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]

 

Kumbh Mela

The Maha Kumbh is the largest and most significant, held once every 12 years at one of four holy sites—Prayagraj, Haridwar, Ujjain, and Nashik.

The Maha Kumbh Mela is a significant Hindu festival currently taking place in Prayagraj, India, from January 13 to February 26, 2025. This event, held once every 144 years, is anticipated to attract approximately 400 million devotees.

The Kumbh Mela is held every 3 years, rotating between four holy cities. On the other hand, the Maha Kumbh Mela takes place once every 12 years and always takes place in Prayagraj. Usually, The Kumbh Mela follows a 12-year cycle based on the celestial positions of the sun, moon, and Jupiter. When this 12-year cycle occurs 12 times (12 x 12 = 144), the 12th Kumbh Mela is called the Maha Kumbh, which is celebrated in an exceptionally grand grand manner.

There are four types of Kumbh Melas celebrated in India. These include

1.      The Maha Kumbh,

2.      The Ardh Kumbh,

3.      The Purna Kumbh, and

4.      The Magha Kumbh.

The Ardh Kumbh occurs every six years in Prayagraj.

The Purna Kumbh is celebrated every 12 years at Haridwar.
The Magha Kumbh is a smaller event held annually during the Magha month at specific locations.

Each Kumbh Mela holds immense spiritual importance for millions of devotees.

Kumbh Mela, also called KUMBHA MELA, Hindi KUMBH MELA, is the greatest of the Hindu pilgrimage festivals. It is a riverside religious fair held four times every 12 years, rotating between Hardwär on the Ganges, Ujjain on the Sipra, Nasik on the Godavari, and Prayagraj, which lies at the confluence of the Ganges, the Yamuna, and the mythical Saraswati. Bathing in these rivers during the Kumbh Mela is seen as an act of great merit, cleansing body and soul, and it attracts millions.

The Chinese Buddhist traveller Hsüan-tsang recorded a visit to the Allahabad Kumbh Mela in the 7th century in the company of the emperor Harşavardhana, who distributed alms on the occasion. In the 8th century, the philosopher Sankara established four monasteries, in the north, south, east, and west of India, and encouraged the sadhus (holy men) to meet at the Kumbh Mela for an exchange of views. The informal assembly of ascetics and yogis that took place at the melas (festivals) served as a kind of "parliament of Hinduism" for the discussion of religious doctrine and possible reform and has remained a major attraction for the pilgrim. Sadhus who stay naked the year round, ascetics who practice the most severe physical disciplines, hermits who leave their isolation for these pilgrimages only, teachers who use modern microphones and public-address systems to talk to the crowds, frauds, and true saints of all sects and from all parts of India-gather in camps along the riverbank and are visited by the pilgrims.

Pilgrimages have always been undertaken in India with a sense of possible danger, and though the cholera epidemics, widespread murder, and kidnappings of former Kumbha Melas have now been successfully controlled by the government, tragedies still occur. In 1954, at the Kumbha Mela at Allahabad, more than 500 people were killed in a sudden onrush of crowds toward the bathing area.

The explanation given in the Puranas for the Kumbh Mela is that the gods and the demons fought over the pot (Kumbha) of Amrit (am- rta), the elixir that rose up from their joint churning of the milky ocean. During the battle, drops of the elixir fell on four earthly sites, these being the four sites of the mela. The fair's aspect as a fertility festival is evident in a tradition, said to have been carried out in former days, of dipping pots of grain in the river during this highly auspicious period. The consecrated grain was later sowed with other grain to ensure a good harvest.

The festival has its roots in a Hindu tradition that says the god Vishnu wrested a golden pitcher containing the nectar of immortality from demons. Hindus believe that a few drops fell in the cities of Prayagraj, Nasik, Ujjain and Haridwar — the four places where the Kumbh festival has been held for centuries.

The festival involves ritual baths by Hindu sadhus (holy men) and pilgrims at the confluence of three sacred rivers: the Ganges, Yamuna, and the mythical Saraswati.

This practice, dating back to at least medieval times, is believed to purify the soul and aid in attaining Moksha, or liberation.

The Uttar Pradesh government has invested over ₹70 billion in infrastructure and sanitation projects to accommodate the massive influx of pilgrims. Efforts include deploying 10,000 sanitation workers and establishing around 150,000 toilets and urinals to maintain cleanliness. Additionally, a 100-bed temporary central hospital has been set up to provide medical services.

The Maha Kumbh Mela is not only a religious gathering but also a cultural spectacle, symbolizing the victory of gods over demons. It stands as one of the world's largest peaceful congregations, reflecting the profound spiritual heritage of India.

The Maha Kumbh Mela has its origins in the ancient Hindu tale of the Samudra Manthan, or the Churning of the Ocean. According to mythology, the gods and demons churned the ocean to obtain Amrit, the nectar of immortality.

The Maha Kumbh Mela will span 44 days in 2025, marking its significance in Hindu spirituality and culture. Historical Attendance Records: The 2013 Maha Kumbh Mela drew an unprecedented 10 crore (100 million) attendees, showcasing its massive scale and influence.

With the commencement of Kumbh Mela, the first of the ritual baths were conducted, in which sadhu akhadaas took the first dip after an elaborate procession to the river. Shri Panchayati Akhara Mahanirvani and Shri Shambhu Panchayati Atal Akhara were the first ones to take the Amrit snan. Thirteen akhadaas are participating in the Maha Kumbh. After the sadhus, or holy men, thousands of devotees took the dip in the sangam (confluence of Ganga, Yamuna and the mythical Saraswati) at Prayagraj.

 

Magnet and Magnetism-( Mystery)

 

Magnet and Magnetism

A small magnet can pick up metal objects such as paper clips and nails. A magnet seems to have some mysterious pulling power. Even if you lay a piece of paper over the nails, the magnet pulls them. This pulling power is called magnetism.

People first noticed magnetism thousands of years ago. They discovered that pieces of a certain kind of black rock had a strange force, which came to be called magnetism. No one knows just how the name was chosen. There is a story that the force was named for a shepherd called Magnes, who discovered that the iron nails in his sandals were pulled strongly when he stood on a large black stone. Another story is that the name came from a place called Magnesia, in Asia Minor, where this kind of stone was first found. There are fanciful stories, too, from ancient times about iron statues held in mid-air by magnets, and about magnetic mountains that could pull the nails out of wooden ships that sailed too near.

After a while, people discovered some useful facts about black rock or magnet. They found that when a long, thin piece was hung up by thread it would swing around and stop in a north-and-south position. The same end of the piece always pointed toward the north. This meant that such a magnet could be used as a compass.

Sailors began to use such compasses to guide their ships when the moon or stars could not be seen. The magnetic rock became known as lodestone, meaning "leading stone." To make a compass, a sailor took a sliver of lodestone and laid it on a piece of wood floating in a tub of water. This made it possible for the lodestone to turn freely into the north-south position.

There are other important facts about magnetism that you can easily find out for yourself. Lay a bar magnet on a pile of tacks and then pick it up. The tacks will cling to the bar mainly near its two ends. These two places, where the force is strong, are called the poles of the magnet. When the bar is used as a compass, one end swings to the north. The pole at this end of the bar is called the north pole.

One big question remains: Just what are the little unit magnets found in iron and steel and a few other materials? More than a century ago, the French scientist A. M. Ampère had the idea that these little magnets might be caused by tiny electric currents flowing inside the molecules of the material. Scientists already knew that magnetic fields could be produced by electric currents, and Ampère's idea proved to be right.

 It is now known that the currents that cause the unit magnets come from the movement of electrons inside the atoms of certain materials. Some of the magnetism comes from the circling of electrons around the center of the atom. But the main part is due to the spinning of an electron around its axis; each electron has a spin much like that of a toy top.

In most atoms, all these electron motions just cancel out, and so the material is non-magnetic. In a few kinds of atoms, including iron, the magnetic effects of the circling and spinning do not quite cancel out. What is left over makes these materials magnetic.

The story of the unit magnets is not quite finished. Unit magnets are not atoms or electrons, but special groups of atoms. In a material such as iron, the atoms gather in clusters. When they do this, all the little atom magnets in the group line up in the same direction. Such a cluster is called a magnetic domain. Domains are usually a few thousandths of an inch across and may contain millions of billions of atoms. Each domain acts like a little magnet. It is the unit magnet that Ampère first thought about. In an ordinary, unmagnetized piece of iron or steel, the tiny domains face in all directions and their effects cancel out. But if the material is put in a strong magnetic field, two things happen. The domains swing around, little by little, in the direction of the field. As they come into line, they may also grow bigger by taking over some atoms from the other domains, which then shrink in size. When a great many domains have been well lined up in one direction, the whole piece of iron or steel becomes a magnet.

Scientists know that disturbing a steel magnet or heating it can make it lose its magnetism. The reason is that such treatment lets some of the domains get out of their lined-up positions. If a piece of iron is heated until it glows dull red, then it cannot be magnetized at all.

 

Gordius Knot

Sham Misri

The people of Phrygia, an ancient country of Asia Minor, were advised by the gods to choose as king the first man they met on the way to Jupiter's temple. It so happened that the farmer a peasant Gordius passed by, driving a wagon, and hailed as king to his great amazement, he dedicated his wagon to the god Jupiter.

Now Gordius is remembered for the knot by which he fixed his wagon to the temple. So cleverly was it tied that no end could be observed in the cord, and it came to be predicted that whoever could untie the Gordian knot would win the whole empire of Asia.

When Alexander the Great happened to pass that way in his conquering sweep across Asia Minor. He tried to undo the knot but was unable to solve the puzzle. Anxiously, but excitedly he drew his sword and slashed the knot in two. This daring act impressed his soldiers, who already considered Alexander as the future conqueror of Asia. We now speak of any problem solved in a drastic way as a Gordian knot.