The year was 1290 . A crowd had gathered around a clearing, where broken down pillars marked the presence of an ancient temple, now long gone. A young boy, just 14 years old, leaned against one of those pillars, deep in thought. Then, he began speaking, and the crowd fell silent, listening to his every word. He spoke without any notes, translating the Bhagavat Gita, from Sanskrit, which only the pundits knew, to the language everyone in the village knew and spoke – a variety of Prakrit which developed into the Marathi language. Even as he spoke, one of the men in the audience realized how momentous this event was, and how important this composition would be. He began writing down the words the young boy spoke, and this composition was named by its author and composer, the Bhavartha Deepika – the enlightening meaning (of the Bhagavat Gita). Now, the ancient, holy text, was no longer restricted to the pundits, but accessible to all, understood easily by them, composed as it was, in their...
We were on our way to a temple, with a hot spring. "It is a nice temple" assured our driver. "It won't be crowded at all." The single bus standing outside the tiny temple should have warned us, but we didn't pay attention till it was too late. The shrine, and the spring, were filled with people - who stared as we walked in. It was an unnerving experience, and we rushed to get out. A flash of white on a tree diverted me, and I hurried to see what it was. It turned out to be an Egyptian Vulture. . the saving grace of the long journey it had taken us to get here!!!