lhasa

The book describes:

Harsh Conditions

Freezing winter temperatures

Remote mountain passes

Scarcity of food

Encounters with wolves, snowstorms, and unfriendly patrols

Disguise

David-Néel traveled disguised as:

A Tibetan beggar woman / pilgrim

She darkened her skin with soot and yak butter

She wore rough Tibetan clothing

She spoke fluent Tibetan, helping her pass unnoticed

This was essential because foreigners were routinely expelled or imprisoned.

Companion: Yongden

She was accompanied by:

Lama Aphur Yongden, her adopted son and closest traveling companion

Skilled in local customs and spiritual practices

Protected and guided her throughout the journey

Their relationship is central to the story.

 3. Arrival in Lhasa (1924)

After months of travel covering roughly 2,000 kilometers, often sleeping in caves or makeshift shelters, they reached:

The Jokhang Temple (Tibet’s spiritual heart)

The Potala Palace, seat of the Dalai Lamas

They stayed in Lhasa for several weeks without being discovered as foreigners.

Her account of:

City life

Monastic rituals

Markets

Pilgrims

is vivid and respectful, showing her deep admiration for Tibetan culture.

4. Themes in the Book

Spiritual Discipline

She describes meditation techniques, ascetic practices, and encounters with hermits and yogis.

Cultural Observation

Rich details on Tibetan daily life, religious practice, and philosophy.

Adventure and Survival

Crossing icy passes, hiding from guards, and enduring starvation are told with calm humor and remarkable resilience.

 5. Why the Book Matters

One of the earliest and most detailed Western accounts of Tibet before modernization.

Demonstrates her respect and sympathy for Tibetan culture.

Showcases a pioneering woman defying gender and political barriers.

Blends anthropology, travel writing, and spiritual exploration.

Key Ideas & Paraphrased Quotes from My Journey to Lhasa

1. On determination

She writes that the idea of reaching Lhasa had become an inner calling—something she felt compelled to attempt no matter the cost.

2. On travel hardship

She describes moments when exhaustion and hunger nearly overwhelmed her, yet she and Yongden pushed forward because “turning back was impossible.”

3. On disguise

She remarks that, once she fully adopted the appearance and manner of a Tibetan pilgrim, she felt herself “becoming part of the landscape, no longer a foreigner.”

4. On Tibetan hospitality

She reflects that poor villagers who had almost nothing still shared food and warmth generously, teaching her humility.

5. On reaching Lhasa,,

She conveys a quiet, profound feeling when she first saw the Potala rising above the city—an emotion deeper than triumph, more like entering a long-imagined dream.

6. On the spiritual atmosphere

She describes how certain rituals, chants, and monastic practices filled her with a sense of ancient wisdom and inner stillness.

Major Characters & Figures She Met

1. Lama Aphur Yongden (her adopted son & companion)

Role: Her closest traveling partner throughout the Himalayan journey and into Lhasa.

Importance: Interpreter, protector, expert in Tibetan customs, and a spiritual companion.

Presence in the book: Central figure in almost every chapter.

2. Hermits and Yogis (unnamed individuals)

Alexandra meets several ascetics living in caves or isolated huts.

They share meditation techniques, spiritual insights, and mystical stories.

Some demonstrate yogic heat practices (tummo), which impressed her deeply.

3. Tibetan Pilgrims

While crossing mountains, she spends time with groups of poor pilgrims.

They unknowingly “validate” her disguise by treating her as one of them.

She learns folk beliefs, songs, and pilgrimage rituals from them.

4. Village Hosts & Families

Many Tibetan villagers give her and Yongden food, shelter, and guidance.

Their kindness is a major theme of the book.

She often comments on their generosity despite poverty.

5. Border Guards & Patrols

She and Yongden repeatedly encounter suspicious officials or patrols.

These interactions are tense because discovery could lead to imprisonment or expulsion.

Quick thinking and perfect disguise allow them to pass unnoticed.

6. Lhasa Residents

Once inside Lhasa, she interacts with:

Shopkeepers

Monks at the Jokhang Temple

Pilgrims at the Barkhor

Ordinary people who never suspect she is foreign

These encounters give the book its vivid portrayal of daily life.

7. High Lamas & Religious Teachers (from earlier travels)

Though not met in Lhasa, she describes spiritual teachers from Sikkim, Tibet, and Nepal whose teachings prepared her for the journey.

Why Hermits and Yogis Matter in David-Néel’s Journey

For Alexandra, these encounters were not exotic curiosities—they were central to her spiritual training. She spent years seeking out yogis, meditators, ascetics, and wandering sages who lived in extreme solitude. These figures shaped both her worldview and the philosophical depth of My Journey to Lhasa.

 1. Hermits in Caves: Masters of Isolation

Throughout Tibet and Sikkim, she visited hermits who lived in caves, sometimes for decades.

Characteristics of these hermits

They practiced radical solitude

Survived on minimal food

Often slept on bare rock or yak skins

Used meditation to overcome physical discomfort

What she learned

She wrote (paraphrased) that isolation stripped away illusions, revealing the mind’s raw workings. One hermit emphasized that a cave is not an escape but a mirror.

Why it impressed her

David-Néel believed these hermits represented a living link to ancient Buddhist discipline—humans who devoted their entire lives to inner exploration.

 2. Yogis Practicing Tummo (Yogic Heat)

Some of her most striking encounters involved tummo, a practice where yogis generate heat through meditation.

What she witnessed

Yogis sitting half-naked in snow, melting it around them

Practitioners drying wet sheets on their shoulders in freezing wind

Breathing patterns that created measurable warmth

Her reaction

She approached these events from both a spiritual and scientific angle—fascinated by how mental training could affect the body so dramatically.

3. Wandering Ascetics and “Sky-Goers”

She met ascetic yogis who wandered freely through mountains, sometimes described as “sky-walkers” in Tibetan lore.

Traits

Avoided villages

Traveled with almost nothing: a staff, bowl, and blanket

Spoke cryptically or poetically

Claimed to live beyond conventional fear and desir

Their teachings to her

They stressed non-attachment—not as philosophy but as a lived reality.

One teaching she paraphrases: “He who owns nothing carries everything.”

4. Magicians, Mystics, and Practitioners of Rituals

While she was always skeptical of superstition, she encountered yogis who:

Performed healing rites

Used chanting to induce altered states

Claimed clairvoyance or precognition

Practiced “lung-gom,” a legendary long-distance trance walking technique

The “lung-gom” runner

One famous encounter involved a mysterious runner who seemed to move with supernatural speed and rhythmic trance. She observed the technique closely, noting:

A consistent breath pattern

A slight forward lean

A trance-like gaze

She interpreted it not as magic but as the result of extreme mental discipline.

5. The Hermit-Teachers Who Shaped Her Training

Before entering Tibet, Alexandra spent long periods learning from hermits in Sikkim and Tibet.

Teachings she received

Advanced meditation techniques

Visualization practices

Empty-mind discipline

The nature of illusion

Rituals and philosophical debates

Why they trusted her

She spoke Tibetan fluently, lived simply, and approached their teachings with humility rather than romanticism.

6. The Practical Role of Hermits and Yogis in Her Lhasa Expedition

Many hermits and yogis helped her not only spiritually, but materially:

They taught her how to:

Survive extreme cold

Move undetected

Blend in as a pilgrim

Read terrain and avoid patrols

Perform Tibetan rituals convincingly

Some even blessed her journey or gave her objects (amulets, rosaries) to help her maintain her disguise.

7. How These Encounters Influenced Her Philosophy

David-Néel came to believe:

The limits of the body are largely mental

Solitude is a laboratory for discovering consciousness

Tibetan yogic practices preserve ancient psychological techniques

Freedom requires mastery over one’s own mind

These lessons permeate My Journey to Lhasa, shaping her calmness, courage, and unconventional approach to danger.

There is actually some real convergence — and some tension — between what Alexandra David-Néel described from her encounters with Tibetan hermits and yogis, and what modern scientific research on Tummo (and related Tibetan yogic practices) supports.  a comparison, showing where her accounts align with current findings — and where skepticism or reinterpretation may apply.

What Her Descriptions That Modern Research Supports

• Inner-heat / Cold-resistance via Meditation & Breathwork

David-Néel recounts yogis generating heat in freezing Himalayan conditions — for instance, sitting scantily clad in snow or cold caves and still staying warm. 

Modern studies confirm that Tummo meditation can indeed raise body temperature. A landmark study published in 1982 found that experienced practitioners could increase skin temperature (fingers and toes) by up to ~8 °C during a meditative session. 

More recent research (for example a 2013 study) documented elevated core body temperature — not just peripheral warmth — among monastic Tummo meditators. 

The physiological mechanism appears to involve both somatic components (controlled breathing / “vase-breathing”) and neurocognitive components (meditative visualization, focused mental imagery) — echoing how David-Néel described the combination of breath, visualization, and mental discipline. 

Conclusion: On the claim that Tibetan yogis can generate internal heat and resist cold through meditation/breathwork — there is credible scientific evidence. What once seemed miraculous to when David-Néel wrote is now partially validated under controlled conditions.

What Remains Speculative or Unproven — Where Tradition and Science Diverge

• Visions of “Mystical Powers,” Levitation, Super-human Abilities

David-Néel describes more extraordinary phenomena: she reports meeting ascetics and “yogis” who — in her words — seemed to move like “balls bouncing,” run extremely fast, or even float/trance-walk over difficult terrain (as in the tradition called Lung-gom-pa). 

Modern research, however, does not support claims of levitation, supernatural speed, or paranormal ‘magical’ powers. Scholarly and scientific sources treat such accounts as anecdotal, unverified, or folkloric. 

Some skepticism arises even within Tibetan-Buddhist studies: the very existence of large numbers of “flying lamas” or lung-gom-pa runners is debated. 

Conclusion: While internal-heat and breath-control effects are physically measurable and scientifically reproducible to extent, dramatic claims — levitation, supernatural speed, magic — remain unproven and are generally regarded with skepticism.

What Modern Physiology and Neuroscience Adds — Insights That David-Néel Couldn’t Provide

Because David-Néel was a traveler and observer, her accounts lacked the ability to measure physiological changes. Modern science adds:

Objective temperature measurement: showing core temperature increase, not just subjective warmth. 

Neural correlates: EEG studies reveal changes in brainwave patterns (alpha, beta, gamma) during Tummo practice; increases in alpha power correlated with more significant temperature rises. 

Mechanistic hypotheses: Researchers propose that the heat comes from enhanced metabolic activity: oxygen consumption, mitochondrial activity, and thermogenesis via brown fat activation — all triggered by breathing and breath-retention patterns. 

Health / psychophysiological implications: Some suggest potential benefits: improved cold-resilience, possibly improved immune response, stress regulation, enhanced cognitive performance. 

In short: modern research treats Tummo not as “magic,” but as an advanced physiological feat — a blend of breath-control, mental focus, and body regulation.

What This Comparison Means for Understanding Tibetan Yogis — and David-Néel’s Legacy

David-Néel’s writings remain valuable ethnographic and experiential records, giving early Western readers a rare window into Himalayan ascetic life. What seemed mystical to many then has, in part, become scientifically plausible.

But not all of her claims are confirmed. The mystical/spiritual interpretations — levitation, trance-speed, magical “powers” — largely remain in the realm of anecdote and folklore.

Modern science reframes practices like Tummo as very sophisticated mind–body techniques. The “heat generation” is not supernatural, but a result of controlled breathing, metabolic regulation, and mental focus.

For students of mysticism or meditation — this may present an appealing bridge between tradition and modern physiology: these aren’t just spiritual legends, but human potentials potentially accessible through disciplined practice.

Legend.

 Legend, thy name will be remembered for the ones who believed Veda are the breath of ParaBrahm: 

He 19 year old is Devavrat Mahesh Rekhe, he chanted 25 lakhs of Pada of Shukla Yajurveda in its most complex formulae known as ‘Dandak Kram’, continuously for 50 days and without seeing the book. History has been created in Kashi, at the vallabharama saligram Sangveda vidyaalay, Kashi. 

This has happened second time in the history of many hundred years. This is what Tapasya is looks like, his father-grandfather all initiated and excelled in the tradition. Such men are born of pious mothers. 

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Vedas and dharm shastras are the eternal

truth.

In Dandak-Krama, each pair is followed by a distinct pause or “daṇḍa” (a break).

This makes the recitation slower, more emphatic, and highly precise.

It is used when a reciter wants:

extra clarity in phonetics,

stronger training for memory,

to reinforce sandhi-rules,

ritual correctness before higher forms like Jatā or Ghana.

Krama-pāṭha becomes Dandak-krama by adding the pause (॥) after each krama pair.

1. MĀDHYANDINA ŚĀKHĀ – DANDAK-KRAMA EXAMPLE

Mantra used: Śukla Yajurveda – Mādhyandina Saṃhitā 1.1

“īśe tvā…” (the first mantra)

Saṃhitā-pāṭha

īśe tvā dhenūpate iva…

Pada-pāṭha

īśe । tvā । dhenūpate । iva । …

Krama-pāṭha

īśe-tvā

tvā-dhenūpate

dhenūpate-iva

Dandak-Krama

(Each pair ends with a daṇḍa pause)

īśe-tvā ॥

tvā-dhenūpate ॥

dhenūpate-iva ॥

The straight “break” after each krama pair is what makes it daṇḍa-krama.

2. KĀṆVA ŚĀKHĀ – DANDAK-KRAMA EXAMPLE

Mantra used: Śukla Yajurveda – Kāṇva Saṃhitā 1.1

“sanno devīr abhiṣṭaye…”

Saṃhitā-pāṭha

sanno devīr abhiṣṭaye…

Pada-pāṭha

saḥ । naḥ । devīḥ । abhiṣṭaye । …

Krama-pāṭha

saḥ-naḥ

naḥ-devīḥ

devīḥ-abhiṣṭaye

Dandak-Krama (Kāṇva)

saḥ-naḥ ॥

naḥ-devīḥ ॥

devīḥ-abhiṣṭaye ॥

The structure is identical to ordinary Krama, but the pause after each pair differentiates Dandak-krama.

3. A MORE COMPLETE EXAMPLE (Mādhyandina Śākhā)

Mantra: Vāj. Saṃhitā 22.1 – “agniṃ īḷe purohitam”

(This is very commonly taught.)

Saṃhitā

agniṃ īḷe purohitam

Pada

agniṃ । īḷe । purohitam ।

Krama

agniṃ-īḷe

īḷe-purohitam

Dandak-Krama

agniṃ-īḷe ॥

īḷe-purohitam ॥

4. A MORE COMPLETE EXAMPLE (Kāṇva Śākhā)

Mantra: Kāṇva Saṃhitā 2.1 – “agnirmūrdhā divaḥ”

Saṃhitā

agnir mūrdhā divaḥ

Pada

agniḥ । mūrdhā । divaḥ ।

Krama

agniḥ-mūrdhā

mūrdhā-divaḥ

Dandak-Krama

agniḥ-mūrdhā ॥

mūrdhā-divaḥ ॥

Key Features of Dandak-Krama (Summarized)

Same word pairs as Krama-pāṭha

A clear pause after each pair

Used traditionally in:

Śukla Yajurveda Mādhyandina

Śukla Yajurveda Kāṇva

Helps reinforce:

Sandhi rules

Pronunciation precision

Memory strengthening

Preparation for Jatā and Ghanapāṭha

Lung gom.

 Lung Gom: The Discipline of Breath, Mind, and Motion

Lung gom—sometimes spelled lung-gom-pa—refers to a Tibetan meditative discipline that blends controlled breathing, visualization, and rhythmic movement to cultivate extraordinary endurance and focused awareness. Often sensationalized in travel literature as a technique that allows practitioners to run for days without fatigue, lung gom is better understood as a rigorous mind–body training that aims to dissolve the boundary between intention and action.

At its core, lung gom is rooted in the Tibetan concept of lung (pronounced “loong”), meaning subtle “wind” or vital energy. In Tibetan Buddhism, particularly within the Vajrayana tradition, lung is one of the three primary aspects of the subtle body, alongside tsa (energy channels) and tiglé (inner essences). In everyday life, lung is dispersed and unstable, mirroring the ordinary mind’s restlessness. Through meditation, breath regulation, and disciplined mental focus, a practitioner learns to harness lung and direct it with precision.

Training often begins with seated practices that stabilize attention and familiarize the student with the movement of inner energy. Over time, practitioners may progress to dynamic meditation, where breath and visualization are synchronized with coordinated steps. Rather than conventional running, lung gom “running” is a rhythmic, trance-like gait performed with unwavering concentration on a single visual point. The practitioner cultivates a mental field so steady that physical exertion feels secondary to the continuity of awareness. Early Western observers, unaccustomed to this union of meditation and motion, described lung gom monks running with astonishing stamina, appearing to glide across landscapes with minimal effort.

Yet the true aim of lung gom is not superhuman speed or endurance. Instead, it is the development of a mind that is unperturbed by physical strain or external distraction. By training the body to move without ego-driven interference, practitioners explore the Buddhist insight that mind and body are interdependent processes rather than fixed identities. Lung gom becomes a laboratory for understanding impermanence, effortlessness, and the nature of perception.

In contemporary contexts, lung gom resonates with modern interests in flow states, meditative athletics, and somatic awareness. While the esoteric techniques remain part of advanced monastic training, the broader lesson is accessible: when breath, mind, and movement harmonize, ordinary actions can become vehicles for deep clarity. Lung gom reminds us that endurance is not merely a physical capacity but a reflection of mental stillness—an invitation to move through the world with steadiness, presence, and an unbroken line of attention.

Read full details in kainkaryam.

Inheritance.

 Lord Chesterfield’s Letters to His Son stand as one of the most distinctive educational documents of the eighteenth century—a father’s sustained attempt to guide his son toward refinement, competence, and success in the world. Written across more than three decades, these letters present a coherent philosophy of upbringing grounded in elegance, discipline, and social intelligence. Chesterfield does not simply instruct his son on what to learn, but more importantly on how to be: how to behave, how to speak, how to carry himself, and how to interact with others in a way that wins respect and fosters opportunity. The letters together form a complete view of what Chesterfield considered the attributes of an accomplished gentleman.

At the heart of Chesterfield’s guidance is the belief that education must prepare a young man not only for intellectual mastery but also for effective participation in society. Knowledge, while essential, has its greatest value when it enables a person to converse with ease, adapt to circumstances, and understand human nature. For Chesterfield, learning was not meant to produce a scholar cloistered in books but a cultivated individual capable of moving confidently in the world. Thus, he encourages the mastery of languages, history, literature, and geography, yet always emphasizes their role as foundations for graceful conversation and informed judgment.

Manners, in Chesterfield’s view, are indispensable. He treats politeness not as superficial ornament but as a practical tool of social harmony. Good manners show consideration for others, smooth interactions, and create a favorable impression. He urges his son to speak with courtesy, to listen attentively, and to avoid giving offense, even unintentionally. These small, habitual gestures of refinement—pleasant tone, respectful address, thoughtful words—form, for Chesterfield, the true polish that distinguishes a gentleman. The ability to please, he insists, is a crucial ingredient in personal and professional success.

Another central theme in the letters is the importance of self-control. Chesterfield repeatedly advises his son to govern his emotions, to rein in impulses, and to cultivate calm judgment. He emphasizes patience, steadiness, and the ability to maintain composure even when provoked. This mastery of oneself is, in his eyes, the foundation of good conduct, enabling a young man to act deliberately rather than reactively. Chesterfield connects self-discipline to time management, study habits, dress, posture, and even conversation. A person who has mastered himself, he suggests, can master circumstances.

Closely linked to self-control is Chesterfield’s attention to personal presentation. He believed that appearance communicates character, and that people judge us, often rightly or wrongly, based on what they immediately see. Because of this, he urges his son to dress neatly, move gracefully, and cultivate an air of ease and elegance. These outward behaviors, he argues, are not trivial; they shape first impressions and smooth the path to acceptance in society. Chesterfield sees poise as a practiced art—one that grows through observation, imitation, and conscious refinement.

The letters also serve as a guide to conversation, one of Chesterfield’s most cherished social skills. Good conversation requires a balance of wit, knowledge, modesty, and attentive listening. Chesterfield instructs his son to speak clearly and concisely, to avoid interrupting, and to show genuine interest in the thoughts of others. He discourages boasting, argument for its own sake, and pedantry. Instead, he encourages a conversational manner that is light, engaging, and adaptable to the company present. For Chesterfield, the ability to converse well is both a pleasure and an instrument of influence.

Underlying all of Chesterfield’s advice is his hope that his son will learn to understand and work effectively with people. He believes that success in life depends greatly on one’s ability to interpret motives, recognize opportunities, and respond appropriately to different personalities. This sensitivity to human nature—what we might now call social insight or emotional intelligence—forms a core element of Chesterfield’s educational philosophy. It enables diplomacy, friendship, cooperation, and leadership. Throughout the letters, he returns to the idea that one must know how to engage others with tact, discretion, and genuine respect.

The overarching purpose of this guidance is to prepare his son for a life of accomplishment and honorable standing. Chesterfield wishes him not only to be knowledgeable but admired; not only to be good but graceful; not only to advance personally but to contribute positively to the circles in which he moves. His letters form a comprehensive manual for shaping character—one that blends intellectual cultivation, moral guidance, social polish, and practical wisdom. They express a father’s aspiration to give his son every advantage that refinement, discipline, and thoughtful conduct can provide.

In the end, Lord Chesterfield’s Letters to His Son present a vision of upbringing rooted in harmony between inner character and outward behavior. They portray the ideal gentleman as one who learns widely, behaves graciously, speaks thoughtfully, and carries himself with confidence and dignity. Through their steady encouragement and careful instruction, the letters aim to lead a young man toward the highest version of himself—capable, considerate, and fully prepared for the demands of the world.

Eg his words on politeness. Know that as learning, honour and virtue are absolutely necessary to gain you the esteem and admiration of mankind, politeness and good breeding are equally necessary to make you welcome and agreeable in conversation and common life. 

On time. Remember whatever knowledge you do not solidly lay the foundation of, before you are eighteen, you never will be master of while you breathe. The value  of moments, when cast up is immense, if well employed, if thrown away their loss is irrecoverable. 

On modesty. The more you know, the modester you should be.

Authentic.

 When someone discovers who they truly are — their values, purpose, strengths, and limitations — they no longer feel lost, confused, or torn by others’ expectations. Misery often comes from living a life that does not match one’s authentic self.

1. The Artist Who Chose Security Over Passion

A talented painter works for years as an accountant because society tells him it’s a “safer” choice. He feels empty and depressed. One day, he decides to pursue art seriously — even part-time — and for the first time he feels alive.

By reconnecting with his true identity as an artist, his misery fades.

2. The Student Trying to Please Everyone

A student tries to meet everyone’s expectations: high grades for parents, sports for peers, and hobbies for college applications. She becomes stressed and unhappy.

When she finally admits to herself that she genuinely loves literature and wants a quieter, simpler life, she starts to live authentically.

Her inner peace comes from aligning with her true nature.

3. The Professional Who Realizes Success Isn’t Equal to Happiness

A corporate worker earns a high salary but feels constantly anxious and unfulfilled. After deep reflection, he realizes he values freedom and meaningful work more than prestige. He shifts to a career in social impact.

Understanding his true priorities lifts the burden of living someone else’s dream.

Authenticity becomes the source of strength.

Human beings often carry an invisible burden: the pressure to conform to expectations, fulfill roles imposed by society, and meet standards that may have nothing to do with their real nature. This burden manifests as stress, confusion, and a quiet misery that many people accept as part of life. Yet, the moment a person discovers their true self — who they really are beneath external expectations — that burden begins to dissolve. True self-knowledge becomes a source of freedom, clarity, and inner peace.

Misery frequently arises when there is a conflict between the life we live and the life we are meant to live. People force themselves into careers, relationships, or lifestyles that contradict their inner values because they fear judgment or failure. For example, an individual may choose a prestigious job to satisfy family expectations only to find themselves emotionally drained and unfulfilled. Their suffering stems not from the job itself but from betraying their authentic interests and passions. Once they admit their true calling and realign their life with it, they no longer carry the heaviness of pretense. The discovery of the true self becomes an antidote to despair.

Another source of misery is the lack of self-acceptance. Many people spend years hiding parts of themselves — their personality, preferences, weaknesses, or identity — because they believe these aspects are unacceptable. This internal war creates shame and anxiety. However, when a person finally embraces themselves fully, flaws and all, a transformation occurs. Acceptance brings peace, and peace dissolves misery. The true self does not demand perfection; it only demands honesty. Living in this honesty provides a deep sense of belonging within one’s own skin.

Furthermore, finding one’s true self brings purpose, and purpose gives life meaning. A meaningful life is rarely a miserable one. When people understand what they value, what they stand for, and what gives them joy, they navigate challenges with greater resilience. Even difficult experiences feel more bearable because they are aligned with a deeper personal truth. Misery often thrives in confusion and aimlessness, but clarity of self-knowledge pushes it away.

In essence, discovering one’s true self is not merely a psychological exercise; it is a liberation. It frees individuals from the expectations of others, from internal conflict, and from the weight of pretending. The person who is authentically themselves does not need to chase happiness — it naturally arises from living truthfully. When the mask falls and the real self emerges, misery has nothing left to cling to.

Courage breathes.

 “Do you know why fear fails?” she once said softly, “Because courage learns to breathe even in the dark.”

This line captured the heart of everyone who knew Dr. B. Sandhya, but it wasn’t spoken on a stage or in front of cameras. She had said it to a frightened girl during one of her visits to a shelter home. That moment revealed who she truly was — a police officer whose strength was measured not only by the cases she cracked, but by the lives she lifted.

Sandhya’s journey did not begin with loud promises or dramatic declarations. It began quietly, like rain that soaks the earth before anyone notices. As a young girl in Kerala, she had a deep curiosity about people — why they break, why they rise, and what justice truly means. While others her age were busy planning simple careers, she often found herself imagining a world where every woman, every child, could step out without fear. She didn’t want a safe world only for herself. She wanted it for everyone.

That desire eventually shaped her into one of Kerala’s most respected IPS officers. But her rise wasn’t easy. When she cleared the civil services, she stepped into a field that had long been dominated by men. Many assumed she would be gentle, quiet, maybe too soft for policing. What they didn’t know was that gentleness can sometimes be the sharpest form of strength. She didn’t raise her voice; she raised her actions.

During her early years, she would often walk into crime scenes that left others disturbed. But she observed, she listened, she pieced together details with a calmness that surprised even senior officers. Her mind worked like a mirror — it reflected everything clearly, without noise.

One of the turning points in her career came when she began working closely on cases related to women and children. She met girls who had been silenced, boys who had been abandoned, and families who had lost hope. Many officers saw these cases as routine files. But for Sandhya, each file carried a heartbeat. She believed that every rescue, every charge sheet, was a step toward healing a broken world.

Her commitment led her to play a major role in building Kerala’s community policing initiative — the Janamaithri Police. It wasn’t just a project; it was a bridge of trust between people and the uniform they feared. She made police stations feel human again. People stepped in not with trembling hands, but with faith.

Over the years, she handled some of Kerala’s most sensitive investigations. There were nights when she returned home long after the world had fallen asleep, her shoulders heavy with the stories she carried. Yet she never complained. She believed that when you choose a path like hers, you don’t count the hours; you count the lives changed.

Once, during a particularly painful case involving a young girl, Sandhya found herself sitting alone in her car after the investigation. The child had hugged her tightly before leaving with the social workers. That hug stayed with her. It wasn’t gratitude; it was trust. And trust, she believed, was the highest award an officer could ever receive.

Her colleagues often said she had the rare ability to balance strictness with empathy. She could walk into a room full of hardened criminals and command silence, yet sit with a crying mother and speak as gently as a sister. This duality made her unforgettable.

With time, her contribution extended beyond policing. She wrote, she spoke, she educated, and she inspired. She helped shape policies that protected children. She trained officers to look beyond paperwork and see the human being inside every case. She pushed for change not from anger, but from compassion — a force far more powerful.

Even after reaching senior positions in Kerala Police, she never lost the humility she began with. She still visited schools and shelters, still listened to stories of ordinary people, still believed that justice begins with understanding.

There was a moment toward the end of her career that captured everything she stood for. During a public event, an elderly woman walked up to her. With trembling hands, she held Sandhya’s palm and whispered, “You saved my daughter. I never got a chance to thank you.”

Sandhya paused, overwhelmed. She didn’t remember the case — she had helped so many. But the woman’s words sank into her heart like a quiet, unexpected storm.

When she stepped back into her car that day, she looked out of the window at the crowds. People saw her as a powerful IPS officer, a reformer, a protector. But in that moment, she realized something deeply personal: her journey had never been about bravery alone. It had been about kindness. About listening. About giving someone enough strength to take one more step.

She closed her eyes for a second, letting the noise fade. A single tear escaped — not out of sadness, but out of the weight of all the stories she had carried and all the lives she had touched.

And perhaps, that is where her story truly ends — not with applause, not with medals, but with one simple truth:

Even the strongest officers sometimes cry. Not because they are weak, but because they care enough to feel every wound they heal.

-Dr. B. Sandhya

Direct Rainbow.

 “Schools are not museums for the privileged,” Sister Cyril once said, her voice firm yet filled with compassion. “A school must open its doors wide enough for the poorest child to walk in without fear.”

Those words did not come from a leader making a grand speech. They came from a quiet Irish nun who landed in Kolkata in 1956, carrying nothing more than a suitcase and a burning belief that every child, no matter how small or forgotten, deserved a chance.

Her name was Sister Cyril Mooney.

When she first walked through the bustling, chaotic streets of Kolkata, she saw little children sleeping on pavements, running barefoot between traffic, selling flowers for coins they would never keep. Something inside her shifted. She hadn’t come to India to simply teach inside a classroom. She had come to change what education meant.

Years later, when she became the principal of Loreto Day School, Sealdah, she didn’t celebrate the position. Instead, she walked through the empty corridors at dawn, looking at polished floors, clean benches, neat uniforms. And she thought of those children she had seen outside. Children who had never held a pencil, who ate only if the day was kind, who didn’t even know what the inside of a school looked like.

She decided to bring them in.

The first day she invited street children to sit in the school playground, a few teachers gasped. Parents raised eyebrows. Some even complained. But the little ones came hesitantly, clutching torn cloth bags, unsure if they belonged. Sister Cyril simply smiled and said, “You are safe here. This is your place too.”

That was the beginning of the Rainbow Project.

Every afternoon, after regular school hours, the gates opened again. Girls from slums, railway platforms, and pavements walked in. They learned to read, write, dream, and stand on their own feet. Many had never been called by their real names before. Now, teachers called them with respect. Slowly, some of these children were integrated into regular classes. They studied alongside children from wealthier homes, sharing textbooks, tiffins, and laughter.

Under her leadership, the school became a living example of equality, not a slogan painted on a wall.

But Sister Cyril didn’t stop there. She traveled through villages, looking for young women who had never been to college but had the fire to teach. She trained them as “barefoot teachers” so they could carry education to the remotest corners. These women taught under trees, in makeshift huts, and sometimes even on the steps of temples and mosques. It wasn’t perfect, but it was powerful.

People often asked her how she managed such work with limited resources. She would smile mischievously and say, “If you wait for perfect conditions, children will grow old waiting.”

Many nights, she walked through the sleeping quarters of the Rainbow girls. Some children clung to dolls stitched from old clothes; some hid their schoolbooks under their pillow like treasure. She tucked the blankets around them, brushing away memories of hunger and homelessness they had once known too well.

She wasn’t just teaching them lessons. She was giving them their childhood back.

As the years passed, her impact grew. Awards arrived. Praise arrived. Journalists wrote about her, leaders met her, and educationists studied her methods. But she remained the same woman who preferred sitting among children rather than at any award ceremony. Whenever people tried to glorify her, she pointed toward her students and said, “If you want to honor me, look at them. They are my greatest achievement.”

Even after stepping down as principal, she continued working, planning, mentoring, moving across Kolkata’s underprivileged corners with a courage that surprised everyone. Age slowed her body, but never her spirit.

In June 2023, when news broke that Sister Cyril had passed away, Kolkata felt strangely quiet. Outside Loreto Sealdah, hundreds gathered — former students, teachers, street vendors, old Rainbow girls who now worked in offices or taught in schools. Many brought flowers. Some brought stories. Some brought tears.

A woman who once lived on a railway platform placed a small, worn-out school notebook near Sister Cyril’s photograph. On the first page was a sentence written in shaky handwriting from decades ago:

“Sister says I can become anything.”

As people read those words, the truth sank in.

Sister Cyril had not built schools.

She had built lives.

And somewhere in Kolkata that night, a young girl looked at the sky and whispered a silent thank you to the woman who proved that even one human heart, if brave enough, can change the future of thousands. 

-Sister M. Cyril Mooney

Birthday special.

Long pending incomplete in earlier entry achieved somewhat here goes.

Tarka-saṃgraha, composed in the 17th century by Annaṃbhaṭṭa, is one of the most influential introductory texts in the field of Indian logic and metaphysics. It belongs to the combined tradition of Nyāya–Vaiśeṣika philosophy, two classical systems that were eventually integrated due to their complementary concerns: Nyāya focuses on logic and epistemology, while Vaiśeṣika focuses on metaphysics and ontology. Annaṃbhaṭṭa’s genius lies in condensing the vast and complex doctrines of these systems into a small, elegant manual that has served for centuries as the first book studied by students entering the field.

The Tarka-saṃgraha is typically read alongside Annaṃbhaṭṭa’s own commentary, the Dīpikā, which elaborates on the core verses. Together, they form a complete primer that balances brevity with depth. What makes this text enduringly valuable is its clarity of classification, logical precision, and its step-by-step unfolding of topics—from the nature of reality to the processes of acquiring valid knowledge.

Below is a section-wise explanation of its contents with extended discussion and analysis.

1. Padārtha: Categories of Reality

The text begins with the concept of padārtha—literally, “that which can be named or known.” In this context, it refers to the fundamental categories through which the world can be analyzed. According to the Nyāya-Vaiśeṣika system, the universe is structured into distinct yet interrelated categories. In Tarka-saṃgraha, Annaṃbhaṭṭa lists seven traditional padārthas, later expanded to sixteen with the inclusion of epistemological and logical categories.

The core seven are:

1. Dravya (Substance)

2. Guṇa (Quality)

3. Karma (Action)

4. Sāmānya (Universal)

5. Viśeṣa (Particularity)

6. Samavāya (Inherence)

7. Abhāva (Non-existence)

1.1 Dravya (Substance)

Substances are the foundational entities that act as the substrata of qualities and actions. Nine classical substances are enumerated: earth, water, fire, air, ether, time, space, self, and mind. The text briefly introduces the distinctive features of each, from the material elements to the subtle substances like space and time that provide non-physical frameworks.

1.2 Guṇa (Quality)

Qualities inhere in substances and cannot exist independently. Examples include color, number, dimension, fluidity, heaviness, desire, and cognition. These qualities provide the basis for the perceivable and inferable characteristics of objects.

1.3 Karma (Action)

Action is movement, and the text classifies five types, such as upward motion, downward motion, contraction, expansion, and motion in general. Actions produce change and thus contribute to causal relations.

1.4 Sāmānya (Universal)

The concept of universals explains why different individuals can share common features (e.g., all cows share “cowness”). Universals provide the logical ground for classification.

1.5 Viśeṣa (Particularity)

Particularity accounts for the individuality of atoms and souls. It distinguishes entities that cannot otherwise be differentiated.

1.6 Samavāya (Inherence)

A unique relation in Indian metaphysics, inherence ties two inseparable entities—for instance, a substance and its qualities, a whole and its parts, or a universal and its instances.

1.7 Abhāva (Non-existence)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa discusses types of non-existence, such as prior absence, posterior absence, mutual absence, and absolute non-existence. These help explain negation and logical distinctions.

Thus, the first section provides a comprehensive map of reality, showing how different kinds of entities are logically categorized.

2. Pramāṇa: Means of Valid Knowledge

The next major section addresses pramāṇas, the instruments through which knowledge is obtained. Nyāya traditionally recognizes four pramāṇas:

1. Pratyakṣa (Perception)

2. Anumāna (Inference)

3. Upamāna (Comparison/Analogy)

4. Śabda (Verbal Testimony)

2.1 Pratyakṣa (Perception)

Annaṃbhaṭṭa defines perception as knowledge arising from the contact of the senses with their objects. He introduces two types:

Nirvikalpaka (indeterminate), where object is perceived without conceptualization, and

Savikalpaka (determinate), where the object is recognized with attributes, such as “this is a pot.”

Conditions for valid perception and obstacles like doubt or illusion are also outlined.

2.2 Anumāna (Inference)

Inference is a central topic and one of the most elaborate in the treatise. Annaṃbhaṭṭa explains the five-step syllogism (pañcāvayava) involving:

1. Pratijñā – statement of the thesis

2. Hetu – reason

3. Udāharaṇa – example

4. Upanaya – application

5. Nigamana – conclusion

He also introduces the concept of vyāpti (invariable concomitance), essential for successful reasoning, and the types of fallacies (hetvābhāsas) that can invalidate inference.

2.3 Upamāna (Comparison)

Here, knowledge arises by comparison between a known and an unknown object. A classical example involves learning the nature of a “gavaya” (wild ox) by being told it resembles a cow.

2.4 Śabda (Verbal Testimony)

Valid verbal testimony comes from a trustworthy speaker (āpta). Scriptural testimony is treated as a subset of this, recognizing its authority within traditional contexts.

This section forms the epistemological backbone of the text.

3. Parāmarśa and Pramāti: The Process of Knowing

Annaṃbhaṭṭa also describes parāmarśa, the reflective cognition that links perception to inference, and pramāti, valid cognition. These intermediate steps in epistemology illustrate how the mind synthesizes sensory data, memory, and reasoning to form reliable knowledge.

4. Nyāya’s Sixteen Categories (Padārthas of Logic)

While the Vaiśeṣika system begins with ontological categories, Nyāya outlines sixteen categories meant to structure rational investigation. Annaṃbhaṭṭa integrates them seamlessly. These include:

Pramāṇa (means of knowledge)

Prameya (objects of knowledge)

Saṃśaya (doubt)

Prayojana (purpose)

Dṛṣṭānta (example)

Siddhānta (established conclusion)

Avayava (members of syllogism)

Tarka (hypothetical reasoning)

Nirṇaya (ascertainment)

Vāda, Jalpa, Vitaṇḍā (forms of debate)

Hetvābhāsa (fallacious reasoning)

Chala, Jāti, Nigrahasthāna (quibbling, false refutations, points of defeat)

This list illustrates the breadth of Nyāya thought—from metaphysics and logic to rhetoric and debate theory.

5. The Nature of the Self and Liberation

The text briefly but importantly addresses the nature of the self (ātman), which is eternal, omnipresent, and the locus of consciousness. It distinguishes between the self and the mind, emphasizing that cognition arises through the contact of self, mind, senses, and object.

Liberation (mokṣa) is described as the complete cessation of suffering, achieved through true knowledge. This brings the philosophical inquiry to its spiritual culmination.

6. Style, Purpose, and Legacy

Annaṃbhaṭṭa’s Tarka-saṃgraha is celebrated for three key qualities:

6.1 Brevity

It distills massive philosophical systems into a compact form.

6.2 Clarity

Definitions are crisp, classifications are systematic, and examples are easy to follow.

6.3 Pedagogical Utility

For centuries, the text has served as the standard beginner’s manual in Nyāya-Vaiśeṣika philosophy, shaping intellectual training in traditional schools.

Its continued study today demonstrates its remarkable ability to present deep metaphysical and logical ideas with simplicity and elegance.

Tarka-saṃgraha stands as a masterpiece of concise philosophical writing. Through its orderly presentation of ontology, epistemology, logic, and the nature of the self, it offers readers a complete introductory path into Indian classical thought. Annaṃbhaṭṭa’s integration of Nyāya’s logical framework with Vaiśeṣika’s metaphysical insights created a unified system that remains foundational in the study of Indian philosophy.

Clear, accessible, and intellectually rigorous, the Tarka-saṃgraha continues to illuminate the path for students of logic, inquiry, and metaphysical understanding—even centuries after its composition.

Here is a colour-coded diagram of Tarka-saṃgraha, 

(Colours are indicated by blocks 🔵🟢🟡🟣🔴, each representing a conceptual group.)

🔵 TARKA-SAṂGRAHA 🔵

                           (By Annaṃbhaṭṭa – Nyāya–Vaiśeṣika)

🟢 ONTOLOGY / PADĀRTHA 🟡 EPISTEMOLOGY / PRAMĀṆA 🔴 LOGIC / NYĀYA 16

(Classification of reality) (Means of valid knowledge) (Debate + reasoning)

🟢 ONTOLOGY — PADĀRTHAS (7 Categories of Being)

🟢 1. DRAVYA (Substance)

🟢 2. GUṆA (Quality)

🟢 3. KARMA (Action)

🟢 4. SĀMĀNYA (Universal)

🟢 5. VIŚEṢA (Particularity)

🟢 6. SAMAVĀYA (Inherence)

🟢 7. ABHĀVA (Non-existence)

🟡 EPISTEMOLOGY — PRAMĀṆAS (4 Sources of Knowledge)

🟡 1. PRATYAKṢA — Perception

      - Sense-object contact → cognition

🟡 2. ANUMĀNA — Inference

      - Vyāpti + reasoning + five-member syllogism

🟡 3. UPAMĀNA — Comparison/Analogy

      - Understanding via similarity

🟡 4. ŚABDA — Verbal Testimony

      - From a trustworthy person (āpta)

🔴 LOGIC SYSTEM — NYĀYA’S 16 CATEGORIES

🔴 1. Pramāṇa (Means of knowledge)

🔴 2. Prameya (Objects of knowledge)

🔴 3. Saṃśaya (Doubt)

🔴 4. Prayojana (Purpose)

🔴 5. Dṛṣṭānta (Example)

🔴 6. Siddhānta (Established doctrine)

🔴 7. Avayava (Parts of syllogism)

🔴 8. Tarka (Hypothetical reasoning)

🔴 9. Nirṇaya (Ascertainment)

🔴 Debate Theory:

 🔴10. Vāda (Honest debate)

 🔴11. Jalpa (Hostile debate)

 🔴12. Vitaṇḍā (Destructive criticism)

🔴 Fallacies & Errors:

 🔴13. Hetvābhāsa (Fallacious reasoning)

 🔴14. Chala (Quibbling)

 🔴15. Jāti (False refutation)

 🔴16. Nigrahasthāna (Point of defeat)

🟣 SUMMARY MIND-MAP STYLE (Colour-coded)

🔵 TARKA-SAṂGRAHA 

🟢 ONTOLOGY 🟡 EPISTEMOLOGY 🔴 LOGIC & DEBATE

(What exists?) (How we know?) (How to reason?)

└─ 7 Padārthas └─ 4 Pramāṇas └─ 16 Nyāya items

Orchid kovidara.

 The Kovidāra Tree: Botanical Beauty and Its Place in the Cultural Memory of Ramayana and Ram Rajya

The Kovidāra tree (Bauhinia variegata), widely known as the Orchid Tree or Kanchanar, is admired across the Indian subcontinent for its striking flowers, ecological benefits, and profound cultural associations. Its Sanskrit name, Kovidāra, appears in classical Indian literature, including the Ramayana, demonstrating how deeply rooted the tree is in ancient cultural memory. In recent times, the Kovidāra gained renewed visibility when it appeared as a symbolic motif on representations of the Ayodhya Ram Rajya flag, further connecting it to ideals of prosperity, purity, and divine kingship.

Botanical and Aesthetic Identity

The Kovidāra is a medium-sized deciduous tree belonging to the Fabaceae family. Its heart-shaped bilobed leaves and large orchid-like blossoms—ranging from pink to magenta—set it apart as one of the most visually captivating trees in India. Flowering typically begins in late winter or early spring, often before new foliage appears, creating an impressive display of vivid colors against bare branches.

The tree’s ecological value includes nitrogen-fixing roots that enrich the soil, nectar-rich flowers that support pollinators, and its adaptability to diverse climatic conditions. These characteristics also made it common in ancient forests and natural landscapes described in Indic epics.

The Kovidāra in the Ramayana

The Ramayana, attributed to Sage Vālmīki, contains several descriptions of forest flora as part of its richly detailed landscape imagery. The Kovidāra is mentioned especially in the Kishkindha Kāṇḍa and Sundara Kāṇḍa, where natural scenes emphasize beauty, emotion, and dramatic transitions.

1. A Symbol of Spring and Rebirth

In passages describing forests near the Pampa (Pampā Lake), the Kovidāra appears among lush blooming trees that announce the arrival of Vasanta (spring). Vālmīki uses its bright blossoms to evoke themes of renewal, longing, and emotional stirring—particularly in the scenes where Rāma, separated from Sītā, is moved by the beauty of nature.

2. A Tree of Love and Emotional Resonance

The Kovidāra’s colorful flowers often appear in the Ramayana as metaphors for emotional intensity. Their vivid hues are likened to ornaments adorning the forest, setting a backdrop for scenes of friendship, grief, and devotion. The vibrant blossoms evoke the pangs of love and remembrance that Rāma experiences during his exile.

3. Part of the Natural Setting of Vanavāsa

During Rāma’s forest exile, the rich diversity of flora—including Kovidāra, Aśoka, Palāśa, Tilaka, and Śimśapā—creates a symbolic contrast between the simplicity of forest life and the lost luxury of Ayodhya. The presence of Kovidāra highlights the serene, spiritually charged nature of the forest environment that shapes Rāma’s inner journey.

Thus, the Kovidāra is not merely an aesthetic detail; it forms part of the symbolic landscape that supports the epic’s emotional and moral undercurrents.

Appearance on the Ayodhya “Ram Rajya” Flag

In modern symbolic representations, particularly those celebrating the inauguration of the Ayodhya Ram Mandir and the imagery associated with Ram Rajya, the Kovidāra tree has appeared in reinterpretations of traditional motifs. Its inclusion carries several layers of meaning:

1. Symbol of Prosperity and Flourishing Life

The blooming Kovidāra is linked with abundance, renewal, and beauty. In Ram Rajya—an idealized state defined by justice, harmony, and prosperity—such symbols are chosen to represent the flourishing of dharma and nature under just rule.

2. Connection to Ancient Ayodhya’s Natural Heritage

Ancient Ayodhya’s landscapes, as described in the Ramayana and related texts, included blooming trees such as Kovidāra, Aśoka, and Kadamba. Using the Kovidāra in the iconography of the Ram Rajya flag evokes this continuity between mythic Ayodhya and modern remembrance.

3. An Emblem of Beauty, Virtue, and Divine Blessing

Because the Kovidāra is frequently associated with springtime and auspiciousness in Sanskrit poetry, it aligns with themes of purity, moral order, and spiritual auspiciousness—qualities attributed to Rāma’s reign.

Thus, its appearance on the Ram Rajya flag is not accidental, but a deliberate invocation of the tree’s cultural, literary, and emotional symbolism.

Cultural and Medicinal Importance 

In Ayurveda, the Kovidāra (Kanchanar) is valued for its astringent, detoxifying properties and its use in formulations such as Kanchanar Guggulu. Its flower buds are also used in traditional Indian cuisine. In classical poetry, including the works of Kālidāsa, the tree frequently appears as a symbol of elegance and seasonal transformation.

The Kovidāra tree stands at the crossroads of ecology, culture, spirituality, and literature. Its vivid blossoms enliven Indian landscapes, its medicinal qualities support traditional health practices, and its presence in the Ramayana marks it as a part of India’s deep mythological and emotional heritage. The tree’s modern reappearance on the Ayodhya Ram Rajya flag reflects a desire to reconnect with these ancient roots, celebrating the ideals of beauty, morality, and prosperity that the tree has symbolized for millennia.

Vishnu Dharmottara Purāṇa.

“Dhvaja-lakṣaṇa” chapters.2.

ध्वजपताकाच्छत्रैश्च देवायतनमण्डपम् ।

अलङ्कुर्याद् यथान्यायं देवस्योत्सवकर्मणि ॥

dhvajapatākācchatraiś ca devāyatanamaṇḍapam |

alaṅkuryād yathānyāyaṃ devasyotsavakarmaṇi ||

“In the festival rites of the deity, the temple pavilion should be adorned properly with flags, banners, and parasols.”

To be continued. 

Kesari bhaghava RAM.

 Kesariya rang chadhyo aaj,

Jaise suraj ne dharti ko varmālo pehnāyā,

Uss komal ujiyāre meñ

Mann ne Ramji ka darshan pāyā.

Bhagva jandha lehraayo halke se,

Thār ki hawā meñ geet ban kar,

Jaise kabhī tulasi ki pankeetiyoñ meñ

Shabdon ne liye ho Ram ka asar.

Kesariya vo prem ka rang,

Jo bhakt ke rom-rom meñ basi jāve,

Bhagwā vo tyag aur balidan.

Jo maryādā ke rāste par chalvāve.

Aur Ramji…

Vo to donoñ ke madhya ka sānt swar,

Patthar meñ bhī pran ko jagaane vāli āwāz,

Jo ek hi pal meñ

Krodh ko karuṇā meñ badal de,

Andhere ko ujiyāre meñ pighlā de.

Kesariya ho ya bhagwā,

Donoñ to bas Ramji ke hi rang,

Ek prem ka, ek dharma ka,

Ek mann ko jode, ek mārg ko sang.

Isī rang meñ doob kar dekho,

Dil ho jāye Thar ki shaam ki tarah garam,

Aur antar ke mandir se uth kar bole:

“Shri Ram… tere bina sab kuch adhūram.”

Scale: Sa Re Ga Pa Dha Pa Ga Re Sa

Mood: Warm, devotional, slightly folk.

1. “Kesariya rang chadhyo aaj”

Tune:

Sa — Re Ga, Ga Ga Pa — Pa Ga Re

(Hum it as: “Ke-sari-ya rang cha-dhyo aaj” rising softly on “aaj”.)

2. “Jaise suraj ne dharti ko varmālo pehnāyā”

Tune:

Re — Ga Ma, Pa — Pa Dha Pa Ga

Ga — Re Sa Sa — Re Ga

(Falling gently at “pehnāyā”.)

3. “Bhagwā jhanda lehraayo halke se”

Tune:

Sa — Re Ga Pa, Pa Dha Dha Pa

Pa — Ga Re, Re — Sa

(Feel the swing of “lehraayo”.)

4. “Thār ki hawā meñ geet ban kar”

Tune:

Re — Ga Pa, Pa Pa Dha Pa

Ga — Re Sa

5. “Kesariya vo prem ka rang”

Tune:

Sa — Re Ga Ga Pa, Pa Ga

Ga — Re Sa

6. “Bhagwā vo tyāg aur balidān”

Tune:

Re — Ga Pa Pa Dha, Pa Ga

Ga — Re Sa

7. “Aur Ramji…”

Tune:

Sa —— Dha Pa (soft glide downward)

8. “Vo to donoñ ke madhya ka sānt swar”

Tune:

Sa — Re Ga Pa, Pa Dha Pa

Pa — Ga Re Sa

9. “Shri Ram… tere bina sab kuch adhūram.”

Tune:

Pa — Dha Dha Pa, Pa Ga Re

Re — Sa —— Sa

1. “Kesariya rang chadhyo aaj”

taa–naa naa–naa naa–naa—naa

taa–naa taa–naa taa–naa—naa

(Glide slightly upwards on the last naa.)

2. “Jaise suraj ne dharti ko varmālo pehnāyā”

naa–naa taa–naa taa–naa—naa

taa–naa taa–naa naa–naa—naa

naa–naa taa–naa taa–naa—naa

(Soft wave pattern, like a bhajan.)

3. “Bhagwā jhanda lehraayo halke se”

taa–naa naa–naa taa–naa—naa

taa–naa taa–naa naa–naa—naa

(At “lehraayo” add a little sway: naa~naa.)

4. “Thār ki hawā meñ geet ban kar”

naa–naa taa–naa taa–naa—naa

taa–naa taa–naa—naa

5. “Kesariya vo prem ka rang”

taa–naa taa–naa taa–naa—naa

taa–naa naa–naa—naa

6. “Bhagwā vo tyāg aur balidān”

taa–naa taa–naa naa–naa—naa

taa–naa taa–naa—naa

7. “Aur Ramji…” (soft drop)

naa–naa———— taa–naa

taa–naa — (pause)

8. “Vo to donoñ ke madhya ka sānt swar”

taa–naa naa–naa taa–naa—naa

taa–naa taa–naa naa–naa—naa

naa–naa taa–naa taa–naa—naa

9. “Shri Ram… tere bina sab kuch adhūram.”

naa–naa naa–naa taa–naa—naa

taa–naa naa–naa—naa

naa—————naa

Assumption.

Your Understanding Depends on Your Assumptions.

Everything we understand—whether it is a situation, a person, a story, or a problem—comes through the filter of our assumptions.

Assumptions are the invisible beliefs, expectations, or ideas we already hold before we even begin to understand something.

Assumptions act like lenses.

Just as a pair of tinted glasses changes how you see the world, your assumptions change how you interpret information.

Two people with different assumptions can look at the same situation and understand it completely differently.

Their conclusions are not formed only by the facts, but by the assumptions they bring to those facts.

Assumptions can be conscious or unconscious.

Some we know (“I assume this person is honest”).

Some we don’t even realize we carry (“I assume elders are always right,” “I assume silence means anger,” etc.).

Your understanding expands when your assumptions broaden.

If you revise the lens, the view changes.

1. Seeing clouds

Two people look at a dark sky.

One assumes: “Dark clouds mean rain.”

→ They understand it as “A storm is coming.”

Other assumes: “This region often has clouds but no rain.”

→ They understand it as “It will pass.”

Same sky, different understanding because of different assumptions.

2. A friend is silent

If you assume: “Silence means anger,”

→ You think: “He is upset with me.”

If you assume: “He must be tired,”

→ You think: “Let him rest.”

The meaning changes because the assumption changed.

3. Reading a story

Your understanding of a story from the Mahabharata depends on whether you assume:

Dharma is absolute

or

Dharma is situational.

Your conclusion about characters like Bhishma, Karna, or Duryodhana changes.

Most Indian philosophical traditions teach something similar:

Advaita: What you assume to be real shapes your perception of truth.

Nyāya: All knowledge starts with a pramāṇa (means of knowing), but every pramāṇa begins with assumptions.

Buddhism: Suffering arises from mistaken assumptions about permanence and self.

What you understand is only as correct as the assumptions you start with.

You don’t see the world as it is.

You see the world as your assumptions let you see it.

Change your assumptions → change your understanding → change your world.

Not to be solved.

The Mysterious Black Stone of the Himalayas They say the Himalayas keep more secrets than they reveal. Their peaks rise like frozen hymns, but beneath their silence lie stories carried only by the wind and guarded by time. One such tale begins with a black stone, found on a lonely ridge where no pilgrim’s foot had wandered in generations. It was no ordinary stone. Smooth as river-polished basalt, yet untouched by water. Dark as moonless midnight, yet faintly glowing from within. And strangely — impossibly — warm to the touch. The shepherd who discovered it felt the warmth first. The air was cold enough to bite through wool, but that stone pulsed with a quiet, steady heat, like the heartbeat of something living. He picked it up with hesitation, half afraid the warmth would vanish like a dream. But it did not. It settled in his palm as if it belonged there. Word spread, as it always does in the mountains, carried more by wonder than by voices. Soon monks, wanderers, geologists, and dreamers climbed to the shepherd’s village. Each group had its own theory. The Monks’ Whisper The monks said the stone carried the blessing of a forgotten deity — one of the ancient guardians described only in crumbling manuscripts that no longer had names. “Things from the heavens do not always fall as fire,” an elder monk murmured. “Some fall as silence.” The Scientists’ Claim A geologist insisted it must be a rare meteorite, its smoothness caused by centuries of drifting along glacial currents. “But meteors are cold,” another argued. “Dead fragments of the universe. They do not breathe warmth.” Yet the stone remained warm — not hot, not burning, just warm, like a serene pulse. The Villagers’ Belief To the villagers, the stone was simply alive. Not like a creature, but like a memory. They said it brought calm to those who held it. Some swore it changed its temperature depending on the person’s mood — becoming cooler for anger, warmer for sorrow, restful for weary hearts. The Hermit’s Story An old hermit from a nearby cave arrived one dusk and asked to see the stone. When he held it, tears ran down his weathered face. “This,” he said softly, “is a piece of the mountain’s own heart.” He explained that the Himalayas, though made of stone and snow, were ancient beings with their own breath, their own slow, cosmic rhythm. Every thousand years, he claimed, one such fragment separated from the larger mountain — a tear of compassion, sent to comfort any soul brave enough to walk too close to despair. No one believed him. Yet no one could explain the stone either. And the Stone Today To this day, the black stone remains in the village shrine — unclaimed by science, untouched by politics, undefined by the ego of the world. Pilgrims come and go. Scholars argue. Children place their small hands on it and giggle at the warmth. But those who linger, who touch it quietly with a sincere heart, say they feel something strange: A calmness spreading up the arm. A soft humming beneath the silence. A reassurance, like being remembered by the mountain itself. Whatever the stone is — meteor, relic, miracle, or mystery — it remains what all true Himalayan secrets are: Not to be solved, but to be experienced.

Bharavi.

The Story of Pandit Bhāravi

(Author of the great Sanskrit mahākāvya Kirātārjunīya)

Long ago, in the 6th century, there lived a brilliant Sanskrit poet named Bhāravi. His mind was sharp like a polished diamond, and his words flowed with a power that felt almost divine. Scholars of his time said, “Bhāravi does not merely write poetry—he forges it.”

Bhāravi was born in a scholarly Brahmin family, often believed to be in South India, possibly in the region around modern-day Karnataka or Andhra. From a young age, he had a fascination for sound—not music, but the music inside words.

He would listen to the chanting of the Vedas, repeat each syllable carefully, and try to understand how a slight variation could change the colour of meaning. His father, a learned scholar, would often find the boy scribbling intricate verses on palm leaves.

One day he asked,

“Do you want to be a poet?”

Bhāravi smiled,

“Not a poet, father… a sculptor of language.”

A Poet of Power

Bhāravi grew into a master of expression. His poetry had gravitas—depth, weight, and majesty. While other poets fascinated with sweetness (mādhurya), Bhāravi was known for ojas, the brilliance and strength of speech.

This strength would take its ultimate form in his masterpiece:

Kirātārjunīya – The Crown of His Genius

In the Mahābhārata, there is a short episode where Arjuna performs severe penance to receive the Pāśupata Astra from Lord Shiva, who first appears in the form of a kirāta, a wild hunter.

Bhāravi took this small episode and expanded it into 18 magnificent cantos, transforming it into a mahākāvya filled with:

elaborate descriptions

philosophical reflections

complex play of meanings

powerful imagery

grand rhetorical structures

So great was the work that later poets would say:

“Bhāravi is difficult to imitate. His every verse is a fortress.”

Kalidasa was known for beauty, but Bhāravi was known for strength and scholarship.

In Kirātārjunīya, his language reflects the very inner tension of tapas, the collision of egos, the granting of divine weapons, and the majesty of Shiva.

The Famous Anecdote: The Line Everyone Quoted

One verse from Bhāravi became so famous that even ordinary people began quoting its spirit:

“Even a single verse of Bhāravi is enough to show his mastery.”

This saying came from the fact that his poetry was so compact, so dense with meaning, that one verse contained more insight than entire chapters of lesser poets.

His Devotion and Humility

Despite his fame, Bhāravi remained deeply humble. It is said that he once visited a king who hoped to reward him lavishly for Kirātārjunīya. But Bhāravi did not accept wealth.

He said gently:

“A poet’s greatest wealth is the joy that arises in the reader’s heart.”

He left with only a shawl the king insisted he take.

Bhāravi paved the way for poets like Magha, who wrote Śiśupālavadha in emulation of his style. It became a playful saying in Sanskrit literary circles:

“Bhāravi carries weight, and Māgha adds ice.”

(Strength from Bhāravi, ornamentation from Māgha.)

Even today, his work remains a model in Sanskrit literature for:

heroic grandeur

philosophical richness

masterful linguistic craftsmanship

With time, Bhāravi’s personal story faded, but his verses remained immortal—the true sign of a great poet.

Bhāravi, the sage of words,

Carved mountains from a tale—

A hunter in the forest deep,

A hero strong and pale.

Arjuna stood in silent tapas,

His bow laid gently by,

While Shiva came in hunter’s guise

To test him, not to try.

Two arrows met in forest gloom,

Two wills refused to bend—

Till spark of truth revealed the Lord

Who comes as foe and friend.

From clash was born a blessing rare,

A weapon fierce and bright,

And Bhāravi in measured verse

Unveiled that inner light.

Each line a fortress, bold and pure,

Each word a sculptor’s art—

He taught that strength is born of peace

And God lives in the heart.

Guru Tegh Bahadur:dharma, for human dignity

9Guru Tegh Bahadur: The Saintly Shield of India

Guru Tegh Bahadur, the ninth Guru of the Sikhs, stands in history as a luminous symbol of moral courage, compassion, and spiritual strength. Born in 1621 in Amritsar to Guru Hargobind and Mata Nanaki, he was named Tyag Mal as a child, for he showed extraordinary detachment and inner calm. His father later gave him the title Tegh Bahadur—“Hero of the Sword”—after witnessing his fearlessness and mastery in battle.

Yet beyond the sword, it was his quiet, contemplative spirit that defined him. Guru Tegh Bahadur lived with deep humility, spending years in meditation. He taught that true bravery is not in conquering others but in conquering one’s own ego. His hymns in the Guru Granth Sahib reflect this radiant inner vision—verses of non-attachment, devotion, and surrender to the Divine.

A Protector of Dharma

The defining chapter of Guru Tegh Bahadur’s life came during the oppressive rule of Mughal Emperor Aurangzeb. Forced conversions and religious persecution had spread across northern India. A group of Kashmiri Pandits—scholars and householders—travelled to Anandpur seeking refuge and guidance. Guru Tegh Bahadur assured them that righteousness must be defended, and he declared calmly:

“If the tyranny is to end, a pure soul must sacrifice himself.”

His young son, the nine-year-old Gobind Rai (later Guru Gobind Singh), spoke the immortal words:

“Who is greater than you, O Father?”

With full awareness of what awaited him, Guru Tegh Bahadur travelled to Delhi. He refused to convert, refused to bow, refused to abandon the right of every human being to worship freely. He stood firm not only for his own faith but for the faith of others—a unique act in world history.

On 11 November 1675, he was publicly executed at Chandni Chowk. His martyrdom shook the nation and lit a lamp of freedom that would not be extinguished.

A Legacy of Light

Guru Tegh Bahadur’s sacrifice was not for land, throne, or power—it was for dharma, for human dignity, for the right to conscience. His life reminds us that spiritual strength can withstand political might, and that compassion is a greater force than cruelty.

Two lines capture his essence:

“The one who frightens none, and fears none—

Such a one is truly wise.”

Guru Tegh Bahadur taught India that courage is born from truth, and truth is protected by sacrifice. His legacy continues to inspire seekers, leaders, and humble devotees across the world.

He is remembered as:

Hind di Chadar — The Shield of India

A warrior-saint

A poet of divine detachment

A martyr for universal freedom of faith

His life remains a shining example of how one serene, steadfast soul can change the course of history through the power of righteousness.

In quiet dawns of Amritsar, a gentle soul was born,

A child with eyes of stillness, like lotus in the morn.

Named Tyag Mal for his calm, yet forged in fearless fire—

He grew to be Tegh Bahadur, the saint the ages admire.

He walked the path of silence, where hearts to truth incline,

He spoke in hymns of detachment, of the endless, the divine.

No throne he sought, no glory—just the freedom to be true,

And the courage that his soul held shone radiant through and through.

When tyranny rose darkly, across Kashmir’s fair land,

And frightened seekers gathered with tears and folded hands,

He listened like a father, then stood serene and tall:

“To save the right of worship, one life must answer the call.”

His little son beside him, with wisdom deep and rare,

Said softly, “O my father, none nobler than you is there.”

Then to Delhi walked the Guru, with steady, saintly grace—

No fear could touch his spirit, no shadow dimmed his face.

They tried to bend his will; he stood like a mountain high,

For truth is not for sale, and freedom cannot die.

In Chandni Chowk they struck him, yet failed to understand—

His blood became a blessing that sanctified the land.

O Hind di Chadar, Master! Your sacrifice sublime

Still lights the lamp of courage in every passing time.

You taught the world a lesson the heavens proudly keep:

The one who fears none and frightens none is the soul awake, not asleep.

Your name is sung in temples, in gurdwaras’ glowing flame,

In hearts that crave for justice, in children who learn your name.

Guru Tegh Bahadur—protector, poet, guide—

A shield of light eternal, by India’s grateful side.

Divine friend.

Even to this day the descents of Bhandu Mohanty get prasadam from the temple. Indeed what ancestry what clan. Truly blessed.

The Story of Bandhu Mohanty and Lord Jagannath

A Tale of Poverty, Devotion, and Divine Friendship

In the holy land of Puri, there once lived a noble-hearted but extremely poor Brahmin named Bandhu Mohanty. His name “Bandhu” means friend, and truly, he lived like a friend to the world—kind, honest, and full of devotion toward Lord Jagannath.

Bandhu Mohanty lived with his wife and children. Poverty tightened its grip day by day.

Sometimes they had food, sometimes they slept hungry.

But every night, before sleeping, Bandhu would fold his hands and pray:

“Jagannath, you are the Lord of the universe.

You know my troubles.

Give me strength to endure.”

He never asked for wealth. Only for faith.

But one day, the suffering grew unbearable. His children lay crying from hunger. His wife, with tears in her eyes, whispered:

“Why don’t we go to Puri, the Lord’s own home?

Our Jagannath will not let His devotees starve.”

Bandhu Mohanty agreed.

The journey to the Lord’s home

The family walked for days, with barely anything to eat.

When they reached Puri, it was late at night.

The temple was closed.

The streets were asleep.

The children were exhausted and faint with hunger.

In despair, Bandhu clasped his hands and prayed:

“Jagannath! They say you are ‘Dina-bandhu’—

Friend of the helpless.

Today, your friend is standing at your door.

Please take care of my children.”

And then… the miracle happened.

The Divine Bowl — ‘Mahalaxmi’s Bhoga’

That very night, in the sanctum of the temple, the Lord spoke softly to Maa Lakshmi:

“My devotee has arrived hungry.

Give him the food you prepared today.”

Lakshmi smiled, filled a golden bowl with warm, fragrant rice and ghee, and placed it near the gate.

Outside, Bandhu heard a soft sound—like a bowl being set down.

He opened the door to find:

A shining golden vessel, filled to the brim with mahaprasad

The divine fragrance of Jagannath’s kitchen

Warm rice, glowing as though it held the light of compassion itself

The family ate to their hearts’ content.

For the first time in weeks, the children fell asleep with full stomachs and peaceful smiles.

The Missing Bowl and the Temple Inquiry

Next morning, the temple priests saw that a golden bowl from Lord’s treasury was missing.

Shocked, they searched everywhere but found nothing.

The matter reached the King of Puri. The king ordered:

“Whoever has taken the Lord’s vessel must return it immediately.”

Meanwhile, Bandhu Mohanty sat in a corner of the street with the same golden bowl beside him, unaware of its value.

When the guards found the bowl with him, they accused him of stealing.

Bandhu cried:

“I am a poor man, my Lords.

But I did not steal.

This bowl appeared outside the door last night.

We thought some kind soul left it for us.”

The king, wise and humble, decided to take Bandhu to the temple and place him before Lord Jagannath.

As Bandhu stood trembling before the Lord, the king asked:

“Did you give your golden bowl to this man?”

And then… a divine voice echoed in the temple:

“Yes.

The bowl was given by Me.

Bandhu Mohanty is My true devotee.

Let no one doubt him.”

All present fell to their knees.

The king bowed and said:

“From today, you are the Lord’s own guest.

You shall never know hunger again.”

He arranged a home, food, and daily offerings for Bandhu Mohanty and his family.

God never abandons a sincere devotee.

The heart’s purity is more important than wealth.

Even in deepest poverty, devotion shines the brightest.

Jagannath is truly ‘Dina-bandhu’ — Friend of the helpless.

Fading beauty.

 

 A beautiful metaphor, and the image does invite that kind of reflection.

If we look at it botanically:

The “golden” frond on the palm/fern-like plant is simply an older leaf that has reached the end of its cycle. Palms regularly shed their older fronds—they turn yellow or brown while the newer ones remain lush and green. It’s natural and healthy.

If we look at it poetically,  a plant as a nuclear family:

The green fronds are like the younger, active members of a family—full of energy, supporting growth.

The golden frond is like an elder—once strong, now stepping back, allowing new leaves to take the sunlight.

The plant as a whole thrives because every leaf, at every stage, contributed to its strength.

In that sense, the plant becomes a symbol of family life:

each leaf different, each with its own time, yet all belonging to the same rooted unity.

Family in a Pot 

In a quiet corner of the courtyard,

A single plant stands tall,

Its fronds like folded arms

Gathered close, a family of leaves.

Some shine in bright young green,

Stretching upward to greet the sun,

Full of tomorrow’s promise,

Full of unspent spring.

And then—one golden frond,

Softly fading into amber light,

Not weak, not withered,

Just completing its circle with grace.

It has held the sun before,

Sheltered the tender shoots,

Borne the winds, the rains, the heat—

And now it glows with memory.

Together they stand,

Roots drinking from the same earth,

Each leaf different in its moment,

Yet all part of one breathing whole.

A plant, a family—

Growing, glowing, giving—

Reminding us that even in fading,

There is beauty,

And in staying together,

There is strength.

Choice so important.

The Story of Rishi Markandeya

Long ago, in ancient India, there lived a noble couple — Rishi Mrikandu and his wife Marudvati. They were devoted to Lord Shiva but remained childless for many years. With deep faith, they performed intense penance to please the Lord.

Pleased with their devotion, Lord Shiva appeared before them and offered a boon.

He said:

“You may choose either a son who will be brilliant and virtuous but will live only sixteen years,

or a son who will live a long life but will not be wise.”

The parents chose the first — a child full of brilliance and virtue, even if his life was short.

Thus, Markandeya was born, a radiant boy with immense devotion.

Markandeya’s Devotion

As Markandeya grew, he excelled in learning and became deeply spiritual.

He was blessed, polite, pure-hearted, and fully devoted to Lord Shiva.

But as his sixteenth birthday approached, his parents were grief-stricken.

When Markandeya learned of his destined short life, he remained calm and said:

“I will pray to Lord Shiva. He will protect me.”

The Day of Destiny

On the day his life was destined to end, Markandeya went to the temple and embraced the Shiva Linga with total devotion.

He began chanting:

“Om Namah Shivaya… Om Namah Shivaya…”

At that moment, Yama, the god of death, arrived to take his soul.

But Markandeya refused to leave the linga.

Seeing the boy’s devotion, Yama threw his noose—it landed around Markandeya, but it also tightened around the Shiva Linga.

Shiva Appears in Anger

The moment the noose touched the linga, Lord Shiva emerged from it in fierce form, his eyes blazing with anger.

He roared:

“How dare you cast your noose on my devotee!”

Shiva struck Yama with his Trishul, defeating him instantly.

The entire universe trembled, for death itself had been subdued.

Granting of the Boon

The gods rushed to Shiva and pleaded for Yama’s revival, for without Yama the cosmos cannot function.

Shiva revived Yama but warned him never to approach true devotees without permission.

Then, turning to Markandeya, Shiva blessed him:

“You shall live forever.

You will remain a Chiranjivi, untouched by death.

You will be a symbol of devotion and purity.”

Thus, Rishi Markandeya became immortal.

Markandeya Darshan of the Cosmic Deluge

Later, Lord Vishnu also blessed Markandeya.

During the cosmic dissolution, Markandeya once saw:

the entire universe submerged in water,

a divine infant lying on a banyan leaf,

sucking his toe, smiling peacefully.

This was Baby Narayana, who granted him the darshan of the Mahapralaya (cosmic flood).

This vision is described in the Markandeya Purana, the scripture attributed to him.

True devotion can conquer even death.

God protects those who surrender completely with love.

Faith, purity, and courage make the impossible possible.

Good if used correctly.

Good Points in Favour of Technology

1. Increases Efficiency and Productivity

Technology helps us finish tasks faster and with greater accuracy. Machines, software, and automation reduce human effort and save time.

2. Improves Communication

Emails, video calls, messaging apps, and social media allow people to connect instantly across the world. Distance is no longer a barrier.

3. Advances in Medicine

Technology has revolutionized healthcare — from advanced scans (MRI, CT) to robotic surgeries and life-saving medicines. Diagnosis and treatment are faster and more accurate.

4. Enhances Education

Digital classrooms, online courses, educational apps, and smart boards make learning more interactive and accessible to everyone.

5. Better Safety and Security

CCTV cameras, biometric systems, disaster-warning technologies, and cybersecurity tools help protect people, data, and property.

6. Economic Growth

Technology drives industries, creates new jobs, supports innovation, and boosts national development.

7. Convenience in Daily Life

From online shopping and digital payments to home appliances and transportation apps, technology makes everyday life easier and more comfortable.

8. Encourages Innovation and Creativity

Design tools, research software, AI, and digital platforms inspire new ideas, inventions, and creative expression.

9. Environmental Solutions

Technology helps track pollution, create renewable energy, improve waste management, and promote sustainable solutions.

10. Access to Information

Search engines, digital libraries, and online platforms provide instant access to knowledge on any subject.

Regular than intense.

Consistency Beats Intensity

In a world that celebrates dramatic transformations and overnight success, we often forget the quiet power that shapes every lasting achievement: consistency. Intensity dazzles, but consistency delivers.

The Illusion of Intensity

Intensity is exciting.

It is the New Year resolution that begins with a three-hour workout.

It is the sudden decision to meditate for an hour a day.

It is the burst of motivation that makes us clean the whole house in one evening.

But intensity depends on emotion — and emotions, like weather, constantly change. What begins in enthusiasm often fades when real life returns with its routines, demands, and unpredictability.

Intensity creates a spark.

Consistency keeps the flame alive.

Why Consistency Wins

1. Small Actions Compound

A single drop of water does nothing. But drops falling continuously can drill through stone.

Doing something small every day builds a force called momentum, which grows quietly but powerfully.

2. Habits Build Identity

When you repeat an action, it becomes a habit; when you repeat a habit, it becomes part of who you are.

A person who reads 10 pages each day becomes a reader.

A person who walks every morning becomes a healthy individual.

A person who saves a little every month becomes financially stable.

Identity formed through repetition is stronger than identity formed through occasional enthusiasm.

3. Consistency Survives Life’s Ups and Downs

Intensity collapses when circumstances change.

Consistency adjusts itself: perhaps shorter, perhaps slower, but still moving.

Even a 10-minute effort maintains the chain. And that is enough.

4. The Brain Loves Patterns

The mind resists sudden, large changes — they feel like threats.

But small, repeated actions feel safe.

They become automatic, requiring less willpower over time.

Consistency transforms discipline into ease.

Examples 

Learning: Studying 20 minutes every day is more effective than 3 hours once a week.

Health: A 30-minute walk daily is better than a strenuous workout once in a while.

Relationships: Gentle, daily gestures create deeper bonds than rare grand acts.

Spirituality: A few minutes of sincere prayer or japa every day purifies more than a one-day intense ritual.

The secret is not how much we do, but how regularly we do.

How to Build Consistency

1. Start small — very small

Make your action so easy that you cannot say no.

Read 1 page, pray 2 minutes, write 3 lines. These tiny acts lead to larger ones naturally.

2. Attach it to something you already do

After tea, sit for 5 minutes of silence.

After walking, write your gratitude list.

This creates a firm routine.

3. Track your chain

A calendar or journal helps you visually see your commitment.

When you see a streak, you won’t want to break it.

4. Be flexible, not perfect

If you miss a day, restart the next.

Consistency is not about perfection — it is about return.

The Subtle Power

Intensity is loud.

Consistency is quiet.

Intensity creates hype.

Consistency creates history.

Every tree grows not by a sudden burst of sunlight, but by daily nourishment. Every devotion deepens not by a single ritual, but by repeated remembrance. Every mastery arises from patient repetition.

In life, the result you want tomorrow depends on the small step you take today — and repeat every day thereafter.

Consistency may look ordinary, but it produces extraordinary outcomes.

No script.

 Famous Indian Languages That Have No Script of Their Own, But Use a Local Script

1. Kutchi (Kachchhi) – Gujarat

Own script: None

Script used: Gujarati (earlier also Devanagari, Perso-Arabic in some communities)

Note: Small modifications/sound values differ from standard Gujarati.

2. Mysuru Tamil (also called Karnataka Tamil) – Karnataka

Own script: None

Script used: Kannada script informally

Note: Spoken by Tamil communities in Karnataka; writing uses Kannada for local communication and Tamil script for formal use.

3. Kodava (Coorg) – Karnataka

Own script: None

Script used: Traditionally Kannada script

Note: A separate script (Coorgi–Cox) has been recently created but is not widely adopted.

4. Tulu – Karnataka & Kerala

Own script: None in common use

Script used: Kannada script

Note: Tulu once had a script (Tigalari), but today almost everyone uses Kannada.

5. Konkani (Karnataka–Goa–Maharashtra)

Own script: None native in practice

Script used:

Devanagari (official)

Kannada (in Karnataka)

Roman script (in Goa)

Note: A classic example of a multi-script language.

6. Saraiki / Memoni (Sindhi communities in India)

Own script: None standard

Script used: Gujarati script in India

Note: Spoken by business/trading communities.

7. Bhutia / Sikkimese (India side)

Own script: None originally

Script used: Tibetan script

Note: Very similar to Mysuru-Tamil type usage: spoken widely, script borrowed.

8. Dakhini (Deccani Urdu) – Telangana / Karnataka / Maharashtra

Own script: None independent

Script used: Urdu script (Perso-Arabic)

Note: Spoken variety of Urdu with many local words.

9. Deccani Marathi (Hyderabadi Marathi)

Own script: None separate

Script used: Devanagari

Note: Has sound differences but uses standard Marathi script.

10. Saurashtra (Tamil Nadu / Karnataka)

Own script: Traditionally had one, but not used

Script used today: Tamil script

Note: Saurashtrian Brahmins speak it widely in Madurai/Salem.

11. Parsi Gujarati variations (Parsi-Gujju)

Own script: None

Script used: Gujarati

Note: Pronunciation and vocabulary differ, but script same.

Table: Indian Languages Without Traditional Script & Script Used Today

Language Region / Community Traditional Script Script Used Today

Gondi MP/Chhattisgarh None Gunjala Gondi / Devanagari / Telugu

Koya AP/Telangana None Telugu

Kui Odisha None Odia

Kuvi Odisha None Odia

Saora (Sora) Odisha None Sorang Sompeng (new) / Odia

Munda Jharkhand None Devanagari / Odia

Santali Jharkhand/ Bengal None Ol Chiki (new)

Ho Jharkhand None Warang Citi (new)

Mundari Jharkhand None Devanagari / Odia

Kharia Jharkhand None Devanagari

Korku MP None Devanagari

Birhor Jharkhand None Devanagari

Juang Odisha None Odia

Bhumij Bengal/Odisha None Ol Chiki / Odia

Asur Jharkhand None Devanagari

Kurukh (Oraon) Jharkhand None Tolong Siki / Devanagari

Malto Jharkhand None Devanagari

Kolami Telangana/MH None Telugu / Devanagari

Nihali MP/MH None Devanagari

Bhili (all dialects) Rajasthan/Gujarat None Gujarati / Devanagari

Wagdi Rajasthan None Devanagari

Garasia Rajasthan None Devanagari

Dungri Bhil Gujarat None Gujarati

Rathwi Gujarat None Gujarati

Tadvi Maharashtra None Devanagari

Kokni (Adivasi) Gujarat None Gujarati

Dhodia Gujarat None Gujarati

Varli Maharashtra None Devanagari

Kukna Gujarat None Gujarati

Toda Nilgiris None Tamil (borrowed)

Kota Nilgiris None Tamil

Badaga Nilgiris None Kannada (borrowed)

Irula TN/Kerala None Tamil

Kurumba TN/Kerala None Tamil

Paniya Kerala None Malayalam

Chenchu Andhra None Telugu

Yerukala AP/Telangana None Telugu

Sugali / Lambadi South India None Devanagari / Telugu

Mizo (Lushai) Mizoram None Roman script

Ao Naga Nagaland None Roman

Angami Naga Nagaland None Roman

Sema/Sumi Naga Nagaland None Roman

Lotha Naga Nagaland None Roman

Tangkhul Naga Manipur None Roman

Zeme / Liangmai Nagaland None Roman

Chang / Yimkhiung / Khiamniungan Nagaland None Roman

Karbi Assam None Roman / Assamese

Dimasa Assam None Diphothi (new) / Devanagari

Bodo Assam None Devanagari

Rabha Assam None Assamese

Tiwa Assam None Assamese

Mising Assam None Roman / Assamese

Adi Arunachal None Roman

Nyishi Arunachal None Roman

Apatani Arunachal None Roman

Nocte Arunachal None Roman

Wancho Arunachal None Wancho Script (new)

Tangsa Arunachal None Tangsa Script (new)

Bugun Arunachal None Roman

Puroik Arunachal None Roman

Monpa Arunachal None Tibetan

Sherdukpen Arunachal None Roman

Lepcha Sikkim None originally Róng script (18th century)

Ladakhi Ladakh None originally Tibetan script

Balti Ladakh None originally Tibetan / Roman

Raji Uttarakhand None Devanagari

Rangkas Uttarakhand None Devanagari

Jaunsari Uttarakhand None Devanagari

Tharu UP/Bihar None Devanagari

Toto Bengal None Bengali

Gadaba Odisha None Devanagari / Odia

Didayi Odisha None Odia

Bonda Odisha None Odia

Onge Andamans None No script (oral only)

Jarawa Andamans None No script (oral only)

Sentinelese Andamans None No script (oral only)

Great Andamanese Andamans None No script (oral only)