Pranay

 Pranay Geeth (प्रणय गीत) literally means "Song of Love" in Sanskrit and many Indian languages. It is a term often used in devotional, literary, and poetic contexts to denote a song expressing deep affection, love, or devotion.

Pranay Geeth can refer to:

1. Devotional Love Songs: In Bhakti literature, especially in traditions like Vaishnavism, "pranay geeths" are songs of divine love — expressing the soul's yearning and intimate connection with the divine. For instance, the Gopis' love for Lord Krishna in the Bhagavata Purana is often described in such terms.

2. Romantic Poetry or Songs: In classical and modern Indian literature or film, it can mean romantic songs that express a lover's emotions — longing, union, separation, or joy in love.

3. Literary/Spiritual Expression: In a more philosophical sense, pranaya (love) is seen as a divine emotion, and a pranay geeth could be an allegory for the union of the individual soul (jiva) with the Supreme (paramatma).

Here is a simple Gujarati Pranay Geet (પ્રણય ગીત) with English translation. This is in a devotional style, expressing love for the Divine.

Gujarati (ગુજરાતી):

પ્રેમ રે પ્રભુ સાથેનું, અનંત સાગર જેવું,

હૈયાનું ગીત બની ઊઠે, શાંત મધુર સવાર જેવું.

સાંજ સુઘરી તારા વીણા, જીવન અધૂરો લાગે,

તારી સ્મૃતિમાં જ શ્વાસ લેશે, એવું મન એ માંગે.

તું હસમુખી છે વાતોમાં, તું શાંત છે સંગીતમાં,

તું જ રહેશો હમસફર, આ જીવનની દરેક રીતમાં.

Love for the Lord is like an endless ocean,

It rises as a song of the heart, like a calm and sweet morning.

Evening feels empty without your stars, life feels incomplete,

The mind longs only to breathe in your memory, that is its only plea.

You smile through words, and rest in music's calm,

You alone shall be my companion, in every rhythm of life’s charm.

Chokamela half eaten mangoes.

The Mangoes of Grace: A Saint Born Outside the Temple Walls

In the sacred town of Pandharpur, where the air is thick with the name of Vitthal, and the streets echo with the footfalls of countless devotees, lived a soul so pure that even the stone walls of the temple remembered his song. He was Sant Chokhamela, a name now revered across Maharashtra, a poet-saint whose love for the Lord transcended the iron bars of caste and the cruelty of social rejection.

But Chokhamela’s story—his very birth—is wrapped in divine mystery, a tale as tender as his devotion and as profound as his verses.

The Mangoes and the Unknown Elder

Long ago, a devout couple used to make the pilgrimage to the temple at Pandharpur every single day. One morning, they set off carrying a bag of the finest, sweetest mangoes, carefully chosen as an offering to their beloved Lord Vitthal.

On the road to the temple, they were stopped by a frail, elderly man. His eyes, weary yet knowing, met theirs as he said softly, “Bhavti, I am hungry.”

Moved by compassion, they offered him some of the mangoes. But to their surprise, the old man bit into each mango and returned it half-eaten, smiling with gentle satisfaction. He did this to several mangoes and then silently walked away.

The couple, now with a mix of reverence and unease, decided to separate the uneaten mangoes for the temple and carry the half-eaten ones to feed stray dogs or cattle on the way back.

But as they continued walking, something strange occurred.

The bag with the half-eaten mangoes grew heavy—much heavier than it ought to. Alarmed, they opened it, only to find that the mangoes had vanished. In their place lay a baby boy, glowing with peace and purity, his gaze tranquil as though he had descended from another world.

Afraid of how society might react, and confused by the divine strangeness of the event, the couple left the child beneath a tree and quietly disappeared into the crowd.

Raised by the Humble, Destined for the Divine

It was a group of blacksmiths who later passed that way and heard the baby's soft cries. Seeing the abandoned child, they felt a surge of compassion and took him into their home. They raised him as their own, unaware that they were nurturing a future saint.

Thus was born Chokhamela—not through conventional means, but through divine intervention, placed gently into the arms of the oppressed so he could rise as their voice, their poet, and their liberator of the soul.

The Devotee Outside the Gate

As Chokhamela grew, so did his love for Vitthal. Though born into a marginalized caste and barred from entering the temple, his devotion knew no boundaries. Every day, he stood outside the walls of the temple, singing abhangas with tears in his eyes and love in his voice.

When asked how he could pray from so far, Chokhamela replied:

“The Lord does not live only inside those walls. He lives where there is true love.”

His poems, simple yet profound, touched countless hearts. Even the priests who once mocked him began to feel the weight of his words.

When the Wall Remembered the Saint

Years later, when Chokhamela passed away, his body was not allowed inside the temple. His ashes were buried near its outer wall.

But God had the final word.

It is said that the wall began to crack, and from it emanated a soft light and the murmured echoes of Chokhamela’s songs. Devotees began to feel a presence so strong that they would lean against the wall, saying,

“This is where Chokha’s soul sings to Vitthal.”

Even the stone, it seemed, could not forget the love of a true devotee.

The Lasting Legacy

Sant Chokhamela’s life was a living abhanga—each moment a verse offered at the feet of the Divine. He was not born into privilege or priesthood, but grace chose him, perhaps through that mysterious old man on the road with the mangoes. Who was he? Some say he was Vitthal Himself, testing hearts, sowing divinity where the world saw none.

In Chokhamela, the Lord showed the world that bhakti is not bound by caste, birth, or temple walls. It flows from the heart and reaches the Divine unhindered.

And perhaps, even today, in the quiet hours of dawn, if you stand near that temple wall in Pandharpur, you might just hear a saint still singing,

“Vitthala, Vitthala…”

Eg abhang.

Here are a few beautiful abhangas (devotional verses) composed by Sant Chokhamela, translated into English with the original Marathi lines where possible. His poems are filled with deep humility, intense longing, and unshakable devotion to Lord Vitthal.

1. "अरे देवा, तुज माझे न जाणवे दु:ख!"

“O Lord, you do not know the depth of my sorrow!”

 अरे देवा, तुज माझे न जाणवे दु:ख।

तरी तुजपुढे म्हणतो मी अभंग॥

O Lord, You may not understand my sorrow,

Still, I stand before You and sing these abhangas.

Because You are my only refuge, my soul’s beloved.

Chokhamela expresses how even in pain and rejection, his only response is to sing in devotion.

2. "मी अभंग बोलतो गा विठोबाचे"

“I speak only of Vitthala’s glory”

 मी अभंग बोलतो गा विठोबाचे।

वाण्या कडून आलो मी विठाईच्या पायाचे॥

I sing only the praises of Vitthala,

From the world’s noise, I have come to the feet of Vitthai.

This verse speaks of leaving worldly noise behind and surrendering at the feet of the divine.

3. "आळवितो विठोबाला, अंतरीचा भक्त"

“I call to Vitthala with a heart full of love”

आळवितो विठोबाला, अंतरीचा भक्त।

माझ्या जातीचं बघून हसतात लोक॥

I call out to Vitthala from the depths of my soul,

But people laugh at me because of my birth.

Yet my Lord looks only at the devotion in my heart.

This reflects the pain of social rejection but also the spiritual strength that comes from divine love.

4. "चोखोबाचा देव वेगळा"

“Chokha’s God is different”

 चोखोबाचा देव वेगळा,

जातीभेद न पाही ॥

Chokha's God is different,

He sees no caste or division.

He sees only the heart that calls His name.

Nama panduranga.

Namdev Becomes Panduranga: A Divine Play of Devotion and Disguise

In the sacred town of Pandharpur, where the river Chandrabhaga gently flows and pilgrims sing the name of Vitthal with unending love, lived a childlike saint—Namdev. His love for

Lord Panduranga was not of ritual, but of intimate friendship, like that of a son who believes his beloved Lord lives only to speak with him, eat with him, and laugh with him.

Every day, Namdev’s mother would prepare a simple meal with utmost love and devotion. And every 

Day, she would tell Namdev, “Go, my child, call Panduranga to come and eat. Tell Him it is cooked with my heart.” And Namdev, ever obedient, would rush to the temple and plead before the deity, “Come home, Lord. My mother waits.”

The priests scoffed, the pilgrims smiled at his innocence, but Namdev never missed a day.

Then, one day, the miracle happened.

The idol of Vitthal glowed softly, and a gentle voice called out, “Namya.”

The Lord appeared before him, resplendent and kind. “Namdev, I shall come to your house today,” He said. “But you must do something for me.”

Namdev's eyes sparkled with delight. “Anything, my Lord.”

“While I go to eat at your home, you

must take my place here in the sanctum. I will make you look like Me. But listen carefully. When the priests bathe you in cold water, do not shiver. When they place butter on your nose, do not lick it off. When pilgrims come and cry out for boons—sons, riches, health—you must not grant any wish. Stand still, calm, and divine. You are Me for today.”

With a smile, the Lord adorned Namdev in yellow silk, darkened his skin with sandal paste, placed a black crown on his head, and adjusted his arms on the hips—just so.

Then, laughing softly, Panduranga vanished and walked to Namdev’s humble hut.

Namdev’s mother was overjoyed to see Him. Though He appeared as her own son, her heart recognized the divine. “Namya, you’ve brought the Lord Himself today!” she whispered.

The Lord sat like a simple guest, ate every morsel with relish, praised her cooking, and made her heart overflow with bliss.

But she noticed something strange. “Why is Namya not eating? He always rushes to eat!”

The Lord smiled. “Come with me. I’ll take you where Namdev is now.”

He asked her for a black shawl to cover Himself and quietly accompanied her to the temple.

There, standing on the sanctum platform, Namdev stood as the deity—still and radiant. The priests sang the Aarti, pilgrims offered flowers, and bells rang loud. The Lord, now among the crowd, enjoyed it all like a devotee. He clapped, sang, and beamed with joy.

Namdev, however, trembled inwardly. “Will He fall at my feet in front of everyone? Oh, please, no!”

But the Lord remained a playful pilgrim, watching His devotee playing God, savoring the scene. He whispered to Namdev’s mother, “See how well he listens to Me? Even the butter on his nose tempts him not!”

After the Aarti, the Lord revealed the leela to all.

“This is the power of devotion,” He said. “Namdev became Me—not by penance, not by rituals, but by love so pure that I cannot refuse his call. And today, I walked in the streets, tasted his mother’s cooking, and sang praises of My own image.”

Since that day, the tale of Namdev impersonating Panduranga has been sung across Maharashtra, a testimony that when devotion is true, even God plays along—happily.

Amrit saar.

 The Golden Temple, Amritsar

Nestled in the heart of Amritsar, Punjab, the Golden Temple—also known as Sri Harmandir Sahib—is a radiant symbol of spiritual serenity and Sikh heritage. Its gleaming gold-plated façade rises from the middle of the sacred Amrit Sarovar (Pool of Nectar), inviting millions each year into its tranquil embrace. Built in the 16th century by Guru Arjan Dev Ji, the temple is open to all, regardless of faith or background, reflecting the Sikh tenet of universal brotherhood. The soothing sounds of Gurbani (devotional hymns) echo through its marble halls, while the community kitchen (Langar) serves free meals to thousands daily. A place of profound devotion and timeless beauty, the Golden Temple is not just a monument—it's an experience of the divine.

जाति न पूछो साधू की पूछ लीजिए ज्ञान ।

मोल करो तलवार को पडा रहन दो म्यान ॥

Kabir Das Ji says, a true Sadhu is considered to be above all kinds of discriminations. A Sadhu is never asked to which caste he belongs to. His knowledge is enough to respect him. Just like the value of a sword is judged on the basis of its edge and not on its sheath, in the same way, the caste of a Sadhu is like the sheath of a sword and his knowledge is like the edge of the sword.

भावार्थ: कबीर दास जी कहते हैं, सच्चा साधु सब प्रकार के भेदभावों से ऊपर उठा हुआ माना जाता है | साधू से यह कभी नहीं  पूछा जाता की वह किस जाति का है उसका ज्ञान ही, उसका सम्मान करने के लिए पर्याप्त है | जिस प्रकार एक तलवार का मोल का आंकलन उसकी धार के आधार पर किया जाता है ना की उसके म्यान के आधार पर ठीक उसी प्रकार, एक साधु की जाति भी तलवार के म्यान के समान है और उसका ज्ञान तलवार की धार के समान |

JA

 Shri Jagannath Ashtakam with meaning

Shri Jagannath Ashtakam was composed by Adi Sankracharya in praise of Lord Jagannath on his visit to Puri. The most important of hymns of Lord Jagannath, the Ashtakam was recited by Sri Chaitanya Mahaprabhu on his visit to Jagannath temple. The merit of reciting the sacred Jagannath ashtakam carefully is such that, one becomes sinless and pure hearted and gains entrance to Vishnuloka.

कदाचित् कालिन्दी तट विपिन सङ्गीत तरलो
मुदाभीरी नारी वदन कमला स्वाद मधुपः
रमा शम्भु ब्रह्मामरपति गणेशार्चित पदो
जगन्नाथः स्वामी नयन पथ गामी भवतु मे ॥१॥

kadācit kālindī-taṭa-vipina-saṅgīta ta ralo
mudābhīrī-nārī-vadana-kamalāśvāda-madhupaḥ
ramā-śambhu-brahmāmara-pati-gaṇeśārcita-pado
jagannāthaḥ svāmī nayana-patha-gāmī bhavatu me (1)

Sometimes in great happiness Lord Jagannatha, with His flute, makes a loud concert in the groves on the banks of the Yamuna. He is like a bumblebee who tastes the beautiful lotus-like faces of the cowherd damsels of Vraja, and His lotus feet are worshiped by great personalities such as Lakshmi, Siva, Brahma, Indra and Ganesa. May that Jagannatha Swami be the object of my vision.

भुजे सव्ये वेणुं शिरसि शिखिपिच्छं कटितटे
दुकूलं नेत्रान्ते सहचर-कटाक्षं विदधते ।
सदा श्रीमद्‍-वृन्दावन-वसति-लीला-परिचयो
जगन्नाथः स्वामी नयन-पथ-गामी भवतु मे ॥२॥

bhuje savye veṇuṁ śirasi śikhi-picchaṁ kaṭitaṭe
dukūlaṁ netrānte sahacara-kaṭākṣaṁ ca vidadhat
sadā śrīmad-vṛndāvana-vasati-līlā-paricayo
jagannāthaḥ svāmī nayana-patha-gāmī bhavatu me (2)

In His left hand Lord Jagannatha holds a flute. On His head He wears the feathers of peacocks and on His hips He wears fine yellow silken cloth. Out of the corners of His eyes He bestows sidelong glances upon His loving devotees and He always reveals Himself through His pastimes in His divine abode of Vrindavana. May that Jagannatha Swami be the object of my vision.

महाम्भोधेस्तीरे कनक रुचिरे नील शिखरे
वसन् प्रासादान्तः सहज बलभद्रेण बलिना ।
सुभद्रा मध्यस्थः सकलसुर सेवावसरदो
जगन्नाथः स्वामी नयन-पथ-गामी भवतु मे ॥३॥

mahāmbhodhes tīre kanaka-rucire nīla-śikhare
vasan prāsādāntaḥ sahaja-balabhadreṇa balinā
subhadrā-madhya-sthaḥ sakala-sura-sevāvasara-do
jagannāthaḥ svāmī nayana-patha-gāmī bhavatu me (3)

Residing on the shore of the great ocean, within a large palace situated upon the crest of the brilliant, golden Nilacala Hill, along with His powerful brother Bala-bhadra, and in the middle of Them His sister Subhadra, Lord Jagannatha bestows the opportunity for devotional service upon all godly souls. May that Jagannatha Swami be the object of my vision.

कृपा पारावारः सजल जलद श्रेणिरुचिरो
रमा वाणी रामः स्फुरद् अमल पङ्केरुहमुखः ।
सुरेन्द्रैर् आराध्यः श्रुतिगण शिखा गीत चरितो
जगन्नाथः स्वामी नयन पथ गामी भवतु मे ॥४॥

kṛpā-pārāvāraḥ sajala-jalada-śreṇi-ruciro
ramā-vāṇī-rāmaḥ sphurad-amala-paṅkeruha-mukhaḥ
surendrair ārādhyaḥ śruti-gaṇa-śikhā-gīta-carito
jagannāthaḥ svāmī nayana-patha-gāmī bhavatu me (4)

Lord Jagannatha is an ocean of mercy and He is beautiful like a row of blackish rain clouds. He is the storehouse of bliss for Lakshmi and Saraswati, and His face is like a spotless full-blown lotus. He is worshiped by the best of demigods and sages, and His glories are sung by the Upanishads. May that Jagannatha Swami be the object of my vision.

रथारूढो गच्छन् पथि मिलित भूदेव पटलैः
स्तुति प्रादुर्भावम् प्रतिपदमुपाकर्ण्य सदयः ।
दया सिन्धुर्बन्धुः सकल जगतां सिन्धु सुतया
जगन्नाथः स्वामी नयन पथ गामी भवतु मे ॥५॥

rathārūḍho gacchan pathi milita-bhūdeva-paṭalaiḥ
stuti-prādurbhāvam prati-padam upākarṇya sadayaḥ
dayā-sindhur bandhuḥ sakala jagatāṁ sindhu-sutayā
jagannāthah svāmī nayana-patha-gāmī bhavatu me (5)

When Lord Jagannatha is on His Ratha-yatra cart and is moving along the road, at every step there is a loud presentation of prayers and songs chanted by large assemblies of brahmanas. Hearing their hymns Lord Jagannatha is very favorably disposed towards them. He is the ocean of mercy and the true friend of all the worlds. May that Jagannatha Swami, along with His consort Lakshmi, who was born from the ocean of nectar, be the object of my vision.

परंब्रह्मापीड़ः कुवलय-दलोत्‍फुल्ल-नयनो
निवासी नीलाद्रौ निहित-चरणोऽनन्त-शिरसि ।
रसानन्दी राधा-सरस-वपुरालिङ्गन-सुखो
जगन्नाथः स्वामी नयन-पथगामी भवतु मे ॥६॥

paraṁ-brahmāpīḍaḥ kuvalaya-dalotphulla-nayano
nivāsī nīlādrau nihita-caraṇo 'nanta-śirasi
rasānandī rādhā-sarasa-vapur-āliṅgana-sukho
jagannāthaḥ svāmī nayana-patha-gāmī bhavatu me (6)

He is the ornament of the head of Lord Brahma and His eyes are like the full-blown petals of the lotus. He resides on the Nilacala Hill, and His lotus feet are placed on the heads of Ananta Deva. Lord Jagannatha is overwhelmed by the mellow of love and He becomes joyful in the embracing of the body of Sri Radharani, which is like a cool pond. May that Jagannatha Swami be the object of my vision.

न वै याचे राज्यं न च कनक माणिक्य विभवं
न याचेऽहं रम्यां सकल जन काम्यां वरवधूम् ।
सदा काले काले प्रमथ पतिना गीतचरितो
जगन्नाथः स्वामी नयन पथ गामी भवतु मे ॥७॥

na vai yāce rājyaṁ na ca kanaka-māṇikya-vibhavaṁ
na yāce 'haṁ ramyāṁ sakala jana-kāmyāṁ vara-vadhūm
sadā kāle kāle pramatha-patinā gīta-carito
jagannāthaḥ svāmī nayana-patha-gāmī bhavatu me (7)

I do not pray for a kingdom, nor for gold, rubies, and wealth. I do not ask for an excellent and beautiful wife as desired by all men. I simply pray that Jagannatha Swami, whose glories are always sung by Lord Siva, be the constant object of my vision.

हर त्वं संसारं द्रुततरम् असारं सुरपते
हर त्वं पापानां विततिम् अपरां यादवपते ।
अहो दीनेऽनाथे निहित चरणो निश्चितमिदं
जगन्नाथः स्वामी नयन पथ गामी भवतु मे ॥८॥

hara tvaṁ saṁsāraṁ druta-taram asāraṁ sura-pate
hara tvaṁ pāpānāṁ vitatiṁ aparāṁ yādava-pate
aho dīne 'nāthe nihita-caraṇo niścitam idaṁ
jagannāthaḥ svāmī nayana-patha-gāmī bhavatu me (8)

O Lord of the demigods, please quickly remove this useless material existence I am undergoing. O Lord of the Yadus, please destroy this vast ocean of sins which has no shore. Alas, this is certain that Lord Jagannatha’s lotus feet are bestowed upon those who feel themselves fallen and have no shelter in this world but Him. May that Jagannatha Swami be the object of my vision.

जगन्नाथाष्टकं पुन्यं यः पठेत् प्रयतः शुचिः ।
सर्वपाप विशुद्धात्मा विष्णुलोकं स गच्छति ॥९॥

jagannāthāṣṭakaṁ punyaṁ yaḥ paṭhet prayataḥ śuciḥ
sarva-pāpa-viśuddhātmā viṣṇu-lokaṁ sa gacchati

The self-retrained, virtuous soul who recites these eight verses glorifying Lord Jagannatha becomes cleansed of all sins and duly proceeds to Lord Visnu's abode.

॥ इति श्रीमत् शंकराचार्यविरचितं जगन्नाथाष्टकं संपूर्णम् ॥

iti śrimat śaṅkaracārya viracitaṁ jagannāthāṣṭakam saṁpūrṇam

Thus ends the eight stanza hymn Jagannāthāṣṭakam composed by Śrimat Śaṅkaracārya

 

Mukh dekhi.

 This story is very beautifully told making the dialogue between Lord Shiva and yashoda very emotional. I don't know if the ending of it is right though. It is said that the brij vasi does not have to follow any ritual no pooja no japa no yaga they only shower their live for the lord in whatever way they like. A special tribe indeed. 

Once, while immersed in deep meditation, Lord Shiva received a divine revelation that all the gods had gathered in Gokul, at the house of Nanda Maharaja. Intrigued, Lord Shiva decided to visit Gokul to catch a glimpse of the newly born Lord Krishna. Parvati, his consort, expressed her desire to accompany him, but Lord Shiva, considering the journey too arduous, suggested she remain behind.

Parvati, understanding the situation, politely requested that Lord Shiva bring back some of the renowned butter from Gokul. Agreeing to her request, Lord Shiva set off on his journey.

As he neared the outskirts of the village, Lord Shiva realized that there was no need to disguise himself. He knew that Lord Krishna, in his divine wisdom, would already recognize him. This realization was a reflection of the sacred dust of Braj, which bestowed profound insights upon true devotees.

In his natural form, Lord Shiva appeared fearsome, with three eyes, matted hair, a tiger skin, a garland of snakes, and ashes adorning his body. Despite his formidable appearance, he boldly entered Gokul and made his way to Mata Yashoda’s house. With eager anticipation, he knocked on the door and humbly requested alms.

Mata Yashoda, overwhelmed with love for her beloved Krishna, opened the door but did not recognize Lord Shiva. Mistaking him for an ordinary mendicant, she offered him food and clothing as an act of hospitality. However, Lord Shiva declined her offer, stating that he only wished to see her divine child.

To his dismay, Mata Yashoda firmly refused, explaining that it was impossible for him to see Krishna. She feared that Krishna, being just a small child, might be frightened by Lord Shiva’s awe-inspiring appearance. Despite her refusal, Lord Shiva persisted, unwilling to leave without seeing Krishna.

A gentle yet firm standoff ensued. Mata Yashoda was resolute, warning Lord Shiva that she would close the gate for twice as long if he continued to insist. But Lord Shiva, undeterred, resolved to wait indefinitely, believing that one day he would witness Krishna’s divine form when he grew up and wandered freely.

Krishna, observing the exchange from inside, delighted in the devotion of his two followers. He intended to show that the love of a devotee in the mood of parental affection surpassed that of servitude. Lord Shiva embodied the pinnacle of servitorship, while Mata Yashoda represented pure parental love. Both were deeply devoted, but the bond of parental affection carried a unique depth.

Acknowledging Mata Yashoda’s superior love, Lord Shiva gracefully conceded. He left the house, feeling a sense of defeat, and retreated to the banks of the Yamuna River, where he sat in meditation, contemplating Krishna’s divine will.

Meanwhile, Krishna, sensing Lord Shiva’s disappointment, began to cry inconsolably. Despite the efforts of the cowherd boys and girls, Krishna’s tears would not cease. A perceptive gopi named Lalita, noticing the situation, asked Mata Yashoda if anyone had left the house unsatisfied. Yashoda recalled the saint with snakes around his neck who had departed without seeing Krishna. Lalita, wise and compassionate, urged that they should bring him back, as no saint should leave unfulfilled.

Mata Yashoda described the saint’s appearance, and Lalita set out to find him. She soon located Lord Shiva and brought him back to the house. Overwhelmed with emotion, Yashoda handed the crying Krishna to Lord Shiva.

The moment Krishna was placed in Lord Shiva’s arms, he stopped crying and gazed lovingly at his devotee. Lord Shiva, cradling Krishna, was overcome with transcendental ecstasy. He honored Krishna, acknowledging the Lord’s unfathomable ways, and touched his tiny feet to his head while reciting the Gopala Sahasra Nama Stotra, a hymn glorifying Krishna with a thousand names.

Upon returning home, Lord Shiva shared this divine experience with Parvati. He remembered her request for butter, but in his deep contemplation of Krishna, he had unwittingly consumed all of it on the way back. When Parvati pointed out the empty container, Lord Shiva realized his mistake. Parvati playfully remarked that since he had not brought any prasadam (sacred food) for her, no one would partake in his offerings either. Since that day, any offering made to Lord Shiva is known as ‘Shiva-Naivedya’ or ‘Shiva-Nirmaalya,’ considered sacred and not to be consumed once presented to him.

Veer.

 Shambhu Raje: The Flame That Refused to Bow

In the tapestry of Indian history, few figures burn as brightly and tragically as Chhatrapati Sambhaji Maharaj, the valiant son of Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj. Revered as Shambhu Raje, he stands as a symbol of resistance, unbending faith, and profound courage. His life, though short, was a storm of action, ideals, and martyrdom that left an indelible mark on the soul of the Maratha Empire.

A Prince of Promise

Born on May 14, 1657, at Purandar Fort, Sambhaji was the eldest son of Shivaji and Maharani Saibai. From a young age, he was exposed to the ethos of Swarajya—the dream of a self-ruled and self-respecting nation. He was not only trained in warfare and administration but was also a remarkable scholar. He mastered Sanskrit, Persian, Marathi, and Portuguese and had deep interests in literature and philosophy. His work, Budhbhushanam in Sanskrit, reflects his erudition.

The Crown of Thorns.

The death of Shivaji Maharaj in 1680 brought turbulent times. Internal politics and betrayal challenged the succession. Yet Sambhaji, with determination and resilience, claimed his rightful throne and was crowned at Raigad as the second Chhatrapati of the Maratha Empire.

His reign, though lasting just nine years, was spent in the thick of conflict. The mighty Mughal emperor Aurangzeb had turned his imperial eye towards the Deccan, and Sambhaji became the foremost obstacle in his path.

A Lion Against the Empire

Aurangzeb launched a full-scale campaign to crush the Marathas. With the Deccan aflame, Sambhaji took charge of the resistance. His military campaigns against the Mughals, the Siddis of Janjira, the Portuguese in Goa, and internal traitors were daring and swift. He waged guerilla warfare with intelligence and unmatched bravery.

He was not merely fighting for territory; he was fighting for dharma, for the Maratha dream of sovereignty, and for the survival of a culture under threat.

The Trial of Fire.

In 1689, fate dealt a cruel blow. Betrayed by some of his own, Sambhaji and his close aide Kavi Kalash were captured by the Mughals near Sangameshwar. What followed was among the darkest and yet most glorious chapters in Indian history.

Aurangzeb offered Sambhaji a choice—convert to Islam and save his life and crown. But Sambhaji refused. Not once. Not even when subjected to weeks of horrific torture. His eyes were gouged, tongue cut, limbs mutilated, and yet, not a word of surrender passed his lips.

He died a martyr—tortured but unbroken, humiliated but unbeaten, stripped of life but not of honor. His final act of resistance became the spark that would light the fire of Maratha resurgence.

Legacy Beyond Death

Sambhaji’s death did not extinguish the Maratha flame—it intensified it. The Mughals never recovered from the shock of his sacrifice. His example galvanized Maratha leaders like Rajaram, Maharani Tarabai, and eventually Chhatrapati Shahu to carry forward the mission of Swarajya with renewed vigor.

Today, Shambhu Raje is not just a historical figure—he is a cultural icon, a symbol of fearless leadership, and a beacon of resistance against tyranny.

His name is uttered with pride in every corner of Maharashtra and beyond. Statues, temples, books, and songs continue to narrate his glory. And in every heart that values freedom and dharma, Sambhaji Maharaj lives on—as the flame that refused to bow.