Saturday, December 6, 2025

Silent mind.

 A little girl once asked the sage,

“Master, tell me, if you will—

How does one silence the restless mind?

How does it learn to be still?”


Patanjali smiled like dawn unfolding,

Soft as moonlight on a hill.

He asked her, “Child, how do you stop

Your trembling hand’s small thrill?”


She shook her hand and then released it,

Letting quiet gently fill.

“By not shaking it,” she whispered—

Innocence revealing skill.


“Just so,” the ancient sage replied,

“The mind is shaken by your will.

You follow thoughts like scattered birds,

And wonder why they will not still.”


“Let thoughts arise, let thoughts subside—

Do not chase each passing drill.

The lake reflects the moon again

When waters cease to ripple and spill.”


“Silence is not something made,

Nor forged by effort, force, or skill.

It blooms when you stop stirring it—

A lotus on a windless rill.”


“So stay,” he said, “as the quiet seer,

Not the storm you try to kill.

Calmness is your native home—

Return, and let the heart refill.”


The girl bowed low before the sage,

Her eyes serene, her breath now still.

For she had learned the secret truth:

The mind is silent when you are still.



The Sage’s Answer to the Simplest and Deepest Question

There is a story often whispered in the yogic tradition—soft, luminous, and simple. It is about Maharishi Patanjali, the great compiler of the Yoga Sutras, and a little girl whose heart carried the same question that troubles even the greatest seekers:

“How does one silence the mind?”

She asked it with all the clarity that only a child can carry. No philosophy, no heavy theory—just a direct question from the center of innocence. Patanjali looked at her, and a smile slowly spread across his face, the kind of smile that holds both compassion and knowing.

Instead of answering, he asked her:

“Child, how do you stop your hand from trembling?”

The girl lifted her little hand, shook it playfully, and then stopped.

She looked up and said, almost surprised by her own simplicity:

“By not shaking it.”

Patanjali nodded. In her answer was the essence of yoga.

The Mind Shakes Because We Shake It

He told her, with a voice as calm as still water:

“Just as the hand trembles only when you move it,

the mind becomes restless only when you participate in its movements.”

Thoughts arise.

Desires pull.

Emotions swirl.

And we follow every one of them, as though each thought were a command, each fear a truth, each desire an instruction.

Patanjali explained:

“The mind is not noisy by nature.

It is noisy because you keep stirring it.”

He pointed to a pot of clear water beside him.

“See this water?

When it is shaken, the moon’s reflection breaks into a thousand pieces.

When it is still, the moon reveals itself effortlessly.”

The girl leaned over and saw the truth of his words for herself.

The moon was there—not something to be created, only something to be revealed.

Silence Is Not Created — It Is Allowed

Patanjali then uttered one of the gentlest teachings ever given:

“Silence is not something you manufacture.

It appears when you stop disturbing it.”

This is the heart of yoga.

The mind need not be conquered, suppressed, or fought.

It only needs to be left alone for a moment, allowed to settle like dust in a sunbeam.

He told her:

“Do not chase every thought.

Do not argue with every emotion.

Do not follow every desire.

Let them arise and let them pass.

You remain the seer.”

In the Yoga Sutras, this is expressed as:

“Drashtuh svarupe avasthanam

— The seer rests in its own nature.”

The little girl did not know Sanskrit, but she knew truth when she heard it. Her eyes widened with a soft understanding—the kind that does not come from the mind, but from the heart.

Stillness Is Our Nature

Patanjali concluded:

“Calmness is your true nature.

Noise is the movement you add.

Return to your nature.”

In those few lines lies the entire science of inner peace—the whole architecture of the yogic path. The girl bowed, touching her small hands to the earth, and went away with a lightness in her step, carrying a wisdom that even adults struggle to grasp.

For in that brief interaction, Patanjali had shown her—and us—something profound:

**The mind becomes silent not by force,

but by ceasing to disturb it.**

Silence is not a destination.

It is home.


Sacred space.

 In every traditional Indian home, the temple is the quiet flame around which life arranges itself. It is the place where we begin our mornings, return after every joy or sorrow, and remind ourselves of the divine presence that walks with us. To keep this sacred corner pure and radiant is not merely a ritual—it is a way of honouring the unseen grace that protects and nourishes the family. This article gathers the essential rules and gentle customs followed across generations to maintain a sanctified home temple.

Rules for a Home Temple: Creating a Sacred Space.

A home temple is more than a corner for worship—it is the quiet centre of a family’s spiritual life, a place where the mind naturally softens, thoughts become gentle, and the heart remembers what truly matters. Our ancients called it the gṛha-devatā-sthāna, the residence of grace within the home. The following essential guidelines help preserve the sanctity, purity, and divine ambience of this sacred space.

1. Choosing the Right Location

The scriptures speak of the north-east, the Īśānya direction, as the most auspicious for a home shrine. If this is not possible, the east or north-facing directions are equally harmonious.

The devotee ideally faces east or north while worshipping.

Avoid placing the temple beneath a staircase, against a bathroom wall, or directly on bedroom floors.

The space should be calm, clean, and naturally lit.

A temple placed with such care becomes a zone of positive vibration, offering quiet strength to everyone at home.

2. Keeping the Space Pure and Sattvic

Purity (śauca) is the foundation of worship.

Keep the area uncluttered and serene.

No footwear, no leather, and no distracting objects around the altar.

Wipe the space daily; cleanse it thoroughly once a week.

Avoid storing unrelated items like keys, medicines, or papers in the shrine.

A pure space invites a pure mind—this is the essence of the home temple.

3. Guidelines for Idols and Pictures

Idols are not mere art pieces; they are symbolic vessels through which devotion flows.

Ensure idols are whole and undamaged. Anything chipped, cracked, or broken should be respectfully immersed in water or placed beneath a sacred tree.

Do not overcrowd the altar. Keep only as many idols as you can lovingly attend to.

Idols should face east or west, never directly south.

Keep saumya (peaceful) forms of deities at home unless you are trained in the worship of Ugra or tantric forms.

Each idol should be placed at a respectful height—never below waist level.

4. Caring for the Deities

A simple, sincere daily routine is enough to nourish the divine presence.

Offer a lamp, a basin of fresh water, and a flower or tulasi.

Chant one small mantra or a few verses from the Gita, Vishnu Sahasranama, or any stotram dear to you.

Consecrated (prāṇa-pratiṣṭhita) idols require daily worship; if not feasible, choose unconsacrated (śilpa) idols which are easier to maintain.

What matters is not elaborate ritual but consistency and love.

5. Lamp and Fire Practices

Lighting the lamp is lighting the inner awareness.

Use ghee or sesame oil for purity and calmness.

Keep the lamp base clean and the wick pure.

Do not place lamps near curtains or enclosed shelves.

Never blow out the lamp—snuff it gently with a flower or fingers.

The lamp is the symbol of knowledge; treat it with reverence.

6. Offerings: Water, Flowers, and Naivedya

Keep only fresh water for the Lord; change it daily.

Remove wilted flowers the same day.

Naivedya should never be tasted or smelled before offering—it is the Lord’s portion first.

These simple rules cultivate humility and devotion.

7. Atmosphere of the Shrine

Let the temple be a place of quietness.

Chanting, bells, and prayers should be offered with a gentle, respectful tone.

Avoid loud conversations, arguments, or distractions around the shrine.

A peaceful home temple blesses the entire household with an unseen grace.

8. Personal Conduct During Worship

Bathe or at least wash hands and feet before entering the altar area.

Wear clean clothes.

Approach with a still mind and a grateful heart.

When the devotee is pure, the space naturally becomes divine.

9. Care of Sacred Texts

If scriptures are kept in the shrine:

Place them on a clean shelf or cloth; never directly on the floor.

Cover them with clean cloth when not used.

Treat them with the same reverence as the deities.

Sacred words too are sacred presence.

10. A Short Daily Worship Routine (5 Minutes)

Even the busiest day can offer this simple sequence:

1. Light the lamp.

2. Offer water.

3. Place a flower or tulasi.

4. Chant your chosen mantra (e.g., Om Namo Nārāyaṇāya, Om Namah Śivāya, Rama Rama, or Krishna Sharanam).

5. Sit silently for a minute, allowing the mind to soften.

Just five minutes of sincere presence can transform the vibration of the entire home.

11. What Not to Keep in the Shrine

Tradition clearly advises against:

Broken idols or torn pictures.

Mixing too many traditions in a small space (e.g., fierce forms with peaceful Vaishnava deities).

Keeping idols below waist level.

Placing ancestor photos with the deities—give ancestors their own separate shrine.

These guidelines preserve the dignity and sacredness of the worship area.

The Temple as a Living Presence

A home temple is not merely a structure of wood and brass—it is a living presence. The more gently we care for it, the more subtly it cares for us. In homes where a lamp is lit daily, where a soft prayer echoes every morning, where the space is kept pure, the atmosphere becomes naturally uplifting. Calmness grows, clarity strengthens, and every family member enjoys the quiet blessings that flow from such a sacred corner.

May your home temple continue to radiate peace, devotion, and divine grace to all who enter your home—and your heart.

“दीपो ज्योतिः परंब्रह्म दीपो ज्योतिर्जनार्दनः।

दीपो हरतु मे पापं दीपज्योतिर्नमोऽस्तु ते॥”

“The lamp is the light of the Supreme Brahman; the lamp is the light of Lord Janardana.

May this sacred light remove my inner impurities. Salutations to the divine flame.”

Virat p

King Pareekshit knows he has just a week to live, and he does not want to waste the time available to him. So he asks sage Suka how he should spend the little time left for him in the world. How should he meditate? And what should his focus be? Suka says dhyana can be on the sthula or sukshma forms of Godhead. Focusing on the sukshma form is difficult, explained Valayapet Ramachariar in a discourse. So the best way to begin dhyana is to concentrate on the Supreme form of Lord Krishna, that is on Vishnu as Virat Purusha. This is the form in which the entire Universe is held in His body. This is the Viswarupa form which Arjuna was privileged to see on the battlefield. Suka describes parts of the Lord’s body, and talks about how everything that we see as large is a mere part of His body. He begins by talking of the netherworld. Patala constitutes the bottom of the feet of Virat Purusha, rasaatala his heels, mahaatala His ankle, and talaatala His shanks. His knees are Sutala, the thighs are vitala and atala. His hips are maheetala. The sky is His navel.

 Svarga loka is His chest, mahar loka His neck. Satya loka is His head. Indra and the other devas are His arms, the ten directions His ears, the Ashvini kumaras are His ears, the rivers are His veins. Suka says dhyana should begin with concentrating on such a gigantic form of Vishnu. When everything in the Universe is found as a mere part in His body, one gets an idea of His all encompassing nature. The fact that He is the Supreme Brahman gets reinforced in our minds. He is the antaryami of the entire world. In other words, He is the soul, and the Universe the body. Dhyana of course requires control of the senses, for without control of the indriyas, the mind will lose its ability to do dhyana with unwavering attention.

Friday, December 5, 2025

Timeless.

 “When the heart stays true and the effort unwavering, the world around you begins to shift in quiet harmony—

paths open, moments align, and unseen hands gently lift you toward the destiny your spirit has chosen.”

When you wish good things for others good comes back to you multifold.

Kattumannar Koil Nāthanār Utsavam – A Festival of Grace, Memory, and Divine Kinship

Kattumannar Koil, known traditionally as Veeranarayanapuram, is a sacred site where devotion is not merely practiced—it is inherited. Here, the majestic Nātha Nārāyaṇa Perumal reigns as the compassionate guardian of the land, and it is here that the luminous lineage of Nathamuni, Yamunacharya, and the early Acharyas blossomed. Every year, the Utsavam of the Lord turns this historic temple into a living stream of tradition, music, and profound spiritual remembrance.

The Temple and Its Timelessness

Kattumannar Koil holds a unique place in the Vaishnava world. This is the land where:

Sri Nathamuni revived the Nalayira Divya Prabandham through sheer tapas and devotion.

The sacred tunes of the Divya Prabandham were once again brought into the living stream of worship

The bond between the Lord and His devotees is felt not just in rituals, but in the very air that flows through the mandapams.

Each utsavam here carries echoes of this heritage. It is not just a festival—it is a reminder of how the Lord Himself guides the preservation of knowledge and devotion.

The Utsavam: A Journey of Grace

1. Dwajarohanam – The Invitation to the Divine

The utsavam begins with the hoisting of the Garuda flag, symbolizing that the doors of heaven and earth are now connected. Devotees believe that when the flag is raised, Perumal’s glance extends outward, blessing every corner of the region.

2. Daily Processions – The Lord Among His People

For the following days, Perumal emerges in various vahanams, each revealing a different facet of His glory:

Garuda Sevai – the most anticipated day, when the Lord seated on Garuda seems almost eager to meet His devotees.

Hanumantha Vahanam – signifying steadfast courage.

Yanai and Kudhirai Vahanam – symbols of royal majesty.

Sesha Vahanam – echoing Vaikuntha itself.

Pushpa Pallakku – where Perumal appears like a fresh monsoon cloud resting on a bed of flowers.

The streets of Kattumannar Koil transform into a river of chanting, especially “Namo Nārāyaṇāya” and verses from the Divya Prabandham, the very hymns Nathamuni restored.

The Presence of the Acharyas

A distinct and soul-lifting feature of this utsavam is the remembrance of Sri Nathamuni, Yamunacharya (Ālavandār), and the early Acharyas whose lives were intertwined with this sacred town.

On certain days, Perumal graciously visits the Avatara Sthalam of Nathamuni. The feeling is profoundly intimate—almost like a father visiting the home of His beloved son.

This symbolic meeting reminds devotees:

That knowledge is never separate from grace.

That the guru is the bridge to the divine.

That devotion, once sung, never disappears—it waits patiently to be rediscovered, as Nathamuni rediscovered the Prabandham.

Dolotsavam – The Swing of Compassion

One of the most delicate ceremonies is the Dolotsavam, where Perumal gently sways on an ornately decorated swing. The soft movement symbolizes the rhythm of divine compassion—constant, gentle, and deeply reassuring.

Many devotees offer personal prayers during this time, for it is believed that as the Lord sways, He smoothens the troubles of the sincere heart.

The Grand Finale: Teerthavāri

The utsavam concludes with the Teerthavāri at the temple tank. Perumal, accompanied by the Acharyas’ utsava murtis, blesses the waters before returning to the sanctum. The act symbolizes:

The purification of the environment

Renewal of community bonds

And the cleansing of the devotee’s inner world

As the Lord re-enters the garbhagriha, the town feels a beautiful silence—an afterglow of divine presence.

The Essence of the Utsavam

The Kattumannar Koil Natha Nārāyaṇa Utsavam is not merely a celebration—it is a living reminder that devotion is a continuum.

It teaches:

That tradition is preserved not by memory alone but by love.

That the Lord moves among His devotees just as freely today as He did centuries ago.

That every sincere chant—whether sung by Nathamuni, by a temple priest, or by a solitary devotee at home—becomes part of the same sacred stream.

This utsavam is, in many ways, a yearly renewal of a divine promise:

“Where My devotees gather, remembering My name, I shall be there—fully, tenderly, eternally.”

Thursday, December 4, 2025

Tailo dhara.

Sanātana Dharma and Paramparā: The Eternal Flow of Wisdom

Sanātana Dharma—often rendered as the “Eternal Way”—is not merely a religion or a set of commandments. It is a living, breathing stream of wisdom that has flowed across millennia, nourished by countless sages, seers, teachers, and householders who lived its ideals. At the heart of this unbroken continuity lies Paramparā, the sacred lineage of knowledge transmission that keeps the eternal truths alive from one generation to the next.

The relationship between Sanātana Dharma and Paramparā is inseparable. If Sanātana Dharma is the vast, timeless ocean, Paramparā is the river that brings its waters to us—pure, life-giving, and constantly renewing.

Sanātana Dharma: That Which Never Fades

The term Sanātana means eternal, ageless, and perpetual. Dharma means the underlying law, the cosmic order that sustains life—ethics, duty, truth, harmony, and the principles that guide right living.

The Mahābhārata beautifully describes this living dharma:

“Dhāraṇāt dharma ityāhuḥ”

—“That which upholds all existence is called Dharma.”

Sanātana Dharma is not a doctrine that began at a particular time or place. It is the recognition of principles that have always existed—truth, compassion, austerity, selflessness, purity of heart, and the pursuit of the Ultimate Reality.

The Rig Veda reminds us of its vastness:

“Ekam sat viprā bahudhā vadanti”

—“Truth is one; the wise express it in many ways.” (Rig Veda 1.164.46)

This foundational understanding allows Sanātana Dharma to embrace diversity while upholding unity. It invites inquiry, debate, contemplation, and personal transformation. It does not demand belief—it encourages realization.

Paramparā: The Golden Chain of Transmission

The profound principles of Sanātana Dharma were never meant to remain abstract. They were meant to be lived. And to be lived, they had to be transmitted correctly—from master to disciple, from parents to children, from community to community. This sacred flow is Paramparā.

The Bhagavad Gītā declares the timelessness of this transmission:

“Evaṁ paramparā-prāptam imaṁ rājarṣayo viduḥ”

—“This wisdom was received through the lineage of teachers, and the royal sages understood it so.” (Gītā 4.2)

Paramparā is not simply teaching; it is the careful passing of inner experience, dharma, and values in a manner that transforms the listener. It embodies:

Guru–Śiṣya tradition

Veda adhyayana and chanting lineages

Family traditions of worship and conduct

Regional and cultural practices woven around dharma

Commentarial traditions and philosophical schools

Each lineage is a lamp lit from another lamp, ensuring that the flame never dies.

Why Paramparā Matters

The ancient seers recognized that truth, though infinite, requires guidance to be realized. Books can inform, but a living teacher transforms.

The Chāndogya Upanishad emphasizes the vital need for a teacher:

“Ācāryavān puruṣo veda”

—“Only one who has a teacher truly knows.” (Chāndogya Upanishad 6.14.2)

A genuine lineage preserves:

Authentic interpretation of scriptures

Precision of Vedic chanting

Purity of rituals

Ethical conduct

Spiritual discipline

The spirit rather than merely the words

Paramparā also prevents distortion. It ensures the wisdom remains alive, not fossilized.

The Living Flow of Dharma through Generations

Sanātana Dharma has survived not just centuries but aeons because it adapts without losing its core. This is possible only because Paramparā is flexible enough to interpret Dharma according to time, place, and circumstance (Deśa–Kāla–Pātra).

The Manusmṛti acknowledges this adaptive nature:

“Dharmo hi teṣām adhyātmaṁ yaḥ pūrvaiḥ sanātanaḥ kṛtaḥ”

—“The Dharma followed by the ancients is indeed the eternal Dharma.” (Manusmṛti 2.6)

The wisdom is ancient, but its expression is dynamic.

Thus, the same Veda that was taught in forest hermitages thousands of years ago continues to shape modern households today—in the form of values, rituals, prayers, and ethical choices.

The Role of the Individual: Becoming a Link in the Chain

Every seeker becomes both a receiver and a giver. The Gītā reminds us:

“Saṁskārān amṛtatvaṁ āpnuyāt”

—“Through noble impressions one attains immortality.”

The impressions we absorb from tradition, and the impressions we pass on, shape the future of Sanātana Dharma.

You do not need to be a scholar or a priest to contribute. Living a life of sincerity, truth, and compassion itself becomes a continuation of Paramparā. Teaching children to chant a simple prayer, lighting a lamp with devotion, writing and sharing insights are all profound acts of preservation.

Sanātana Dharma and Paramparā in Our Times

In an era where life moves quickly and distractions are many, Paramparā becomes more precious than ever. It reminds us that:

We belong to something timeless

Wisdom is richer when shared

Knowledge becomes sacred when lived

The past is not a burden but a guide

Our actions are part of a larger cosmic harmony

Sanātana Dharma does not ask us to reject the modern world. It asks us to live with depth, awareness, and reverence while being part of it.

The Eternal River Never Stops Flowing

Sanātana Dharma is not a relic frozen in history. It is the pulse of existence itself—eternal, inexhaustible. Paramparā is its lifeline, carrying its spirit across ages, shaping civilizations, and touching countless hearts.

As long as even one person reflects, practices, and shares this wisdom with sincerity, the river of Dharma continues to flow.

Or as the Vedas say:

“Satyam eva jayate”

—“Truth alone triumphs.”

When truth is shared, lived, and passed on, it becomes timeless.

That is the beauty of Sanātana Dharma and the blessing of Paramparā.

Tuesday, December 2, 2025

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.






Monday, December 1, 2025

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. 

https://www.facebook.com/share/v/173jkt8DwW/

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.

Sunday, November 30, 2025

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.

Saturday, November 29, 2025

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

Wednesday, November 26, 2025

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. 


Monday, November 24, 2025

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

Saturday, November 22, 2025

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.