Monday, February 2, 2026

Intriguing.



The Silent Towers

They were not built in haste.

They were not raised by hands.

They grew slowly, unseen, beneath water that itself seemed lifeless.

For centuries, the lake covered them—

salt-heavy, alkaline, inhospitable.

And yet, from that harshness arose form, firmness, and quiet beauty.

The tufa towers remind us that what appears barren is often secretly creative.

Spiritual life, too, is like this.

Much of it happens below the surface—

in silence, repetition, waiting.

Japa that seems dry.

Prayer that feels unanswered.

Days that appear unchanged.

But unseen reactions are taking place.

Drop by drop, the spring meets the lake.

Moment by moment, effort meets grace.

And something solid begins to form within.

Only when the waters recede—

when time pulls back its veil—

do we see what was being shaped all along.

The tufa does not shout.

It does not decorate itself.

It stands—weathered, rough, unpolished—

bearing witness to patience.

Perhaps that is its quiet teaching:

True strength does not announce itself.

It simply remains.


When Silence Takes Form: Lessons from the Tufa Towers

Some landscapes speak loudly—through colour, abundance, and movement.

Others remain almost austere, asking the viewer to slow down, to look longer, to listen.

The tufa towers of Mono Lake belong to the second kind.

Rising like ancient sentinels from a stark, mineral-rich land, these formations were not sculpted by wind or carved by force. They were shaped patiently, underwater, over centuries. Freshwater springs carrying calcium rose invisibly from the lakebed. When they met the alkaline waters of the lake, a quiet chemical dialogue took place. Stone was born—slowly, silently.

For a very long time, these towers remained hidden. Only when the lake receded did their presence become known.

There is something profoundly instructive in this.

In spiritual life, we often expect visible signs of progress—clarity, emotion, reassurance. But the deepest transformations occur beneath the surface. Repeated japa that feels dry, prayer offered without fervour, duties performed without recognition—these are like the submerged years of the tufa. Nothing appears to be happening, yet something irreversible is taking shape.

Silence, when sustained, acquires form.

The tufa towers do not display symmetry or polish. They are rough, uneven, sometimes fragile in appearance. And yet they endure. Their strength lies not in refinement, but in patience accumulated over time. They stand as reminders that endurance is not dramatic; it is faithful.

Nature here mirrors a timeless spiritual truth:

That which is formed slowly lasts longer.

When circumstances lower the waters of our lives—when supports are removed, when certainties recede—we begin to see what has actually been built within us. Not what was spoken, but what was practiced. Not what was proclaimed, but what was lived quietly.

The tufa towers do not seek attention. They simply remain, bearing witness to a long, unseen process. In that stillness, they offer their teaching:

Growth does not need applause.

Depth does not need display.

What is real will reveal itself in time.


Four.

 People in St Petersburg, Russia, were left stunned after seeing what appeared to be four moons shining in the night sky on Sunday. The rare sight quickly caught attention as photos and videos spread across social media, with many skywatchers amazed by the unusual and beautiful view.

Paraselene.

Paraselene (from Greek para = beside, selene = moon) is a natural atmospheric phenomenon—commonly called a “moon dog.”

Bright spots of light that appear on either side of the Moon

Usually seen when the Moon is full or nearly full How it forms

Caused by moonlight passing through hexagonal ice crystals in high, thin cirrus clouds

The light bends (refracts), creating luminous patches about 22° from the Moon

Faint rainbow-like colors (often white with a hint of red or blue)

Sometimes connected to a halo around the Moon

Softer and subtler than sun dogs (paraselia), because moonlight is weaker

In old literature, paraselene was often taken as an omen, a sign of coming weather change

Poets and mystics saw it as the Moon having attendants or companions


Saturday, January 31, 2026

Secrets

Some gurukul memories of Lord Krishna with Bala badra and Sudhama.




L1. The Day of Equal Hunger

One afternoon, after hours of collecting firewood and tending cows, the boys returned exhausted.

Sandipani Muni was away, and no food had been prepared yet.

Balarama sat down quietly, his strength restrained by discipline.

Sudhama smiled and said, “Hunger sharpens the mind, does it not?”

Krishna laughed softly. “Yes, Sudhama—but only after it sharpens the stomach first.”

They shared a handful of coarse grains meant for the evening offering. Krishna insisted Sudhama eat first. Sudhama refused. Balarama divided the portion evenly.

That day, no one ate fully, but no one felt deprived.

Lesson: In the gurukula, equality was not taught—it was lived. When God chooses to be a student, He chooses to be no one special.

2. Gathering Firewood in the Storm

Once, Sandipani Muni sent them to gather firewood before sunset.

A sudden storm arose—wind howling, rain slashing, the forest roaring alive.

Sudhama trembled, unsure of the path back.

Balarama stood firm, anchoring himself like a mountain.

Krishna held Sudhama’s hand and said lightly,

“Do not fear. The forest knows us.”

They wandered till nightfall, drenched and lost. When they finally reached the āśrama at dawn, Sandipani Muni was waiting—concerned but calm.

Seeing them soaked and weary, he embraced them and said:

“Today, you have repaid all guru-dakṣiṇā.”

Lesson: Obedience in difficulty pleases the Guru more than brilliance in comfort.

Even the Lord submits to discipline—for that is how dharma is preserved.

3. Sudhama’s Palm-Leaf Mistake

During a Vedic recitation, Sudhama once mispronounced a svara (intonation).

Before he could correct himself, Krishna repeated the same line—with the same mistake.

Sandipani Muni stopped them gently.

“Krishna, you know this is incorrect.”

Krishna bowed and said,

“Yes, Gurudeva. But today I wished to learn how not to let a friend stand alone in error.”

Sudhama’s eyes filled with tears.

P Lesson: True knowledge includes compassion.

In the gurukula, friendship was not a distraction from learning—it was part of it.

4. Washing the Guru’s Feet

Every morning before studies, the three boys fetched water, swept the hermitage, and washed their Guru’s feet.

Sudhama once whispered,

“Krishna… do you ever feel this is beneath you?”

Krishna looked up, startled.

“Beneath me? Sudhama, this is where I learn who I am.”

Balarama nodded. “Strength that does not bow becomes arrogance.”

The greatest secret of the gurukula—

Service is not preparation for knowledge; it is knowledge.

In Sandipani Muni’s āśrama:

Balarama learned restraint

Krishna learned humility

Sudhama learned dignity in poverty

And the world learned this eternal truth:

Bhagavān Himself once carried firewood, went hungry, made mistakes, and obeyed a Guru—so that no seeker would ever feel ashamed to begin small.

Banke bhi.

Why Banke Bihari Feels So Close — A Story from Vrindavan

Long ago, in the sacred lanes of Vrindavan, there lived a saint named Swami Haridas. He was not a king, not a scholar seeking fame—only a lover of Krishna. His days passed in nāma, music, and tears of devotion.

One evening, as the Yamuna breeze carried the scent of kadamba flowers, Swami Haridas sang with such longing that sound itself turned into prayer. His voice did not ask for moksha, wealth, or miracles. It asked only:

“Krishna… come as You are. Not as God. Come as my Beloved.”

And Krishna listened.

Not as Jagannath on a chariot,

Not as Vishnu on Adisesha,

But as a mischievous child, hips bent in tribhaṅga, flute curved like a smile.

Thus appeared Banke Bihari—

Banke (bent in grace),

Bihari (the One who enjoys love).

But here is the secret that makes Him different.

The God Who Couldn’t Bear Too Much Love

When devotees first stood before Him, something strange happened.

They forgot themselves.

Some laughed.

Some cried.

Some felt their hearts race uncontrollably.

Why?

Because Banke Bihari does not stand at a distance.

He looks back.

His eyes are not commanding.

They are playful, teasing, intimate—like a child asking,

“Why are you pretending to be strong? I know your heart.”

The priests noticed something astonishing.

When the curtain stayed open too long, the Lord Himself would sway, as if overwhelmed by the devotion pouring toward Him.

So they began the tradition of jhanki—

darshan in brief glimpses.

Not because devotees cannot bear His beauty…

but because He cannot bear their love.

What other God needs protection from devotion?

Why People Relate to Banke Bihari

Because He behaves like one of us.

• He does not wake early—He sleeps in like a spoiled child

• He does not accept formal rituals easily

• He refuses strict schedules

• He does not sit stiffly like a ruler

• He loves butter, mischief, music, and moods

He is Krishna without ceremony.

You don’t approach Banke Bihari saying

“I am pure.”

You come saying

“I am tired.”

“I am confused.”

“I love You, but I fail.”

And He smiles—as if to say,

“Finally, honesty.”

A God Who Belongs, Not Rules

In Vrindavan, people don’t say

“Let us go worship Banke Bihari.”

They say

“Let us go meet Him.”

Because Banke Bihari is not a distant Bhagavan.

He is sakha (friend),

laḷā (child),

prāṇa-priya (life’s beloved).

He does not ask you to rise above the world first.

He says,

“Bring your world with you. I will sit inside it.”

That Is Why He Relates

Because Banke Bihari is God who chose relationship over reverence.

Not a Lord on a throne—

but Krishna leaning sideways, flute paused, waiting to see who came today just to see Him smile.

And that is why, once you stand before Him,

you don’t feel like a devotee.

You feel like

someone who has come home. 

When God Obeys Love — A Gopi’s Day with Krishna

One morning in Nidhivan, the gopīs were grinding grain. Their bangles clinked, butter pots lay open, and laughter floated like incense.

Krishna stood nearby—

not as Ishvara,

not as Narayana,

but as Banke Bihari, leaning on one foot, flute dangling uselessly.

A gopī called out, half-mocking, half-loving:

“O Natkhat! If you truly love us, go to the kitchen and bring roti…

and don’t forget—extra butter, not your usual stealing!”

Krishna rolled His eyes.

But He went.

Not to prove power—

but to prove love.

He returned with the roti, butter dripping onto His fingers. Before He could speak, another gopī laughed:

“Arre! Is this how you carry food?

Now act like a monkey and show us how you stole it!”

And what did the Supreme Being do?

He chattered like a monkey, jumped, twisted, scratched His head, and bowed theatrically.

The gopīs clapped.

Someone teased again:

“Stand still, Banke! Don’t move. Let us see if you can obey even that.”

He froze—

tribhaṅga turned into surrender.

At that moment, the flute was silent.

The universe waited.

Why This Matters (Not Childish, but Cosmic)

This is not Krishna being humiliated.

This is Bhagavān choosing to be conquered.

In the Bhāgavata spirit, bhakti does not mean obeying God.

It means God obeys bhakti.

The gopīs did not see Him as:

Omniscient

Omnipotent

Omnipresent

They saw Him as:

“Our Krishna”

“That mischievous boy”

“One who must listen”

And He accepted their right over Him.

That is why Banke Bihari feels so relatable.

He allows:

scolding

commands

jokes

impossible demands

Because love that cannot command is not intimacy.

A Deep Vaishnava Truth Hidden Here

The scriptures hint at this paradox:

“Ajita jito’py asi”

O Unconquerable One, You are conquered.

Krishna is Ajita—no one can control Him.

Yet before the gopīs, He becomes jita—defeated.

Why?

Because prema has no fear, and God bows only where fear ends.

Why Banke Bihari Still Does This Today

Even now in Vrindavan:

He refuses strict aartis

He dislikes loud conches

He changes clothes when devotees insist

He eats when they beg

He appears late, sulks, disappears

Because Banke Bihari is Krishna who never left the gopīs.

He is not trained by rules.

He is moved by requests.

Say:

“Do this for me.”

And if it is said with love,

He will.

Not because He must—

but because He enjoys being needed.

The Final Whisper

Other gods say:

“Surrender to Me.”

Banke Bihari says:

“Come close enough to forget I am God.”

That is why He brings roti.

That is why He plays the monkey.

That is why He stands still when told.

And that is why devotees don’t pray to Him.

They talk to Him.

1. बाँके बिहारी और गोपियों की आज्ञा

एक दिन की बात है।

वृंदावन की गली में धूप फैल रही थी।

गोपियाँ अपने घर के आँगन में बैठी थीं—

कोई मथनी चला रही थी,

कोई रोटी सेंक रही थी,

कोई हँसी में मग्न थी।

तभी बाँके बिहारी आ पहुँचे—

कमर टेढ़ी, आँखों में शरारत,

बाँसुरी हाथ में… पर बजाने का मन नहीं।

एक गोपी बोली—

“अरे कन्हैया, बड़े ठाकुर बने फिरते हो!

जरा भीतर जाओ,

रसोई से एक रोटी लाओ—

और हाँ, मक्खन ज़रा ज्यादा होना चाहिए।”

कृष्ण मुस्कुराए।

कुछ कहे बिना भीतर चले गए।

थोड़ी देर में लौटे—

रोटी हाथ में,

मक्खन उँगलियों से टपकता हुआ।

गोपियाँ हँस पड़ीं।

दूसरी गोपी बोली—

“अरे! ऐसे लाते हैं क्या?

अच्छा, अब बंदर बनो।

दिखाओ कैसे चुराकर लाए थे!”

बाँके बिहारी ने बाँसुरी रख दी।

उछले, कूदे,

सिर खुजलाया,

और सचमुच बंदर जैसे करतब दिखाने लगे।

तालियाँ बज उठीं।

एक गोपी ने छेड़ा—

“बस! अब वहीं खड़े रहो।

हिलना मत।

देखें, हमारी बात मानते हो या नहीं।”

कृष्ण रुक गए।

न बाँसुरी बजी।

न कदम हिले।

सारा ब्रज थम गया।

उस क्षण

भगवान नहीं खड़े थे वहाँ—

प्रेम का सेवक खड़ा था।

गोपियाँ जानती थीं—

यह वही है

जो तीनों लोकों का स्वामी है।

और कृष्ण जानते थे—

यह वही प्रेम है

जिसके आगे वे सदा हार जाते हैं।

बृज का रहस्य

बृज में कोई कृष्ण से कहता नहीं—

“आप भगवान हैं।”

बृज में कहा जाता है—

“कन्हैया, ज़रा यह कर दो।”

और बाँके बिहारी

हर बार कर देते हैं।

2.  बाँके बिहारी और छाछ का घड़ा

एक दोपहर की बात है।

गोपियाँ छाछ मथ रही थीं।

घड़े कतार में रखे थे।

धूप तेज़ थी।

कृष्ण आए,

घड़ों की ओर देखने लगे।

एक गोपी बोली—

“अरे! मत देखो।

आज तुम्हें कुछ नहीं मिलेगा।

पहले हमारी मदद करो।”

कृष्ण बोले—

“क्या करूँ?”

गोपी हँसकर बोली—

“घड़ा उठाओ और छाँह में रखो।

देखें, माखनचोर मेहनत भी करता है या नहीं।”

कृष्ण ने घड़ा उठाया।

लेकिन रास्ते में

जानबूझकर थोड़ा छलकाया।

गोपियाँ चिल्लाईं—

“अरे! ऐसे नहीं!”

कृष्ण हँसे—

“छलकने में भी आनंद है।”

भक्ति का भाव

भक्ति में भगवान

सिर्फ दाता नहीं होते—

सेवक भी बनते हैं।

जहाँ प्रेम है, वहाँ काम छोटा-बड़ा नहीं।

3. बाँके बिहारी और तुलसी की माला

एक सांझ की बात।

एक गोपी तुलसी की माला पिरो रही थी।

धागा उलझ गया।

कृष्ण पास आए।

गोपी बोली—

“तुम्हारी बाँसुरी तो सीधी रहती है,

यह धागा क्यों नहीं?”

कृष्ण बोले—

“दो, मैं देखता हूँ।”

धागा और उलझ गया।

गोपी ने हँसते हुए कहा—

“रहने दो।

तुम बस माला पकड़े रहो।”

कृष्ण ने माला पकड़ी—

बिलकुल चुप।

तुलसी की खुशबू फैल गई।

भक्ति का भाव

भक्ति में

कृष्ण से काम करवाना नहीं,

कृष्ण को शामिल करना ही पर्याप्त होता है।

4. बाँके बिहारी और नाराज़ गोपी

एक दिन एक गोपी रूठी हुई थी।

कृष्ण आए,

बोले—

“क्या हुआ?”

गोपी ने मुँह फेर लिया।

कृष्ण बोले—

“ठीक है, मैं जा रहा हूँ।”

गोपी बोली—

“किसने कहा जाने को?”

कृष्ण रुक गए।

कुछ बोले नहीं।

बस वहीं बैठ गए।

काफी देर बाद

गोपी बोली—

“अब भी बैठे हो?”

कृष्ण बोले—

“तुम्हारे बुलाने का इंतज़ार है।”

भक्ति का भाव

सच्ची भक्ति में

भगवान

उत्तर देने से ज़्यादा प्रतीक्षा करते हैं।

5. बाँके बिहारी और झाड़ू

सुबह-सुबह की बात।

आँगन में पत्ते गिरे थे।

एक गोपी बोली—

“कन्हैया, आज झाड़ू लगा दो।

रोज़ शरारत करते हो।”

कृष्ण ने झाड़ू उठाई।

लेकिन

हर पत्ते के साथ

एक फूल भी जोड़ दिया।

गोपी बोली—

“यह क्या?”

कृष्ण बोले—

“साफ़ करते समय

सुंदरता भी रहनी चाहिए।”

भक्ति का भाव

भक्ति

सिर्फ शुद्धि नहीं,

रस की रक्षा है।

समापन पंक्ति (आप चाहें तो जोड़ें)

बृज में भक्ति

ज्ञान नहीं है,

अनुशासन नहीं है।

वह तो बस

इतना है—

भगवान को इतना अपना मान लेना

कि उनसे काम लिया जा सके।


Friday, January 30, 2026

GPU.

Guru Pushyam Utsavam at Sri Perambudur (Sriperumbudur) — a special temple festival focused on Guru Pushya and the Sri Ramanujar shrine in Perambudur, Tamil Nadu 

Guru Pushyam refers to the day when the Pushya star (Nakshatra) coincides with Guru (Jupiter) in Hindu astrology — considered highly auspicious for spiritual and devotional activities.

In many Vishnu/Sri Vaishnava traditions, this day is celebrated as a temple festival (Utsavam) honoring Guru and especially acharyas such as Sri Ramanuja, who is one of the most revered teachers (Guru) in Vaishnavism. 

The festival is mainly observed at the Sri Ramanujar / Adi Kesava Perumal Temple in Sriperumbudur (Kanchipuram district), Tamil Nadu — an important Vaishnava pilgrimage site and birthplace of Sri Ramanuja. 

Guru Pushyam Utsavam is observed on the day of the Pushya star in the Tamil month of Thai (usually in January–February).

Devotional events span multiple days, often 3 days or more around the Pushya star date. 

Devotional activities during the Utsavam typically include:

Special Dhivya Sevai and rituals: Devotees participate in early morning and evening devotional services (Sevai) dedicated to Sri Swami Ramanujar (the Guru deity) and Lord Vishnu. 

Pratiṣṭhāpana (installation) ceremonies: On some days of the Utsavam, specific rites like Swami Pratiṣṭhāpana are performed to honor the divine presence of Sri Ramanujar. 

Poojas and devotional singing: Traditional pasurams and stotras may be sung; temples are decorated with flowers and lamps, and special poojas (abhishekam, archana) are offered. 

This Utsavam emphasizes devotion to the Guru principle — both the celestial Guru (Jupiter) and the spiritual Guru — and celebrates the lineage and teachings of Sri Ramanuja, who taught Vishishtadvaita and devotion to Lord Vishnu. 

On Guru Pushyam days, devotees seek blessings for knowledge, spiritual growth, prosperity, and removal of obstacles.

Devotees often visit the temple during the festival days for darshan and to join in Sevai and poojas.

Many devotees consider this an auspicious time to perform special prayers for family well-being, education, and spiritual fulfilment.

Pushya Nakshatra Duration: Begins early on Feb 1 and continues till late that night. 

This alignment (Thai month Pushya) is traditionally the day for Guru Pushyam Utsavam at Sriperumbudur. It is one of the key days when devotees perform special prayers and poojas in the temple.

Pushya Nakshatra is considered extremely auspicious for offerings, devotion, spiritual growth, and seeking blessings from the Guru (teacher) and Vishnu. 

The festival at Sri Perambudur celebrates both the cosmic astrological alignment (Pushya + Guru) and the legacy of Sri Ramanuja — who is deeply revered as the Guru of the Sri Vaishnava lineage. 

Wednesday, January 28, 2026

Gestures.

In the Vedic tradition, nothing is accidental—not the sound, not the breath, and not even the movement of the hands.

Importance of Hand Gestures while Reciting the Vedas

Vedic recitation (adhyayanam) is not merely reading sacred text aloud. It is a three-fold discipline involving sound (śabda), breath (prāṇa), and movement (kriyā). Hand gestures—often overlooked today—play a quiet but profound role in preserving accuracy, sanctity, and inner alignment.

1. Aiding Perfect Pronunciation (Śikṣā)

The Vedas are sound-centric. A single misplaced accent can alter meaning or efficacy. Hand movements act as physical markers:

Rising hand → udātta (raised tone)

Level movement → svarita

Downward or restrained movement → anudātta

By engaging the hands, the chanter anchors tonal shifts in the body, reducing error—especially in long recitations.

The body remembers what the mind may forget.

2. Synchronising Breath, Mind, and Sound

Vedic chanting is rhythmic and breath-controlled. Hand gestures:

Regulate tempo

Prevent hurried recitation

Maintain metrical balance (chandas)

This creates a natural slowing down—something your own reflections on rhythm and balance often return to.

3. Enhancing Memory and Continuity

Traditional pāṭhas (ghana, krama, jaṭā) are complex. Hand gestures:

Serve as mnemonic cues

Mark repetition, reversal, or progression

Help the chanter stay oriented within the text

For generations, this embodied method preserved the Vedas without manuscripts—a living miracle of oral transmission.

4. Completing the Act of Yajña

Recitation is itself a yajña. Just as fire rituals require mudrās, Vedic chanting employs subtle hand movements to:

“Offer” each mantra

Maintain ritual purity

Signal attentiveness and reverence

The hands become extensions of intention (saṅkalpa).

5. Directing Inner Energy (Prāṇic Alignment)

While not always labelled as mudrā, these gestures influence:

Flow of prāṇa

Stability of posture

Mental focus (ekāgratā)

This is why traditional teachers insist on seated posture and visible hand movement—not for show, but for inner steadiness.

6. A Visible Expression of Discipline (Anuṣṭhāna)

In gurukula traditions, hand gestures were a sign of:

Proper training

Respect for lineage (paramparā)

Submission to the mantra, not personal style

Still hands often indicate casual reading; moving hands indicate sacred engagement.

A Deeper Insight

The Vedas were never meant to be “heard” alone. They were meant to be embodied.

When the hands move with the mantra, the whole being participates—

mind understands, voice vibrates, breath sustains, and hands offer.

In that moment, the chanter is not outside the Veda

the chanter becomes part of it.

From Vedic Recitation to Japa:

How Hand Movement Sustains Mantra Balance

The principles that govern Vedic recitation do not end with the Vedas. They flow naturally into japa, where sound becomes inward, subtle, and continuous. What hand gestures accomplish in Vedic chanting, japa mālā accomplishes in mantra practice.

At heart, both serve the same purpose: balance—of breath, attention, and intention.

Mantra as Measured Offering, Not Repetition

Japa is often misunderstood as mechanical repetition. Traditional teaching says otherwise. A mantra is a living presence, not a string of syllables. Like Vedic recitation, it requires śraddhā (reverence), niyama (discipline), and balam (inner strength).

Here the hands once again become crucial.

Just as hand gestures guide Vedic accents, the fingers moving over a mālā guide:

Pace

Awareness

Continuity

Without the hands, the mind tends to wander; without the mantra, the hands fall idle. Together, they form a closed circuit of attention.

The Role of the Mālā: Embodied Śikṣā

The mālā is not a counter. It is embodied śikṣā—teaching the chanter rhythm without instruction.

Each bead creates:

A natural pause,

A breath reset,

A moment of awareness.

This mirrors Vedic hand movements that regulate svara and chandas. The body once again learns the mantra before the intellect does.

This is why elders insist that japa be done:

Seated,

With visible finger movement,

At an unhurried pace.

Haste breaks sanctity. Still hands invite sleep. Moving hands sustain wakeful devotion.

Balam: Strength Without Strain

In Vedic śikṣā, balam does not mean loudness. It means steadiness. The same applies to japa.

A mantra whispered with balance carries more force than one shouted with agitation.

Hand movement during japa prevents:

Mental fatigue,

Vocal strain,

Emotional restlessness.

The mantra settles into rhythm, and rhythm settles into silence.

Breath, Prāṇa, and Subtle Movement

Every mantra rides on breath. When fingers move bead to bead, breath naturally aligns. In time:

Breath becomes softer,

Mantra becomes internal,

Movement becomes minimal.

This mirrors the Vedic progression from audible chanting to inward recitation. What begins as external discipline matures into inner absorption.

Why Certain Fingers Are Used

Traditionally, japa avoids the index finger, symbol of ego (ahaṅkāra), and employs the thumb with middle or ring finger. This is not symbolism alone—it is psychological conditioning.

The hand quietly reminds the seeker:

This mantra is not mine. I am its servant.

From Gesture to Stillness

An important truth often missed: movement prepares stillness.

In the early stages, hand movement anchors attention. In advanced practice, movement may fade—but only after it has done its work. Premature stillness leads to distraction; earned stillness leads to depth.

Just as a child learns rhythm by clapping before internalising it, the seeker learns mantra through movement before entering silence.

One Stream, Many Forms

Vedic recitation, japa, nāma-saṅkīrtana—all flow from the same source.

Sound is offered.

Breath sustains.

Hands guide.

Mind follows.

When any one of these is neglected, imbalance arises.

The hands that once marked Vedic accents now count beads.

The breath that once carried ṛks now carries the Name.

The discipline that preserved revelation now preserves devotion.

In both Veda and japa, the teaching is the same:

Do not rush the mantra.

Do not abandon the body.

Let the whole being pray.

Tuesday, January 27, 2026

In giving.

Life as Seen Through a Sanātana Lens: A Prime Minister’s Quiet Wisdom

Life, as reflected in the Prime Minister’s words, is not a race toward personal fulfillment nor a ladder climbed for applause. It is a sādhana — a disciplined unfolding of purpose — where one is shaped more by what one gives than by what one gathers.

This view is profoundly Sanātanī, echoing the ancient conviction that human life is entrusted to us not for indulgence, but for ṛṇa-śodhana — the repayment of our debt to society, nature, ancestors, and the Divine.

Life Is Not About Comfort, but Contribution

The Sanātana worldview never promised comfort as life’s goal. It promised meaning.

The Prime Minister’s reflections consistently return to this idea:

that suffering refines, responsibility steadies, and hardship clarifies one’s dharma. In this, he stands aligned with the Gītā’s declaration:

“Niṣkāma karma is not renunciation of action,

but renunciation of ownership over action.”

Life, therefore, is not lived asking “What do I get?”

but “What must be done through me?”

The Self Is an Instrument, Not the Centre

A striking Sanātana truth present in his view of life is the quiet erasure of ego. The individual is not the final doer — one is merely an instrument (nimitta) in a far greater order.

This humility mirrors the Upaniṣadic insight that the same force which moves the stars also moves human destiny. When one accepts this, arrogance dissolves, and gratitude takes its place.

One does not say, “I achieved”,

but rather, “I was enabled.”

Service as the Highest Expression of Spirituality

In Sanātana Dharma, seva is yoga.

The Prime Minister’s understanding of life elevates service from a moral duty to a spiritual discipline. Whether the service is visible or unnoticed, political or personal, its value lies in intent, not recognition.

This recalls the ancient ideal of the Rājā-Rṣi — one who governs not as a ruler seeking power, but as a seeker shouldering responsibility.

Pain as a Teacher, Not an Enemy

Another deeply Sanātanī strand in this worldview is the acceptance of pain as a formative force. Life is not unfair; it is instructive.

Sanātana philosophy never framed suffering as punishment, but as prārabdha unfolding — an opportunity for growth, balance, and transcendence. In this light, even adversity becomes purposeful, and resilience becomes sacred.

Life Is a Trust, Not a Possession

Perhaps the most powerful undertone in this reflection on life is the idea that life is borrowed.

Borrowed from time.

Borrowed from history.

Borrowed from future generations.

This sense of trusteeship — “I am here only for a while” — is the heart of Sanātana wisdom. It frees one from fear, softens attachment, and sharpens responsibility.

Conclusion: A Modern Voice Echoing an Ancient Truth

What makes the Prime Minister’s view of life resonate so deeply is not novelty, but familiarity — the recognition of something ancient spoken in modern language.

It is Sanātana not because it names scriptures,

but because it lives their spirit.

Life, in this vision, is not meant to be won.

It is meant to be lived rightly —

with discipline, humility, service, and surrender.

And when lived thus, life itself becomes yoga.