Monday, October 5, 2026

Kopeshwar kidrapur.



Imagine Creating This Without a Computer

Look carefully at this photograph.

Look at the pillars.

Look at the stone lacework.

Look at the sculptures suspended high above.

Look at the perfect circular geometry.

And then look up—

there is the sky.

This is the magnificent Kopeshwar Temple at Khidrapur in Maharashtra, a remarkable achievement of medieval Indian temple architecture.

Its most extraordinary feature is the Swarga Mandapa — the “Hall of Heaven.”

A circular pavilion rises on 48 intricately carved stone pillars, with a great opening at its centre through which the sky is visible. At the centre below is the circular Rangashila. The arrangement is not merely beautiful; it creates a breathtaking experience of standing between earth and sky. 

And think about what that means.

There were no computers to produce the geometry.

No CAD drawings.

No laser levels.

No CNC machines.

No modern cranes.

No 3-D modelling.

There were human beings, stone, measuring knowledge, geometry, proportion, patience—and an extraordinary understanding of how to make massive pieces of stone work together.

The temple is associated with the Kolhapur branch of the Shilahara dynasty, with construction generally placed in the 12th century. Later Yadava intervention is recorded by an inscription dated 1213 CE. 

But perhaps the greatest wonder is not simply how old it is.

It is that the people who built it did not think of architecture merely as putting stones together.

They created an experience.

You enter a stone world—and suddenly, above your head, the heavens open.

The pillars seem to rise like a forest.

The carvings seem to breathe.

Light enters from the sky.

And the entire structure draws the human eye upward.

Stone becomes space.

Geometry becomes beauty.

Architecture becomes experience.

And that is why photographs like this make us pause and say:

How did they do it?

Perhaps the better question is:

What kind of civilisation produces craftsmen capable of imagining something like this—and then patiently carving that imagination into stone?

This is not merely ancient history.

It is a reminder of the astonishing intellectual, artistic and spiritual inheritance of India.

India did not need computers to imagine the impossible.

Her craftsmen carried the geometry in their minds and the devotion in their hands. 

Aditya Bhāskara

 There are many beautiful Hindu prayers to Sūrya, the Sun God, ranging from very short daily mantras to longer stotras. The most commonly used are:

 1. Sūrya Gāyatrī

ॐ भास्कराय विद्महे

महाद्युतिकराय धीमहि

तन्नः सूर्यः प्रचोदयात् ॥

Om Bhāskarāya Vidmahe

Mahādyutikarāya Dhīmahi

Tanno Sūryaḥ Prachodayāt.

We meditate upon Bhāskara, the radiant One.

May that Sun, the great source of light, illuminate and guide our intellect.

2. Āditya Hṛdayam

The celebrated prayer to Sūrya in the Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa. Sage Agastya teaches it to Rama on the battlefield before his final encounter with Ravana.

It begins:

ततो युद्धपरिश्रान्तं समरे चिन्तया स्थितम् ।

रावणं चाग्रतो दृष्ट्वा युद्धाय समुपस्थितम् ॥

Seeing Rama exhausted in battle and Ravana standing before him, ready for combat…

And then Agastya teaches Rama the Āditya Hṛdayam, praising Sūrya as the visible manifestation of the Divine, the source of life, energy and light.

This is perhaps the most profound traditional prayer to Sūrya.

3. Simple Sūrya Mantra

ॐ सूर्याय नमः ।

Om Sūryāya Namaḥ

Salutations to Sūrya.

You can chant it while offering water to the rising Sun.

4. The 12 Āditya Names

During Sūrya Namaskāra, the Sun is traditionally invoked through twelve names:

ॐ मित्राय नमः — Om Mitrāya Namaḥ

ॐ रवये नमः — Om Ravaye Namaḥ

ॐ सूर्याय नमः — Om Sūryāya Namaḥ

ॐ भानवे नमः — Om Bhānave Namaḥ

ॐ खगाय नमः — Om Khagāya Namaḥ

ॐ पूष्णे नमः — Om Pūṣṇe Namaḥ

ॐ हिरण्यगर्भाय नमः — Om Hiraṇyagarbhāya Namaḥ

ॐ मरीचये नमः — Om Marīcaye Namaḥ

ॐ आदित्याय नमः — Om Ādityāya Namaḥ

ॐ सवित्रे नमः — Om Savitre Namaḥ

ॐ अर्काय नमः — Om Arkāya Namaḥ

ॐ भास्कराय नमः — Om Bhāskarāya Namaḥ

5. A very familiar morning verse

आदिदेव नमस्तुभ्यं प्रसीद मम भास्कर ।

दिवाकर नमस्तुभ्यं प्रभाकर नमोऽस्तु ते ॥

Ādideva namastubhyaṁ, prasīda mama Bhāskara

Divākara namastubhyaṁ, Prabhākara namo'stu te.

O primordial Divine One, O Bhāskara, I bow to you.

O maker of the day, O giver of light, my salutations to you.

A simple, complete morning Sūrya worship sequence that can be followed after bathing, especially at sunrise. There are many regional and sampradāya variations; this is a traditional, devotional sequence rather than a claim that there is only one prescribed order.

 Sūrya Pūjā — A Morning Sequence

1. Begin with remembrance

Stand facing the rising Sun, preferably in the morning. Join your palms and remember the Divine as the source of light, life and consciousness.

ॐ सूर्याय नमः ।

Om Sūryāya Namaḥ.

Meaning:

Salutations to Sūrya, the radiant Sun God.

You may repeat this 3 times.

2. Offer Arghya to Sūrya

Take clean water in both hands or in a small vessel and slowly offer it toward the Sun, allowing the water to flow through your joined palms.

A traditional arghya mantra is:

ॐ आदित्याय नमः ।

Om Ādityāya Namaḥ.

Meaning:

Salutations to Āditya, the Divine Sun.

You may offer water three times, reciting the mantra each time.

Another beautiful longer prayer while offering water is:

आदिदेव नमस्तुभ्यं

प्रसीद मम भास्कर ।

दिवाकर नमस्तुभ्यं

प्रभाकर नमोऽस्तु ते ॥

Ādideva namastubhyaṁ

Prasīda mama Bhāskara

Divākara namastubhyaṁ

Prabhākara namo'stu te.

Meaning:

O Primordial Divine One, I bow to You.

O Bhāskara, be gracious to me.

O Maker of the day, I bow to You.

O Giver of light, my salutations to You.

3. The Twelve Names of Sūrya

These twelve names are traditionally associated with Sūrya Namaskāra. They are beautiful to recite while mentally contemplating the different aspects of the Sun.

1. Mitra — Friend of all

ॐ मित्राय नमः ।

Om Mitrāya Namaḥ.

Salutations to the Friend of all beings.

2. Ravi — The Radiant One

ॐ रवये नमः ।

Om Ravaye Namaḥ.

Salutations to the One who shines and illumines.

3. Sūrya — The Divine Sun

ॐ सूर्याय नमः ।

Om Sūryāya Namaḥ.

Salutations to the radiant Lord who dispels darkness.

4. Bhānu — The Shining One

ॐ भानवे नमः ।

Om Bhānave Namaḥ.

Salutations to the One who radiates light.

5. Khaga — The One who moves through the sky

ॐ खगाय नमः ।

Om Khagāya Namaḥ.

Salutations to the One who traverses the heavens.

6. Pūṣan — The Nourisher

ॐ पूष्णे नमः ।

Om Pūṣṇe Namaḥ.

Salutations to the One who nourishes and sustains all life.

7. Hiraṇyagarbha — The Golden Cosmic Womb

ॐ हिरण्यगर्भाय नमः ।

Om Hiraṇyagarbhāya Namaḥ.

Salutations to the Golden Cosmic Source from which creation arises.

8. Marīci — Lord of the Rays

ॐ मरीचये नमः ।

Om Marīcaye Namaḥ.

Salutations to the One whose rays spread throughout the universe.

9. Āditya — Son of Aditi

ॐ आदित्याय नमः ।

Om Ādityāya Namaḥ.

Salutations to Āditya, the radiant son of Aditi.

10. Savitṛ — The Divine Impeller

ॐ सवित्रे नमः ।

Om Savitre Namaḥ.

Salutations to Savitṛ, the divine source who impels and inspires all life.

11. Arka — The Radiant One

ॐ अर्काय नमः ।

Om Arkāya Namaḥ.

Salutations to the One who shines with splendour.

12. Bhāskara — The Giver of Light

ॐ भास्कराय नमः ।

Om Bhāskarāya Namaḥ.

Salutations to the One who produces and spreads light.

4. Sūrya Gāyatrī

After the twelve names, you may sit quietly and chant the Sūrya Gāyatrī:

ॐ भास्कराय विद्महे

महाद्युतिकराय धीमहि ।

तन्नः सूर्यः प्रचोदयात् ॥

Om Bhāskarāya Vidmahe

Mahādyutikarāya Dhīmahi

Tannaḥ Sūryaḥ Prachodayāt.

Meaning:

We contemplate Bhāskara, the radiant One.

We meditate upon the great illuminator.

May Sūrya inspire and illumine our intellect.

This is especially beautiful in the morning because the prayer moves from physical light to inner light.

5. A prayer for health, strength and well-being

आदित्यं प्राप्य यत् पापं

नश्यत्येव न संशयः ।

सर्वरोगप्रशमनं

आदित्यस्य नमोऽस्तु ते ॥

Ādityaṁ prāpya yat pāpaṁ

Naśyatyeva na saṁśayaḥ

Sarvaroga-praśamanaṁ

Ādityasya namo'stu te.

Meaning:

Whatever darkness and wrongdoing are overcome by approaching Āditya, so indeed it is said.

To the Divine Sun, who is invoked for the removal of affliction, I offer my salutations.

For a simple daily practice, you need not make the prayer elaborate. Devotion and regularity matter more than length.

6. Āditya Hṛdayam — the great Sūrya prayer

If you want a longer prayer, the Āditya Hṛdayam from the Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa is the most celebrated choice.

Sage Agastya teaches it to Śrī Rāma when Rama is exhausted before the decisive battle with Rāvaṇa.

The central teaching is wonderfully suited to morning worship: Sūrya is not merely the physical Sun, but a visible manifestation of the Divine presence that sustains the universe.

Its famous opening is:

ततो युद्धपरिश्रान्तं

समरे चिन्तया स्थितम् ।

रावणं चाग्रतो दृष्ट्वा

युद्धाय समुपस्थितम् ॥

Tato yuddha-pariśrāntaṁ

Samare cintayā sthitam

Rāvaṇaṁ cāgrato dṛṣṭvā

Yuddhāya samupasthitam.

Then, seeing Rama exhausted from battle, standing absorbed in thought, and seeing Ravana before him, ready for combat…

Agastya then says:

आदित्यहृदयं पुण्यं

सर्वशत्रुविनाशनम् ।

जयावहं जपेन्नित्यम्

अक्षयं परमं शिवम् ॥

Āditya-hṛdayaṁ puṇyaṁ

Sarva-śatru-vināśanam

Jayāvahaṁ japennityam

Akṣayaṁ paramaṁ śivam.

This sacred Āditya Hṛdayam destroys all that stands as an enemy; it brings victory, is eternal and supremely auspicious.

A very simple daily version

If you want something that can realistically become a daily morning habit, I would suggest:

1. Face the Sun

ॐ सूर्याय नमः ।

Om Sūryāya Namaḥ.

2. Offer water three times

ॐ आदित्याय नमः ।

Om Ādityāya Namaḥ.

3. Recite the 12 names

Mitrāya → Ravaye → Sūryāya → Bhānave → Khagāya → Pūṣṇe → Hiraṇyagarbhāya → Marīcaye → Ādityāya → Savitre → Arkāya → Bhāskarāya.

4. Chant Sūrya Gāyatrī once or three times.

5. End with:

ॐ भास्कराय नमः ।

Om Bhāskarāya Namaḥ.

Salutations to the Giver of Light.

And then pause for a few moments and simply look at the morning light with gratitude.

That last moment is important. Sūrya worship is not only asking the Sun for health or prosperity. It is an acknowledgement: “Without this light, I could not see, breathe, grow, think or live.” The physical Sun becomes a doorway to gratitude for the Divine source behind all life.

Sunday, October 4, 2026

Antaryami.

 

The God Who Governs From Within

The Antaryāmin — one of the most precise descriptions of the Divine in the Upanishads

There are many ways in which the Upanishads speak about God.

Sometimes the Divine is described as infinite, unborn and beyond thought. Sometimes as pure consciousness, as Brahman, as the Self.

But in the Bṛhadāraṇyaka Upaniṣad, there is a passage that describes the Divine in an extraordinarily precise and almost scientific manner.

It asks us to look not upward, but within.

In the court of King Janaka at Mithila, the great sage Yājñavalkya is questioned by Uddālaka Āruṇi. Uddālaka is the same revered teacher who, in the Chāndogya Upaniṣad, teaches his son Śvetaketu the profound truth:

Tat Tvam Asi — That Thou Art.

Here, however, the questioning takes another direction.

Uddālaka asks Yājñavalkya about the principle that holds the world together — the unseen reality that governs everything from within.

Yājñavalkya answers with a remarkable formula.

And then he repeats it, again and again.

First, he speaks of the earth:

“He who dwells in the earth, yet is other than the earth, whom the earth does not know, whose body the earth is, who governs the earth from within — He is your Self, the Inner Controller, the Immortal.”

Then the same teaching is applied to water.

To fire.

To the sky.

To the air.

To the sun, moon and stars.

To all beings.

And then, most intimately, to the human being:

To breath.

To speech.

To the eye.

To the ear.

To the mind.

To the skin.

The formula remains essentially unchanged:

He dwells within it.
He is other than it.
It does not know Him.
It is His body.
He governs it from within.

This is the Antaryāmin — the Inner Controller.

The unseen Governor

The Sanskrit passage begins:

Yaḥ pṛthivyāṃ tiṣṭhan pṛthivyā bahir,
yaṃ pṛthivī na veda,
yasya pṛthivī śarīram,
yaḥ pṛthivīm antaro yamayati —
eṣa ta ātmāntaryāmy amṛtaḥ.

The meaning is:

“He who dwells in the earth, yet is other than the earth; whom the earth does not know; whose body the earth is; who governs the earth from within — He is your Self, the Inner Controller, the Immortal.”

What an extraordinary idea.

The earth itself does not know the One who governs it.

Water does not know.

Fire does not know.

The eye does not know the One by whose presence it sees.

The ear does not know the One by whose presence it hears.

The mind does not know the One by whose presence it thinks.

And yet that unseen reality is present within all of them.

The governed cannot easily see the Governor

There is a beautiful philosophical precision here.

We normally imagine that if something governs us, we should be able to identify it.

But the Upanishad turns that assumption upside down.

The eye sees, but it cannot see the principle by which seeing itself is possible.

The ear hears, but it cannot hear the source of hearing.

The mind thinks, but it cannot, merely by thinking, grasp that which makes thinking possible.

The instrument cannot stand outside itself and easily observe the reality that enables its functioning.

This is why the Upanishadic description is so subtle.

The Inner Controller is not merely somewhere inside us like another object hidden inside the body.

He is the very inner principle of governance.

He is closer than anything we can point to.

Look at the floor beneath your feet

The Upanishadic teaching can suddenly become very intimate.

Touch the floor beneath your feet.

The earth supports you.

But the earth does not say, “I am supporting this person.”

You breathe.

Your lungs function continuously.

Yet your lungs do not sit down and decide, “Now we shall breathe.”

Your heart beats.

Your eyes see.

Your ears hear.

Your mind thinks.

So much of life happens without the conscious command of the person who says, “I am doing it.”

Something is happening within us before our ordinary ego even enters the picture.

The Upanishad asks us to contemplate that mystery.

Not far away

Perhaps the most beautiful aspect of the teaching is its insistence that the Divine is not remote.

We often imagine God as somewhere beyond the heavens.

The Antaryāmin teaching asks us to look in the opposite direction.

Not far away.
Not outside creation.
Not merely above us.
Within.

The Divine is the One who dwells in the earth.

The One who dwells in water.

The One who dwells in fire.

The One who dwells in the cosmos.

The One who dwells in all beings.

And finally, the One who dwells within you.

Yet the Divine is not reduced to the things in which He dwells.

He is within them, yet other than them.

The earth is His body, but He is not merely the earth.

The body is His body, but He is not merely the body.

The mind is His body, but He is not merely the mind.

That distinction is central to the teaching.

From the universe to the individual

Notice the extraordinary movement of the Upanishad.

It begins with the vastness of the cosmos:

Earth → water → fire → sky → air → celestial bodies → beings

And then it moves inward:

breath → speech → eye → ear → mind → skin

The entire universe and the individual are brought into one vision.

The same Inner Controller is present everywhere.

The Divine is not divided into separate gods governing separate parts.

There is one Antaryāmin.

One Inner Controller.

One Immortal.

The mystery of the Self

The Upanishad concludes each description with words of extraordinary intimacy:

“Eṣa ta ātmāntaryāmy amṛtaḥ.”

“He is your Self, the Inner Controller, the Immortal.”

This is where the teaching becomes more than cosmology.

It becomes a question about who we really are.

If the body is governed from within, who is the governor?

If the mind itself is something governed, who is the Inner Controller?

If the senses are instruments, who is the one for whom these instruments function?

The Upanishad does not invite us merely to accept an answer.

It invites us to look.

To become quiet.

To notice.

To discover that the reality we spend our lives searching for may be the very reality by which we are able to search.

The Divine we overlook

Perhaps this is the paradox of the Antaryāmin.

He is everywhere, and therefore we overlook Him.

He is within everything, and therefore we search for Him elsewhere.

He is closer than the senses, yet the senses cannot grasp Him.

He is the inner light of our functioning, yet the mind cannot simply turn Him into another object of thought.

The earth does not know Him.

The eye does not see Him.

The ear does not hear Him.

The mind does not capture Him.

And yet—

nothing functions without Him.

That is the astonishing vision of the Antaryāmin Brahmana of the Bṛhadāraṇyaka Upaniṣad.

The Divine is not merely the One who stands above creation and commands it.

He is the One who dwells within, sustains, directs and governs from within.

The God we seek may be nearer than the next breath.

So near that the earth cannot know Him.

So near that the eye cannot see Him.

So near that the mind cannot grasp Him.

And yet—

**He is the Inner Controller.

He is the Immortal.

He is the Self within.**

How to Live in Wonder

The Wisdom of a Dandelion — A Tribute to G. K. Chesterton

There are some writers who give us information.

There are others who give us ideas.

And then there are a rare few who make us look at the world again.

G. K. Chesterton was one of them.

Reading him, one discovers that the extraordinary does not always announce itself with trumpets. Sometimes it appears quietly—in a flower, a child's face, a sunrise, a bird, or simply in the astonishing fact that we are alive.

One of Chesterton's thoughts that stays with me is his call to rediscover a “burst of astonishment at our own existence.”

What a remarkable expression.

We spend so much of our lives waiting for something extraordinary to happen that we forget the extraordinary thing that has already happened:

We exist.

We have been given eyes with which to see the world, ears with which to hear it, a mind with which to wonder, a heart with which to love, and a life in which to experience it all.

And yet familiarity has a strange power.

The sunrise that once delighted us becomes “just another sunrise.”

Rain becomes something that interferes with our plans.

A flower becomes something we have seen countless times.

A bird on the balcony becomes merely a bird.

We stop being astonished.

Chesterton reminds us, almost playfully, that perhaps the problem is not that the world has become less wonderful.

We have simply stopped looking at it with wonder.

The wisdom of a dandelion

Think of the dandelion.

It is not a rare or exotic flower. It does not demand attention. It grows almost unnoticed, sometimes in the most ordinary places.

And yet, look at it properly.

A tiny seed becomes a living plant.

A green stem rises from the earth.

A yellow flower opens to the sun.

Later, a delicate globe of seeds appears.

The wind carries those tiny seeds away to begin the mystery all over again.

How many times have we walked past such a flower without seeing any of this?

The dandelion does not need to become a rose to deserve our admiration.

It is wonderful simply because it is what it is.

That is perhaps one of Chesterton's great gifts to us: the ability to recover amazement in the commonplace.

He makes us understand that wonder does not necessarily require a journey to some distant place.

It may be waiting outside our own window.

A crow arriving because it remembers where it is fed.

The first drops of rain.

The changing colour of the evening sky.

A child's laughter.

The fragrance of a flower.

The familiar face of someone we love.

The simple miracle of waking up tomorrow morning.

To live in wonder

Perhaps living in wonder does not mean being constantly excited.

It means not allowing familiarity to make us blind.

It means occasionally stopping in the middle of our busy lives and asking:

Have I really looked at this?

Have I really listened?

Have I noticed how extraordinary this ordinary thing is?

As we grow older, perhaps one of the greatest gifts we can give ourselves is the ability to become a child again—not childish, but childlike in our capacity for astonishment.

To see the moon and still look up.

To hear thunder and still pause.

To watch rain and not immediately reach for the phone.

To see a bird and wonder where it came from.

To notice the first light of morning.

To be grateful simply for another day.

Chesterton's wisdom is not merely about flowers or childhood or imagination.

It is ultimately about gratitude for existence itself.

And that is why his words continue to speak to us.

He reminds us that life does not have to become bigger for us to appreciate it.

We have to become more awake to the life we already have.

Perhaps that is what it means to live in wonder.

To look at a dandelion and see a miracle.

To look at a crow and see intelligence and life.

To look at the sky and feel small—but wonderfully alive.

And sometimes, just sometimes, to stop everything and experience that “burst of astonishment at our own existence.”

Thank you, G. K. Chesterton, for reminding us to look again.

The world has not lost its wonder.

We have only to rediscover our eyes.

Saturday, October 3, 2026

The inteligent.

The Crows at Our Home — Our Daily Visitors
Every day, we feed the crows at our home.
Slowly, they have become familiar visitors. They arrive, wait for their food, call to one another, and sometimes sit along the balcony railing as though they own the place!
This photograph captured one such moment. Look carefully—there is even one crow flying in to join the others. The row of waiting birds almost looks like a little gathering of old friends.
We often think of the crow as an ordinary bird—black, noisy and everywhere around us. But when we begin watching them closely, we discover something quite extraordinary.
They remember. They recognise. They learn. They communicate. They solve problems. They observe human behaviour. And, remarkably, there is evidence that some birds, including crows, can use plants or other substances in ways that may help them deal with parasites or illness.
Perhaps our daily visitors have been teaching us something without our noticing:
When we show kindness regularly, even a wild creature can learn to trust us.
And once trust is established, a balcony can become a meeting place between two worlds—ours and theirs.











The Crow — The Bird That Thinks, Remembers and Learns

We often see crows as ordinary birds.

They sit on rooftops, call loudly from trees, search for food, and fly away when we approach. In Indian homes, we may even know them as familiar visitors who appear around mealtimes.

But look a little closer.

Behind those black feathers is one of the most remarkable minds in the bird world.

The crow is not merely a bird that survives by instinct. It can remember, learn, solve problems, use tools, recognize individuals, communicate information and adapt its behaviour to new situations.

The more scientists study crows, the more fascinating they become.

A Brain Built for Problem-Solving

Crows belong to the corvid family, which includes ravens, rooks, jackdaws and jays.

Although a crow's brain is tiny compared with ours, its cognitive abilities can be extraordinary.

Laboratory experiments have shown crows solving problems that require several steps. They can learn that one action produces another result and can select an appropriate object for a particular task.

It is not simply:

“I have done this before.”

Sometimes it appears closer to:

“If I do this, something useful will happen.”

That ability to make connections is one of the foundations of intelligent behaviour.

The Crow That Makes Tools

Perhaps the most famous example comes from the New Caledonian crow.

These crows use sticks and other plant material as tools to obtain food hidden inside holes and crevices.

Some can modify materials into more useful shapes—including hooked tools.

Think about what that means.

The bird sees food that it cannot reach directly.

It finds a suitable object.

It modifies the object.

It uses the modified object to obtain the food.

That is a remarkable chain of behaviour for a bird.

And young crows can learn such techniques by observing experienced birds.

Knowledge, therefore, does not always have to begin again with every generation.

A Crow Can Remember Your Face

Here is something that may make us look differently at the crow sitting outside our window.

Crows can recognize individual human faces.

Researchers have found that crows can remember people who have threatened or captured them and can continue to respond differently to those individuals long after the original encounter.

Even more fascinating, other crows may learn about a dangerous person through the reactions of their companions.

Imagine one crow discovering:

“That human is dangerous.”

Other crows notice its alarm.

They remember the person.

The information spreads.

It is almost like a tiny warning system operating in the trees.

They Learn From One Another

This may be one of the most important aspects of crow intelligence.

A crow does not necessarily have to discover everything by itself.

It can observe.

It can imitate.

It can remember.

It can learn.

And knowledge can spread through a group.

This is sometimes described as social learning.

In the animal world, this is extremely important because learning from others saves time—and sometimes saves lives.

A young crow does not have to personally experience every danger if it can learn from the older birds.

They Know More Than One Way to Get Food

Crows are extraordinarily adaptable.

If one method of finding food stops working, they can try another.

They have learned to exploit human environments, open containers, search rubbish, drop hard objects to break them, and take advantage of opportunities that other birds may overlook.

Their success is partly due to their intelligence—but also to their extraordinary ability to adapt.

A changing environment does not necessarily defeat a crow.

It gives the crow another problem to solve.

What About Self-Medication?

This is where the story becomes especially intriguing.

Many animals have been observed eating plants or other substances at unusual times or in unusual ways, possibly because these substances help them deal with parasites, illness or other health problems.

Scientists call this area of research zoopharmacognosy—the study of how animals may use natural substances for medicinal purposes.

There are compelling examples of self-medication in several animals, including insects, primates and some birds.

Crows and other corvids have also attracted interest because of their unusual feeding behaviours.

But here we should separate fascinating observation from established fact.

It is tempting to say:

“Crows know which plants are medicines and deliberately prescribe them to themselves.”

Science has not established such a simple conclusion.

Researchers are still investigating whether particular behaviours represent genuine self-medication or whether there are other explanations.

The important point is that animals clearly do sometimes interact with plants and other natural substances in ways that may have health benefits.

Nature may contain a pharmacy that animals have been exploring for millions of years.

They Even Remember Where Things Are

Crows are excellent at remembering locations.

A bird that has hidden food may later return to the place where it stored it.

This requires more than simply remembering food.

It requires remembering where something was left.

And if another crow is watching, the story becomes even more interesting.

A crow may behave differently when hiding food if it suspects another bird is observing.

That suggests an awareness of what another bird might know.

Scientists call this area social cognition—the ability to understand and respond to the behaviour and knowledge of others.

The Crow's Language

Crows do not speak human languages, of course.

But their calls are not meaningless noise.

Different calls can communicate different kinds of information—about danger, food, territory and other social situations.

Their communication system is complex enough that researchers continue to study how much information individual calls and combinations of calls can carry.

The crow's world is therefore filled with information that we may simply hear as:

“Caw! Caw! Caw!”

To another crow, it may mean considerably more.

A Lesson in Intelligence

The crow teaches us something important about intelligence.

Intelligence does not always look like ours.

We tend to measure intelligence through human abilities—language, writing, mathematics, reading and technology.

But nature has produced many different kinds of intelligence.

The crow has no hands.

So it uses its beak.

It has no written language.

So it communicates through calls and behaviour.

It cannot build a laboratory.

So it experiments with the world around it.

It does not go to school.

Yet it learns from its elders.

And it has no human teacher.

Yet it can become remarkably good at solving problems.

A Small Bird with a Large Mind

Perhaps that is why the crow deserves more respect than we usually give it.

It watches.

It remembers.

It experiments.

It learns.

It adapts.

And sometimes, it teaches others.

The next time a crow sits on a wall and looks at you with those bright, observant eyes, pause for a moment.

Perhaps it is not simply looking.

Perhaps it is watching and remembering.

For the crow, the world is not merely a place to find food.

It is a world of problems to solve, dangers to remember, opportunities to discover and lessons to learn.

And that little black bird reminds us of something wonderfully humbling:

**Intelligence has many shapes.

Sometimes, it has wings.**


Bhoj the k ing

 Raja Bhoj — the king who wanted to know everything

The story of Raja Bhoj is one of the most fascinating chapters of medieval India's intellectual history. He was not remembered merely as a conqueror. He became famous as a king-scholar—a ruler who believed that the responsibilities of a king included learning, building, preserving knowledge and encouraging the learned.

Raja Bhoj of the Paramara dynasty ruled Malwa


approximately from 1010 to 1055 CE, with Dhara (Dhar) as his principal capital.

But the historical Bhoj and the Bhoj of popular legend eventually became intertwined. It is therefore useful to tell his story in two layers: what history establishes, and what tradition remembers.

The young prince

Bhoj was the son of Sindhuraja, the Paramara ruler of Malwa.

Later traditions tell us that Bhoj suffered from a serious illness in his youth and that learned physicians eventually restored him. Whether every detail of this story is historical is uncertain, but it fits the larger image that developed around Bhoj: a ruler deeply interested in medicine, science and learning.

When he became king, he inherited a kingdom surrounded by powerful rivals.

And this is where Bhoj's remarkable story begins.

A king who became a scholar

Most medieval kings were expected to know warfare, administration and diplomacy.

Bhoj went much further.

He is traditionally associated with works covering an extraordinary range of subjects—architecture, poetics, grammar, yoga, medicine, astronomy, statecraft and philosophy.

The Samarāṅgaṇa Sūtradhāra, associated with Bhoj, is particularly famous for its discussion of architecture, town planning, temples, houses, mechanical devices and engineering.

His Śṛṅgāra Prakāśa deals with Sanskrit literary theory and aesthetics.

The important point is not that Bhoj personally wrote every work attributed to him. Modern scholarship treats some of these attributions cautiously. Rather, the surviving tradition shows that his court was an extraordinary centre of intellectual activity.

He wanted knowledge to flourish around him.

Bhoj the builder

And then there was his passion for building.

At Bhojpur, near present-day Bhopal, stands the unfinished but magnificent Bhojeshwar Mahadev Temple.

Its enormous Shiva linga and massive architectural proportions give us a sense of the ambition of the project.

The Bhojpur complex was not simply a temple. The surrounding landscape contains evidence of a much larger project involving water management and an enormous reservoir.

This is one reason Raja Bhoj is so interesting: his imagination was not confined to the palace or battlefield.

He thought in terms of cities, temples, water, architecture and knowledge.

The king and the lake

There is a famous tradition that Bhoj suffered from a skin disease and that he was advised to bathe in water from 365 springs.

Whether this story is historical cannot be established with certainty.

But the tradition says that engineers under Bhoj brought together the waters of numerous streams and created a gigantic lake.

The lake became known as Bhojtal—today's Upper Lake of Bhopal.

The historical waterworks around Bhojpur are real, even though the colourful story about the king's illness and the 365 springs belongs more properly to tradition than established history.

Bhoj and the scholars

There is another reason the name Bhoj survived so powerfully.

Indian literary tradition came to use “Bhoj's court” almost as a symbol of the ideal royal court, where poets, philosophers and scholars were honoured.

The famous expression “Where is Raja Bhoj and where is Gangu Teli?” comes from a later popular tradition and should not be treated as straightforward history.

Likewise, the stories connecting Bhoj with Kalidasa are chronologically problematic. Kalidasa is generally placed many centuries earlier than Bhoj. Such stories tell us about Bhoj's legendary reputation rather than proving that the two actually met.

A warrior as well

Bhoj was not merely a bookish king.

He fought wars and was involved in the complicated political struggles of eleventh-century India. The Paramaras had to contend with major powers including the Chalukyas of Kalyani, the Chaulukyas of Gujarat and other neighbouring kingdoms.

His reign saw both victories and reversals.

That makes the real Bhoj more interesting than the perfect king of legend.

He was a ruler dealing with the very real problems of war, territory, alliances and succession, while simultaneously nurturing learning and monumental construction.

And then came the end

Bhoj ruled for roughly four and a half decades.

Near the end of his reign, he faced serious military pressure. His final years were marked by conflict with neighbouring rulers.

He died around 1055 CE.

But something unusual happened after his death.

His kingdom changed.

His reputation did not.

The historical king gradually became a cultural archetype—the ruler who valued learning, honoured scholars, built great temples and thought on a scale larger than himself.

That is why even today, when Indians hear the name Raja Bhoj, they often think not merely of a medieval Paramara ruler, but of an ideal:

A king should not merely possess power.

He should possess knowledge—and use both for the good of his kingdom.


Patwa



 The photograph is of Patwon Ki Haveli (Patwa Haveli), Jaisalmer, Rajasthan. Kothari's Patwon Ki Haveli / Patwa Haveli

What makes this photograph particularly beautiful is that it captures the extraordinary stone-carving detail, rather than simply the overall façade.

Patwon Ki Haveli is actually a cluster of five interconnected havelis, begun around 1805 by the wealthy merchant Guman Chand Patwa and developed over several decades for his family. It is built almost entirely of Jaisalmer's characteristic golden-yellow sandstone. 

Look closely at the picture:

The wooden doorway is surrounded by an elaborate sandstone arch.

The tiny jali screens on either side are carved so finely that the stone almost looks like lace.

Below the doorway are successive bands of floral and geometric carving.

The projecting balconies are supported by rows of beautifully carved stone brackets, each seemingly different.

Even the smallest borders have been treated as decoration—nothing has been left plain.

This is one of the remarkable features of Jaisalmer's architecture: the desert stone itself became the canvas for the craftsman. Government descriptions of Jaisalmer's traditional architecture specifically note its carved façades, jharokhas and decorative elements as adaptations to the arid environment as well as expressions of artistry. 

Patwon Ki Haveli, Jaisalmer — When Stone Becomes Lace

In the golden city of Jaisalmer, even stone seems to forget that it is stone.

At Patwon Ki Haveli, every doorway, balcony, jali and bracket has been patiently carved into an intricate work of art. Flowers, patterns and delicate screens emerge from the hard golden sandstone as though a sculptor were carving wood—or weaving lace.

Built by a prosperous merchant family, this magnificent cluster of five havelis is a reminder that India's artistic traditions were not confined to palaces and temples. A merchant's home, too, could become a celebration of beauty.

Here, the craftsman's hand has transformed the desert's stone into the larger story of Indian craftsmanship: when skill, patience and imagination meet an ordinary material, even a house can become a work of art.