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...
Our train dropped us , early in the morning, at the rain washed station of Mayiladudurai. The rains were unexpected, and we had no umbrellas. We rushed for cover within the station premises, and leaving my son to take care of our luggage, I hurried to find a car to take us to our destination. The drivers outside were huddling inside their vehicles, reluctant to step out. Eventually, one of them agreed, and we made our way through the wet streets of the city to the small fishing village that was our destination – Tharangambadi, on the Tamilnadu coast.