The Birth of Ramayana and its Composition

Narada, the celestial sage born from Brahma’s mind, is a devoted messenger of Vishnu, renowned for his wisdom and wandering nature. He plays a pivotal role in sacred texts—guiding Vyasa to compose the Puranas and inspiring Valmiki with the tale of Rama.

When Valmiki seeks an ideal man, Narada describes Rama: virtuous, mighty, and radiant as the gods. Later, while meditating by the Tamasa River, Valmiki witnesses a hunter kill a mating curlew.

A curlew is a medium-sized shorebird and has a bill that is sickle-shaped, curving downward at the tip. The birds have long necks and long legs.

Once, when the birds devoted themselves to each other, they seemed unaware to the sage Valmiki. As they made love, they were so engrossed in each other that they overlooked the Nishada (hunter) nearby.

As the great sage looked at the birds, the Nishada struck the male with an arrow. It fell to the ground, trembling and soaked in its blood. Seeing her dying mate, the female cried out in pathetic tones. Valmiki saw the struggling bird. desperate for life and heard the cries of separation of the female.

Shocked at this cruel interruption of love.

Valmiki, overwhelmed with grief, reacted with deep compassion and pain.

He spoke: The first shloka

maa nishaada pratishtha

tvam/ agamah shashvatech samah//

yat-kraunca-mithunad-ekam/avadhih kama-mohitam //

("O Nishada! This couple of curlews was in the throes of passion, and you killed one of them. Therefore, you will possess ill repute for an eternal number of years.")

Astonished that he had spoken these words aloud, Valmiki wondered, "What are these words that I have uttered while overcome with sorrow?"

Grief, in verse-

Overcome by grief, Valmiki suddenly utters a rhythmic curse—the first shloka—birthing Sanskrit poetry. This moment transforms sorrow into art, marking the dawn of epic storytelling.

Valmiki sat meditating, unable to forget the birds or his own peculiar verse, composed in a moment of grief. At that moment, a cosmic guest appeared and set his mind at ease.

Valmiki sat meditating when Brahma, the Creator of the universe, appeared before him. Astonished, Valmiki prostrated and greeted him with folded hands.

He then paid Brahma his respect and offered him water to wash his feet, some whole rice grains (arghya), a gift, and asana (a seat).

Valmiki sat down but, despite being in front of the great lord, was unable to forget the birds and the cruelty of the hunter's act. Overcome by grief, he uttered the verse again.

Seeing Valmiki's dilemma. and perhaps delighted at the fruition of his plan, Brahma said with a smile. "Do not think about this anymore. You have composed a structured shloka. The poetry and speech were born because I wanted it to be so.

"Best of seers, now use this beautiful structure to compose a complete account of Rama's conduct as you heard it from Narada.

"Nothing of the acts of Rama, Sita, or Lakshmana shall remain hidden from you. You shall have full knowledge of all they did, in public or private. Not a word of what you say in this composition shall ever be rendered false."

Thus, according to Valmiki's supernatural insight. Brahma vanished.

The Destruction of the Three Forts by Mahadeva

 The Destruction of the Three Forts by Mahadeva

Once, Shiva vanquished three formidable asuras who dwelled in three impregnable forts of metal and wreaked havoc upon the rishis. This tale, detailed in the Mahabharata, narrates the downfall of these demons through divine intervention.

The three sons of Tarkasura, after performing severe penances, obtained a boon from Brahma: they would reside in three separate castles, one of gold in the heavens, another of silver in the sky, and the third of iron on the earth. These castles, built by the asura architect Maya, would remain independent for a thousand years, after which they would align into a single fortress, vulnerable to destruction by just one arrow.

With their newfound power, the asuras launched relentless assaults on the gods. Indra, wielding the Vajra, attempted to subdue them but failed. The gods, seeking a solution, approached Brahma, who revealed that the asuras could only be destroyed with a single arrow, a feat possible only for Mahadeva.

Following Brahma’s guidance, the gods fervently prayed to Mahadeva, imploring him to undertake this divine mission. In response, Mahadeva agreed but demanded half of their collective strength, as the demons were too formidable to be vanquished otherwise. The gods consented, offering their power, thereby amplifying Mahadeva’s might beyond all other deities. This unparalleled strength earned him the title Mahadeva, the Great God.

Each god played a role in this celestial battle:

• Vishnu transformed into the arrow,
• Agni became its barb,
• Yama formed its feather,
• The Vedas became Shiva’s bow,
• Savitri served as the bowstring,
• Brahma took the role of his charioteer.

Empowered by these divine elements, Mahadeva unleashed the fateful arrow—composed of Soma, Agni, and Vishnu—obliterating the three castles and annihilating the asuras within.

This legendary destruction finds echoes in earlier Vedic scriptures. The Yajurveda recounts how the asuras, after being defeated by the gods, performed intense austerities and built three celestial castles, which were ultimately incinerated by Agni. The Brahmanas describe a cosmic rivalry wherein the gods and asuras, though born of the same progenitor, Prajapati, clashed in a battle of supremacy. The envious gods sought to destroy the asuras’ fortresses, preparing a divine weapon: Agni as the shaft, Soma as the iron, and Vishnu as the point.

An alternate account further embellishes the tale. The asuras’ three castles—iron, silver, and gold—rendered them invincible. Unable to breach these strongholds, the gods forged a singular, potent arrow. Yet, they needed a warrior mighty enough to wield it. Their choice fell upon Rudra, the fierce and relentless deity, who unleashed the arrow, shattering the three castles and expelling the asuras from the celestial realms.

Thus, the legend of Tripura Samhara, the destruction of the three forts, stands as a testament to Shiva’s supreme power and the divine orchestration of cosmic order.

 

A Story The Hungry Cloud and the Magic Feast

 A Story

The Hungry Cloud and the Magic Feast

Once upon a time, in a lush green village nestled between rolling hills, there lived a kind-hearted girl named Mira. Mira loved to help her mother cook delicious meals for the villagers. One day, the village decided to throw a grand feast to celebrate the harvest. Everyone worked together to prepare mountains of food—steaming rice, spicy curries, sweet desserts, and juicy fruits.

But when the feast began, something strange happened. A tiny, grumpy cloud named Golu floated down from the sky. Golu was no ordinary cloud—he was always hungry! He had heard about the feast and wanted to taste everything.

The villagers welcomed Golu and offered him a plate of food. But no matter how much he ate, his hunger grew. He gobbled up the rice, slurped the curries, and even swallowed the desserts whole! Soon, the mountain of food disappeared, and Golu’s belly grew as round as the moon.

Mira, curious and brave, approached Golu. "Why are you so hungry, little cloud?" she asked.

Golu sighed. "I’m a magic cloud, but I’ve lost my sparkle. The only way to feel full is to eat, but nothing ever satisfies me."

Mira thought for a moment and said, "Maybe you’re not hungry for food. Maybe you’re hungry for something else—like joy!"

She took Golu to the village square, where children were laughing and playing. Golu watched as they danced, sang, and shared stories. Slowly, his grumpy frown turned into a smile. For the first time, he felt full—not with food, but with happiness.

From that day on, Golu became the village’s favorite cloud. He brought rain for the crops, shade for the farmers, and even rainbow arches after storms. And whenever he felt hungry, he remembered Mira’s words and joined the children in their games.

The villagers never forgot the day a hungry cloud taught them that the best feast is the one shared with love and laughter.

And so, Golu and the villagers lived happily ever after, under a sky filled with magic and joy.

 

Bhushan my brother, Bai Ji, --Bai Ji ‘O’ Baiji (2)

 **Elegy for Bhushan Misri: A Soul’s Journey to the Heavens** 

Bhushan my brother, Bai Ji, --Bai Ji ‘O’ Baiji (2)

On the night of the 14th, as the moon held its glow, 

At the stroke of 4 AM, the stars whispered low. 

Bhushan Misri, a soul so bright, 

Slipped into the heavens, beyond our sight. 

 

A man of cards, with a mind so keen, 

He played his hand like a silent dream. 

Bridge was his game, his logic supreme, 

A master of memory, a strategist unseen. 

 

With a soft drink by his side, calm and composed, 

He danced with fate, as the evening closed. 

Rarely did he falter, rarely did he fall, 

In the world of cards, he conquered it all. 

 

But Bhushan was more than a player of games, 

A lover of words, of poetry’s flames. 

He penned his thoughts, in verses so pure, 

A poet at heart, his words would endure. 

 

Novels and philosophers filled his days, 

He read them all, in countless ways. 

Summaries he wrote, to capture their essence, 

A scholar of life, with boundless presence. 

 

Music and drama, cinema’s art, 

Each held a place in his tender heart. 

A man of culture, of grace and flair, 

Bhushan Misri was beyond compare. 

 

His English, a melody, smooth and refined, 

A language he wielded with a brilliant mind. 

Sham admired his style, his eloquent flow, 

A brother, a mentor, who helped him grow. 

 

On that fateful night, as the world lay still, 

Bhushan ascended, beyond time’s will. 

The heavens welcomed a soul so rare, 

A star now shines, for he is there. 

 

The Mysterious Sadhu of the Ganges

 In continuation

Second Part

The Mysterious Sadhu of the Ganges

The day was Basant Panchami, 3rd February 2025, and the air at the Maha Kumbh was thick with devotion, chaos, and an undercurrent of mystery. The holy Ganges, shimmering under the moonlight, seemed to hold secrets deeper than its waters. Amidst the sea of pilgrims, saints, and seekers, something extraordinary was about to unfold—something that would leave even the most rational minds questioning the boundaries of reality. 

Surveillance had been heightened across every street, camp, and tent. Reports of a mysterious sadhu (Aghori) had spread like wildfire, yet no one could trace him. He appeared and vanished like a shadow, leaving behind whispers of awe and fear. Karanveer, the diligent officer in charge of security, was in his office, reviewing the day’s reports. The atmosphere was tense, with pilgrims murmuring in panic, their faith shaken by the strange occurrences. 

Suddenly, a soldier burst into the room, breathless and wide-eyed. “Sir, at Ganga Ghat… the sadhu has been seen again! He’s gathering a huge crowd!” Without a moment’s delay, Karanveer rallied his team and rushed to the spot, his mind racing with questions. Who was this sadhu? What was his purpose? And why did he seem to defy all logic? 

As they reached the ghat, the scene was surreal, unreal and fantastic. A sadhu with a big Trident stood amidst the crowd, A LITTLE FAR AWAY- his presence commanding yet serene. Beside him stood a majestic white bull, Nandi Ji, its calm eyes fixed on the sadhu as if in silent communication. The crowd was in a frenzy—some chanted “Bum Bum Bhole!” while others backed away, torn between reverence and fear. 

Karanveer’s eyes narrowed as he observed the sadhu. He was exactly as described—smeared in ash, a snake coiled around his neck, and his eyes closed in deep meditation. But there was something more, something otherworldly. The air around him seemed to hum with inexplicable energy.

Karanveer approached cautiously; his team closest to him. “Who has brought the bull here?”

“Who are you?” he demanded, his voice firm but laced with curiosity.

“Why are you causing such a stir among the pilgrims?” 

The sadhu’s eyes fluttered open, revealing a gaze that seemed to pierce through Karanveer’s very soul. For a moment, the officer felt as if his thoughts were laid bare, his doubts and fears exposed. The sadhu smiled faintly; his voice calm yet resonant. “I have not come to deceive, but to guide. Those who cannot recognize the truth are forever lost in confusion.”

The crowd erupted in murmurs, some nodding in agreement, others shaking their heads in disbelief. Karanveer, though shaken, maintained his composure. “You’re under arrest for disturbing the peace,” he declared, signalling his team to apprehend the sadhu.

But as the officers moved forward, the sadhu raised his hand. “Wait,” he said softly. He turned and walked toward the Ganges, the crowd parting like waves before him. Then, to everyone’s astonishment, he stepped onto the water. Not sinking, not faltering the surface as if it were solid ground.

The air was thick with the scent of incense and the fervent cries of devotion as the Maha Kumbh Mela unfolded in all its chaotic grandeur. The sun hung low, casting a golden hue over the sea of humanity that had gathered on the sacred banks of the Ganges. Amidst the swirling dust and the rhythmic chants of "Moksha! Moksha!" a spectacle unfolded that seemed to transcend the boundaries of the mortal world.

A massive bull, its coat glistening like polished onyx, emerged from the crowd, moving with an almost regal grace. Its powerful muscles rippled beneath its skin as it strode forward, each step resonating with a primal energy that commanded attention. But this was no ordinary bull—this was a beast of divine significance, a symbol of strength and spirituality, and it was not alone.

Draped in ash and adorned with rudraksha beads, an Aghori Sadhu led the procession, his presence both fearsome and mesmerizing. His matted locks swayed with each step, and his eyes, glazed with the intensity of a thousand meditations, seemed to pierce through the very fabric of reality. Behind him, a multitude of devotees surged forward, their hands desperately clutching the bull's tail, as if by touching it, they could absorb a fraction of its sacred power.

The bull, unfazed by the chaos around it, moved with an almost otherworldly calm. Its horns gleamed like crescent moons, and its breath came in deep, rhythmic gusts as if it were in tune with the heartbeat of the universe. The crowd pressed closer, their cries of "Moksha! Moksha!" growing louder, more desperate, as if the bull itself held the key to their liberation.

The Aghori, with his trident held high, turned to face the crowd, his voice booming like thunder. "Release your attachments! Embrace the divine!" he roared, his words cutting through the cacophony like a blade. The bull, as if responding to his command, let out a deep, resonant bellow that seemed to shake the very ground beneath their feet.

For a moment, time itself seemed to stand still. The crowd, the bull, the Aghori—all were caught in a tableau of raw, unbridled spirituality. And then, as if breaking free from a trance, the bull surged forward, dragging the devotees along with it, their hands still clinging to its tail, their cries of "Moksha!" echoing into the heavens.

It was a scene of pure, unadulterated devotion—a moment where the boundaries between the physical and the spiritual blurred, and the quest for liberation became a tangible, living force. The bull, the Aghori, the crowd—they were all part of a cosmic dance, a ritual as old as time itself, played out under the watchful gaze of the gods. And in that moment, amidst the dust and the chaos, it felt as if Moksha was not just a distant dream, but a reality within reach.

Moksha, Moksha! What does the term mean?  Some people were whispering. In this hiss, a learned sadhu spoke. It is a term in Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism, and Sikhism that refers to ‘liberation from the cycle of death and rebirth.’ It is also known as Mukti.

By now it was 13:30 (1.30 AM), nighttime-

Gasps echoed through the crowd. “It’s a miracle!” someone cried. “He’s Lord Shiva himself!” 

Karanveer’s mind raced. “Check his feet!” he ordered. “There must be some trick!” Divers plunged into the water, searching for hidden platforms or supports, but found nothing. The sadhu continued his unhurried strides, his figure growing smaller as he moved further into the river.

The senior police officer, usually serene and calm, whispered, “This is beyond science. Beyond explanation.” 

Karanveer, though a man of logic, felt a shiver run down his spine. He ordered his team to stand down, realizing that this was no ordinary man they were dealing with. “Keep an eye on him,” he instructed. “We need to understand what’s happening here.” 

The sadhu, now a distant figure, turned and smiled—a smile that seemed to hold the wisdom of ages. Then, as if Ganges herself embraced him, he vanished beneath the surface, leaving no trace. 

That night, as Karanveer lay in his tent on the banks of the Ganges, sleep eluded him. The sadhu’s face, his enigmatic smile, and the inexplicable events played on a loop in his mind. Was this a divine intervention? A test of faith? Or something beyond human comprehension? 

As he finally drifted into a restless sleep, a voice echoed in his dreams—a voice that was both familiar and foreign. “Seek not with your eyes alone, but with your soul. The truth is not always what it seems.”

When Karanveer awoke, the first light of dawn was breaking over the Ganges. The mystery of the sadhu remained unsolved, but one thing was clear—the Maha Kumbh had become the stage for a phenomenon that would be spoken of for generations. 

And somewhere, in the depths of the holy river, the sadhu’s laughter seemed to ripple through the waters, a reminder that some mysteries are meant to remain just that—mysteries.

Police said nearly 90 injured people had been taken to hospitals. "Unfortunately, some of those devotees have died, such is the rush of devotees. According to The Economic Times-English Edition, 02 February 2025 11:39 AM -8 GMT-Today's ePaper.

In a spectacular display of faith and devotion, over 29.64 crore devotees converged at the sacred Sangam and took a holy dip in the Triveni waters in Prayagraj during the ongoing Maha Kumbh 2025, according to the Uttar Pradesh Information Department.

 

The Miracle of Mauni Amavasya: The Aghori of Kumbh

The year was 2025, and the Maha Kumbh Mela was in full swing on the sacred banks of the Ganga. The air was thick with the scent of incense, the sound of conch shells, and the chants of ‘Har Har Mahadev’ echoing from every corner. Millions of devotees, saints, and seekers had gathered from across the globe, all drawn by the promise of spiritual awakening and the holy dip in the Ganga. The city of tents stretched as far as the eye could see, a temporary metropolis of faith and devotion.

But amidst the sea of saffron robes and ash-smeared faces, one figure stood out—or rather, appeared and disappeared like a wisp of smoke. He was an Aghori, a naked sadhu with long, matted hair that resembled the fur of a wild beast. His body was smeared with ashes, and his eyes glowed an eerie red. In his hand, he carried a trident, the unmistakable symbol of Lord Shiva. He was seen for the first time on the 24th of January, sitting in deep meditation on the banks of the Ganga. But this was no ordinary sadhu.

Rumours began to swirl like leaves in a storm. Some claimed they saw him walking on water, his feet barely touching the surface of the Ganga. Others swore he could read their minds, answering questions they had only thought about but never spoken. And then some said he simply vanished into thin air, only to reappear miles away, as if he were playing a cosmic game of hide-and-seek.

The devotees were divided. Some fell at his feet, convinced he was Lord Shiva himself, ‘Bholenath’ incarnate. Others eyed him with suspicion, whispering that he was a fraud, a trickster preying on the faithful. The police, overwhelmed by the sheer scale of the Kumbh, initially dismissed the complaints. But as the stories grew wilder and the crowds around the Aghori swelled, they could no longer ignore the phenomenon.

Enter Inspector Karanveer Singh

Inspector Karanveer Singh, on duty and posted at Maha Kumb duty, was a man of action, known for his no-nonsense attitude and unwavering commitment to justice. When the complaints about the Aghori reached his desk, he was intrigued but skeptical. "A man walking on water? Reading minds? Vanishing into thin air? Sounds like a magician's act," he muttered to his team. But as the reports piled up, he realized this was no ordinary case.

Karanveer was assigned to investigate the mysterious sadhu. He began by interviewing witnesses, but their accounts were as baffling as they were contradictory. One devotee claimed the Aghori had cured his chronic illness with a touch. Another said the sadhu had predicted the exact time of his daughter's wedding. Yet another insisted that the Aghori had turned water into milk right before his eyes.

The inspector was no stranger to the supernatural beliefs that often surfaced during the Kumbh, but this was different. The sheer number of witnesses and the consistency of their stories made him uneasy. Determined to get to the bottom of the mystery, Karanveer decided to see the Aghori for himself.

 

The Encounter

On the night of Mauni Amavasya, the most auspicious day of the Kumbh, Karanveer and his team made their way to the Triveni Sangam, where the Aghori had last been sighted. The banks of the Ganga were teeming with devotees, their faces lit by the glow of countless oil lamps. The air was electric with anticipation.

And then, there he was.

The Aghori stood at the water's edge, his trident glinting in the moonlight. His eyes burned like embers, and his presence seemed to command the very elements. The crowd parted as Karanveer approached, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Who are you?" the inspector demanded, his voice steady despite the unease churning in his gut.

The Aghori turned to him, a faint smile playing on his lips. "I am who I am," he replied, his voice deep and resonant. "And you, Karanveer Singh, are a man of doubt. But even doubt can lead to truth."

Before Karanveer could respond, the Aghori stepped into the river. The crowd gasped as his feet touched the water—and stayed there. He walked across the surface of the Ganga as if it were solid ground, his trident held high.

Karanveer's mind raced. ‘This has to be a trick,’  he thought. He ordered his team to follow, but as they waded into the river, the Aghori vanished. One moment he was there, walking on water; the next, he was gone.

 

The Miracle

The crowd erupted in chaos. Some fell to their knees, chanting ‘Om Namah Shivaya’. Others screamed in fear. Karanveer, however, was not ready to give up. He scanned the riverbank, his sharp eyes searching for any sign of the Aghori.

And then, he saw him.

The Aghori reappeared on the opposite bank, his red eyes locking onto Karanveer's. With a wave of his trident, the water of the Ganga began to churn. A whirlpool formed, and from its depths rose a column of fire. The flames danced and twisted, forming the shape of a ‘lingam’, the sacred symbol of Shiva.

The crowd fell silent, awestruck. Even Karanveer, a man of logic and reason, felt a shiver run down his spine. The Aghori raised his arms, and the fire-lingam dissolved into a shower of golden light, raining down on the devotees.

"Believe what you will," Aghori said, his voice echoing across the river. "But know this: the divine is not bound by your understanding. Seek truth, no answers."

And with that, he was gone.

The Aftermath

The news of the Aghori's miracle spread like wildfire. Pilgrims from across the Kumbh flocked to the Triveni Sangam, hoping to catch a glimpse of the mysterious sadhu. But he was never seen again.

Inspector Karanveer filed his report, though he knew no one would believe it. He had witnessed something beyond explanation, something that defied the laws of nature. And yet, it had happened.

As the Kumbh drew to a close, Karanveer found himself standing once more on the banks of the Ganga. The river flowed as it always had, serene and eternal. He thought of the Aghori, of his words, and of the fire-lingam that had risen from the water.

"Who are you?" he whispered, not expecting an answer.

But in the rustle of the wind and the murmur of the river, he thought he heard a voice.

"I am the question. And the answer."

And for the first time in his life, Karanveer Singh smiled.

An Agni story from Rg. Ved

 An Agni story from Rg. Ved

In a time long ago, in the heart of an ancient forest, there lived a wise old priest named Rishi Varun. He was the guardian of the sacred flame, Agni, the divine messenger between the realms of men and gods. Each dawn, he would gather herbs and ghee, chanting hymns passed down through generations, calling upon the mighty Agni to bless their lands with prosperity and light.

One fateful evening, as the sunset embraced the sky, the village chief approached Rishi Varun with a heavy heart. "O wise one, our crops wither, and our people have grown exhausted. The rain has discarded us, and darkness looms. Pray, call upon Agni, for he alone can drive out our plight."

Rishi Varun nodded seriously, his eyes reflecting the flickering flame. He climbed the sacred altar, his voice resonating through the valley:

"I praise Agni, the chosen Priest, God, minister of sacrifice, The hotar, lavishest of wealth."

The villagers gathered. Their eyes filled with hope. As the fire crackled and roared, its golden tongues reached skyward. Rishi Varun's voice grew stronger:

"Through Agni man obtaineth wealth, Yea, plenty increasing day by day, Most rich in heroes, glorious."

Suddenly, the wind carried the fragrance of burning incense, and a warm glow spread across the fields. Clouds gathered overhead, and the parched earth quivered with anticipation. Rishi Varun continued:

"May Agni, wise-minded Priest, Truthful, most gloriously great, The God, come hither with the Gods."

As the last words left his lips, a gentle rain began to fall, washing away the fears of the people. Laughter and joy filled the air as they danced in the life-giving waters.

From that day forward, the villagers honoured Agni with unwavering devotion. They understood that through his divine presence, their prayers reached the heavens, and prosperity flowed like an eternal river.

And so, under the watchful eye of Rishi Varun, the sacred flame burned bright, guiding their lives and lighting their paths, forever reminding them of Agni's infinite promise.

[A story from Rg. Veda]