Silence

 The Silence of a Wife

Silence is often mistaken for absence.

But in a wife, silence is rarely empty. It is full—of thought, of restraint, of love, of wounds she chose not to speak aloud.

A wife’s silence is not the quiet of indifference. It is the quiet of depth.

The First Language She Learns

Before words, she learns observation.

She learns the moods of the house like seasons—

the tone of footsteps, the pause in a sentence, the fatigue hidden behind routine.

She does not always speak what she notices.

Because sometimes peace is more valuable than being heard.

Her silence becomes her first offering to the home.

The Silence of Adjustment

When she first enters a new household, she brings memories like folded clothes in a suitcase. Familiar voices. Familiar smells. Familiar ways of doing small things.

Then she folds them away quietly.

She learns new rhythms.

New expectations.

New ways of belonging.

And when she misses what she left behind, she does not always say it aloud.

That ache becomes silence.

Not because it is small—

but because she does not want it to become heavy for others.

The Silence of Care

A wife remembers everything no one asks her to remember.

The medicine schedule.

The favorite dish.

The mood of the child after school.

The stress hidden in her husband’s eyes after work.

She carries the invisible tasks of love.

And when they go unnoticed, she often smiles and says nothing.

This silence is not weakness.

It is devotion that refuses applause.

The Silence of Hurt

There is another silence too.

The silence after words spoken carelessly.

The silence after being misunderstood.

The silence after giving more than she had energy to give.

This silence is heavy.

It is not chosen—it is endured.

Because sometimes explaining pain feels more exhausting than carrying it.

The Silence of Strength

A wife’s silence is also her strength.

She knows when to speak.

She knows when words would wound.

She knows when time will heal what arguments cannot.

So she waits.

In that waiting lives patience.

In that patience lives love.

The Silence That Speaks

The irony is this:

Her silence says more than speeches.

It says:

“I am here.”

“I am holding this home together.”

“I am choosing peace today.”

“I am stronger than my complaints.”

“I love beyond words.”

When Silence Should Be Heard

The world often celebrates loud sacrifices and visible achievements.

But the quiet sacrifices inside homes go unnoticed.

The silence of a wife should not always remain unheard.

Sometimes it needs gratitude.

Sometimes it needs understanding.

Sometimes it needs a simple question:

“Are you okay?”

Because behind her silence is a heart that speaks constantly.

And when that heart feels seen,

her silence turns back into laughter.

In truth, the silence of a wife is not emptiness.

It is a language of love written without words.

Silent knower.

 The Story of Jada Bharata – The Silent Knower

The story of Jada Bharata, found in the Bhagavata Purana, is one of the most profound spiritual journeys in Indian tradition. It teaches how attachment binds the soul—and how true wisdom shines in silence.

First Birth – King Bharata

Long ago, there lived a great emperor named King Bharata, son of Rishabha. He ruled with righteousness and devotion. So noble was he that the land of India came to be called Bharata Varsha after him.

After ruling wisely, the king renounced his kingdom to pursue spiritual realization. He went to the forest, meditated, and worshipped God sincerely. His life was nearing liberation.

But destiny had a subtle test waiting.

One day he found a baby deer whose mother had died. Out of compassion, the king began caring for the fawn. Slowly, affection turned into attachment. His meditation weakened. His mind constantly worried about the deer.

At the moment of death, his last thought was of the deer.

And according to the law of karma, one becomes what one thinks of at death.

Second Birth – The Deer

King Bharata was reborn as a deer.

However, due to his past spiritual practices, he retained memory of his previous life. As a deer, he realized the danger of attachment. He stayed near sages and quietly lived his life until death, determined not to fall again.

Third Birth – Jada Bharata

He was reborn once more—this time as the son of a pious Brahmin. Now fully awakened, he decided to avoid all worldly attachment.

He behaved like a dull, silent, foolish person so that society would leave him alone. Because of this, people called him Jada Bharata (“Jada” = inert, dull).

He spoke little, showed no interest in wealth, status, or relationships. But inside, he was a realized soul—fully established in divine awareness.

The Encounter with King Rahugana

One day, soldiers forced Jada Bharata to carry the palanquin of King Rahugana. While walking, Jada Bharata carefully avoided stepping on ants and insects. Because of this, the palanquin shook.

The king became angry and insulted him.

At that moment, the silent sage spoke—revealing profound spiritual wisdom.

He explained:

The body carries the palanquin, not the Self.

The king and the servant are roles of the body, not the soul.

The soul is eternal, untouched by pride or insult.

The king was stunned. He fell at Jada Bharata’s feet and asked for guidance.

Thus the “fool” revealed himself as a great knower of truth.

The Spiritual Message

The life of Jada Bharata teaches three timeless truths:

1. Attachment can bind even the spiritual seeker

Even compassion must be balanced with detachment.

2. Spiritual progress is never lost

Even after rebirth, sincere effort continues.

3. True wisdom is silent and humble

The realized soul does not seek recognition.

A Reflection

Jada Bharata walked the world unnoticed, yet he was free.

He spoke rarely, yet his words awakened kings.

He owned nothing, yet he possessed eternal peace.

His life whispers a gentle truth:

Liberation is not far away—it begins when attachment ends.

प्रभाव

 Prabhava  – Meaning and Reflection

The Sanskrit word Prabhava is rich with layered meaning. It comes from the root “bhū” (to be, to become) with the prefix “pra” (forward, intense, before). Together, Prabhava conveys ideas such as origin, source, power, influence, radiance, and divine potency. It can refer both to the beginning of something and the force that sustains and shapes it.

The idea of Prabhava

In everyday usage, Prabhava can mean influence or effect—the unseen power by which a person, event, or divine force changes the world around it. In spiritual literature, however, the word becomes deeper: it points to the creative energy from which everything emerges.

In this sense, Prabhava is not merely the start of creation; it is the living energy behind creation. It is the spark that turns silence into sound, stillness into movement, and possibility into reality.

A short reflection

Every sunrise is Prabhava.

Every good thought that arises in the heart is Prabhava.

Every act of kindness that spreads beyond its moment is Prabhava.

When we look at the world through this lens, we realize that life itself is a continuous unfolding of divine influence. The seed becoming a tree, the child becoming wise, the mind becoming peaceful through prayer—each is an expression of Prabhava.

Inner meaning

Spiritually, Prabhava reminds us that we are not isolated beings. We are connected to a vast source of strength and inspiration. When we act with sincerity, compassion, and devotion, we become instruments of that divine influence. Our words gain warmth, our actions gain meaning, and our presence begins to uplift others.

Conclusion

Prabhava is the gentle reminder that every beginning carries sacred power. The smallest spark can become a lamp, the smallest prayer can become peace, and the smallest act of goodness can become a wave of transformation.

To remember Prabhava is to remember that the divine source is always flowing through life—and through us.

Exile.

Why Exile? Understanding Kaikeyi’s Mind Through the Tradition of Vanavāsa

Among all moments in the Ramayana, one decision still startles the heart:

Kaikeyi asking King Dasaratha to send Rama to the forest for fourteen years.

Why the forest?

Why exile?

How could such a thought arise?

To understand Kaikeyi, we must understand a forgotten truth of ancient India:

Exile to the forest was not an unusual punishment. It was an established dharmic practice.

The Meaning of the Forest in Ancient India

Today we think of the forest as danger and isolation.

But in ancient Bharat, the forest meant something very different.

The forest was:

• the land of sages

• the place of austerity

• the space of purification

• the realm outside politics and power

Going to the forest meant stepping away from worldly ambition and entering a life of tapas.

So exile was not merely punishment — it was removal from power combined with spiritual discipline.

This tradition appears repeatedly across our epics and Puranas.

Exile of the Pandavas — The Closest Parallel

The strongest example comes from the Mahabharata.

After losing the game of dice, the Pandavas were sentenced to:

• 12 years in the forest

• 1 year in disguise

Notice the similarity with Rama’s exile.

This was not accidental. It shows that royal exile was an accepted political solution.

Why exile and not imprisonment?

Because imprisoning or killing royal heirs could cause civil war.

Exile removed them peacefully from power.

The Pandavas’ exile, like Rama’s, became a period of:

• spiritual growth

• gathering allies

• inner transformation

The forest became the training ground of destiny.

King Nala — Exile as Personal Purification

Another example comes from the story of King Nala.

After losing his kingdom due to fate and gambling, Nala wandered in the forest separated from his queen Damayanti.

His exile was not ordered by a court — it was the result of destiny and karma.

Yet the pattern remains:

Loss of kingdom → Forest wandering → Inner transformation → Return.

The forest was seen as a place where a fallen king could regain himself before regaining his throne.

The Voluntary Exile of the Rishis

Many sages chose forest life willingly.

The stage of Vanaprastha (retirement to the forest) was part of the ideal human life.

Even kings eventually left their palaces and moved to forests in old age.

Why?

Because the forest symbolized detachment from ego and power.

So when Kaikeyi asked for exile, she was choosing a known path — not inventing cruelty.

Exile as a Political Solution

Ancient monarchies had a delicate problem:

How do you remove a rightful prince without violence?

A prince could not be: • imprisoned

• publicly humiliated

• executed

Any such act would divide the kingdom.

The safest solution was exile.

Exile ensured: • peace in the kingdom

• no bloodshed

• no rebellion

• smooth transfer of power

Seen in this light, Kaikeyi’s demand becomes politically logical — though emotionally heartbreaking.

Why Fourteen Years?

The duration itself is revealing.

Fourteen years is long enough for:

• a new king to establish authority

• the public to accept new leadership

• emotional attachment to the former heir to fade

Kaikeyi’s fear was simple:

“If Rama remains in Ayodhya, people will always want him as king.”

She did not wish Rama dead.

She wanted Bharata’s rule to become unquestioned.

So she chose the longest exile that still allowed Rama to return alive.

This was political strategy born from maternal fear.

How Did Such a Thought Arise in Kaikeyi?

This is the most human part of the story.

Kaikeyi loved Rama deeply.

Scriptures tell us Rama loved Kaikeyi more than his own mother.

But then Manthara awakened fear:

• After Rama’s coronation, Kaushalya becomes queen mother

• Bharata will live under Rama’s shadow

• Kaikeyi’s influence will fade

Fear changes perception.

Love becomes insecurity.

Care becomes possessiveness.

Protection becomes control.

Kaikeyi did not become evil.

She became afraid.

And fear searches for the strongest solution.

The Forest as Political Isolation

Sending Rama to the forest ensured he would:

• stay away from royal politics

• not gather supporters

• not build alliances

• not threaten Bharata’s throne

It was the ancient equivalent of removing someone from public life.

The Divine Dimension

On the human level, this was politics and fear.

On the divine level, this exile was necessary for the world.

Because only through exile could Rama:

• meet the sages of the forests

• protect the rishis from demons

• meet Hanuman

• meet Sugriva

• reach Lanka

• destroy Ravana

Without Kaikeyi’s demand, the Ramayana as we know it would never unfold.

Kaikeyi became the instrument of destiny.

This is why Rama never blamed her.

To Rama, exile was not punishment — it was purpose.

The Tragedy of Kaikeyi

Kaikeyi wanted security for her son.

But destiny turned the result upside down.

• Bharata refused the throne

• Kaikeyi became history’s most misunderstood mother

• She lived with lifelong remorse

Her story teaches a timeless truth:

Actions born from fear often destroy what we were trying to protect.

A Final Contemplation

Exile appears again and again in our epics.

Rama.

Pandavas.

Nala.

Even sages voluntarily embraced it.

The forest in our tradition is not merely wilderness.

It is the place where destiny reshapes heroes.

And perhaps that is the deepest secret of Kaikeyi’s decision:

She sent Rama to the forest thinking she was removing him from destiny.

But in truth, she was sending him towards it. 

Beyond.

 In the southern part of India the practice of celebrating of ages 60, 70, 80, 90 and 100 :

Someone once asked me the Reason....

“Why do we celebrate ages like 60, 70, 80, 90, and 100 so grandly?

Are these numbers spiritual, or are they just cultural traditions?”

The answer lies in a powerful story from the Mahabharata—the story of King Yayati....

King Yayati lived life to the fullest—power, pleasures, success, everything. But when old age suddenly arrived, it shook him deeply. After deep reflection, he realized a profound truth:

“Pleasure has limits, but desire never ends.”

This single realization transformed his life. He accepted old age and explained that life has five inner turning points—not based on age, but on understanding.

Remarkably, these five turning points align with the traditional Indian milestones of 60, 70, 80, 90, and 100 years. Let us understand them in simple terms.

*60 – Shashti*

The mind shifts from accumulation to understanding

Around 60, something changes—not in the body, but in priorities.

The question “How much more can I get?” slowly fades, and

“What truly matters now?” takes its place.

Introspection begins.

Noise, applause, and external validation are no longer needed.

Clarity is what one seeks.

This is not decline—it is maturity catching up with ambition.

*70 – Bheemaratha Shanthi*

Peace feels more powerful than proving a point

In the 40s and 50s, we explain ourselves to the world.

At 70, a quiet shift occurs.

You no longer react instantly.

Arguments lose their attraction.

Preserving relationships matters more than winning debates.

One realizes:

Being peaceful is more valuable than being right.

That is why the 70th year is celebrated.

*80 – Sathabhishekam*

Your presence itself becomes healing

At 80, people don’t come seeking advice.

They come seeking something deeper—

the reassurance that life can be lived, processed, and understood.

At this age, your presence becomes a blessing.

Words are no longer necessary.

Your very being says:

“Everything was okay. Life finds its way.”

That is why 80 is considered sacred.

*90 – Navathi*

The ego quietly retires

At 90, something rare happens.

You no longer feel the urge to correct people.

You don’t cling to opinions.

Things are not taken personally.

You are not easily hurt.

Not because of weakness—

but because life has already shown you enough.

Petty matters no longer deserve your energy.

A gentle stillness settles in.

This humility is true spirituality.

*100 – Shatamanam*

Life moves beyond personal stories

Reaching 100 is not just about the number of years.

It is a state where the larger picture becomes visible.

You realize that many of the worries you carried were unnecessary.

The love you gave was what truly mattered.

And life was always being held by a mysterious, compassionate force.

At 100, a person becomes less of an individual

and more of a presence.

Our sages did not celebrate age.

They celebrated the inner transformation that comes with age.

•⁠ ⁠60 – Priorities shift

•⁠ ⁠70 – Peace becomes strength

•⁠ ⁠80 – Presence becomes healing

•⁠ ⁠90 – Ego dissolves quietly

•⁠ ⁠100 – Life reaches completion

Age is not deterioration.

Age is a filtration process—

through which wisdom, gentleness, and grace remain.

Growing older means life is becoming purer, wiser, and gentler.

Silence revered.

Beyond Imagination: Contemplating What Sita Must Have Endured

There are moments in the Ramayana where the heart pauses.

The story stops being a story.

It becomes silence.

One such moment arises when we think of Sita — not as a queen, not as an incarnation, not as an ideal — but as a woman who walked through unimaginable trials with grace that still humbles the world.

Can we truly imagine what she went through?

Perhaps not.

But we can sit in contemplation.

The Courage of Leaving Everything Behind

Sita was not forced into exile.

She chose it.

She left:

The palace of Ayodhya

Comfort and security

Servants and protection

A life of royal ease

For what?

For love.

When Rama was exiled, she did not debate, calculate, or hesitate. She simply said:

“Where you are, that is Ayodhya for me.”

This was not sacrifice born from helplessness.

This was devotion born from strength.

She walked into the forest knowing life would change forever.

And yet, she walked with joy.

How does a heart hold such courage?

The Silence of the Forest Years

Fourteen years is a long time.

Years of:

Wandering forests

Living in huts

Sleeping on the ground

Facing unknown dangers

And yet, the Ramayana does not record her complaints.

This silence is not absence of pain.

It is the presence of strength.

We must pause here and ask:

How much quiet endurance does love contain?

The Terror of the Abduction

One moment changed everything.

A golden deer.

A cry for help.

A line drawn on the ground.

And then — Ravana.

Imagine the terror:

Torn away from Rama

Carried across the sky

Taken to a foreign land

Surrounded by enemies

The Ramayana tells the event.

But it does not describe the trembling of her heart.

How does one endure fear when hope is the only companion?

The Loneliness of Ashoka Vatika

This may be the most difficult part to contemplate.

Months in captivity.

Alone.

Threatened.

Tempted.

Pressured.

Surrounded by rakshasis.

Given a deadline to surrender.

Every day Ravana tried to break her resolve.

Every day she refused.

No army.

No protection.

No certainty of rescue.

Only faith.

She sat beneath a tree, holding Rama in her heart.

This is not merely patience.

This is spiritual heroism.

Waiting Without Knowing

We often speak of hope.

But Sita’s hope was different.

She did not know:

When Rama would come

If he was alive

If he knew where she was

If rescue would ever happen

Still she waited.

Day after day.

Month after month.

Hope without proof is one of the hardest forms of faith.

The Fire Ordeal

Rescued at last.

War ended.

Ravana defeated.

The world restored.

Surely now the suffering would end?

But destiny had one more test.

The Agni Pariksha.

Even today, this moment makes hearts tremble.

After everything she endured, she had to prove her purity before the world.

We struggle to understand this moment.

We wrestle with it.

We question it.

We ache over it.

Perhaps we are meant to.

Because Sita is not merely to be admired.

She is meant to be contemplated.

The Pain of Separation Again

Many believe her suffering ended in Ayodhya.

But the Ramayana continues.

Pregnant and alone, she was sent away to the forest once more.

No palace.

No husband.

No royal protection.

Only the earth and the sky as witnesses.

She raised Lava and Kusha in a hermitage, quietly, with dignity, without bitterness.

This phase of her life is not loud.

It is deeply, profoundly silent.

Why We Cannot Fully Imagine Sita

We try to measure her suffering.

But Sita is not meant to be measured.

She is meant to be revered.

She represents:

Strength without anger

Love without demand

Faith without proof

Dignity without recognition

Her life asks us not to judge her pain, but to bow before her resilience.

A Gentle Realization

Perhaps the question is not:

“What did Sita go through?”

Perhaps the real question is:

“How did she remain Sita through it all?”

Unbroken.

Unshaken.

Unbitter.

Unchanged in love.

A Contemplative Closing

When we think of Rama, we think of dharma.

When we think of Hanuman, we think of devotion.

When we think of Sita, we should think of endurance with grace.

Her story more hers than Rams whispers to every heart that struggles:

You may not control your trials.

But you can control your dignity within them.

And in that dignity lies divinity.

A Prayer at the Feet of Sita

O Janaki, daughter of the Earth,

You who walked through fire yet carried the fragrance of compassion,

Teach us the strength that does not shout.

When life becomes a forest,

And the path disappears into shadows,

Let your courage sit quietly in our hearts.

When fear arrives like a storm in the sky,

And hope feels far across the ocean,

Let us remember how you waited beneath the Ashoka tree.

Give us patience when answers delay.

Give us dignity when the world misunderstands.

Give us faith when proof does not exist.

Mother Sita,

You who chose love over comfort,

Faith over fear,

Grace over bitterness—

Help us carry our small sorrows

With a fraction of your serenity.

May our hearts learn to whisper your strength.

May our lives learn to reflect your purity.

May our struggles become gentle in your remembrance.

Jai Siya Ram. 

Listen.

Prabhavati: The Princess Who Fell in Love by Listening

In the vast ocean of Krishna lore, some stories shine like the sun—well known, widely celebrated. Others glow like the moon—gentle, romantic, and quietly luminous. The story of Princess Prabhavati belongs to the second kind.

It is a tale of love born from hearing, of devotion blooming in the house of an enemy, and of destiny that cannot be stopped by walls, distance, or opposition.

A Princess in the House of Krishna’s Enemy

Prabhavati was the daughter of the powerful asura king Vajranabha, a ruler who opposed Lord Krishna and the Yadavas. His palace was fortified with pride and hostility toward everything connected with Krishna.

Yet destiny often plants devotion in the most unexpected soil.

Just as Prahlada was born in the house of Hiranyakashipu, Prabhavati grew up in a palace that resisted Krishna — but her heart quietly leaned toward divine love.

Sometimes, the soul remembers what the world has forgotten.

Love Begins with Listening

One day, celestial visitors arrived at the palace and began narrating the glories of Krishna’s son Pradyumna.

They spoke of:

His radiant beauty

His bravery in battle

His gentle nature

His divine lineage

His identity as the rebirth of Kamadeva, the god of love

Prabhavati had never seen him.

Yet something stirred deep within her heart.

She listened again and again, drinking in every word. Slowly, quietly, without her realizing it, she fell in love.

This is a profound truth of Bhakti:

We first fall in love with the Divine by hearing about Him.

Before darshan comes shravanam — listening.

Before sight comes recognition of the heart.

The Love She Could Not Speak Aloud

But there was a painful reality.

Her father hated Krishna and his family.

How could she ever marry the son of her father’s enemy?

Love seemed impossible.

Yet divine love does not ask permission from circumstances.

Like Rukmini writing secretly to Krishna…

Like Andal dreaming of Lord Ranganatha…

Like Meera singing to Giridhari despite the world…

Prabhavati chose love.

The Swan Messenger

Unable to bear her silent longing, Prabhavati confided in her companions. With their help, a divine swan (hamsa) was sent as a messenger to Dwaraka.

The symbolism is beautiful.

In Indian tradition, the swan represents:

Purity

Wisdom

The soul’s ability to travel between worlds

The Guru who carries the message of love

The swan flew across kingdoms and oceans to deliver her message to Pradyumna.

Imagine the moment:

A prince receives a declaration of love from a princess he has never met.

Instead of doubt, he felt recognition.

Because divine love is always mutual.

Just as the devotee longs for the Lord, the Lord longs for the devotee.

The Secret Meeting

Pradyumna could not ignore her devotion. With mystic powers and courage, he secretly entered Vajranabha’s heavily guarded palace.

And at last, they met.

What began as love through hearing became love through darshan.

Their meeting completes the sacred journey of devotion:

Hearing

Remembering

Longing

Seeing

Union

It is the journey of every bhakta.

When Love Meets Resistance

Secrets cannot remain hidden forever.

When Vajranabha discovered their relationship, his anger knew no bounds. War broke out between his forces and Krishna’s family.

This battle represents something timeless:

Ego versus Love

Pride versus Destiny

Resistance versus Divine Will

Vajranabha was defeated.

And after the storm, peace remained.

The Wedding of Destiny

With obstacles removed, Pradyumna and Prabhavati were married with honor and celebration.

What began as:

Impossible love

Silent longing

Secret meetings

Ended as:

Dharma

Acceptance

Divine blessing

Love had transformed even an enemy’s palace into a sacred space.

The Spiritual Meaning of Prabhavati

This story is far more than romance.

It is a map of devotion.

Love begins by listening

Prabhavati fell in love by hearing Pradyumna’s qualities.

So too we fall in love with God by hearing His stories.

Devotion can bloom anywhere

Even in a world opposed to God, the heart can turn toward Him.

The soul longs for divine love

Prabhavati represents the jivatma (individual soul).

Pradyumna represents divine love.

Their union symbolizes the soul meeting the Divine after longing and courage.

Grace always carries our prayer

The swan is the Guru, the scripture, the divine messenger.

Something always carries the soul’s call to God.

A Quiet Truth from a Gentle Story

Prabhavati’s story whispers softly to the heart:

Love begins in listening.

Longing is sacred.

Courage is devotion.

Destiny favors the sincere.

And above all:

The heart recognizes its beloved long before the world approves of it.