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...
A rhyme we once learnt in school went....
I was reminded of the rhyme when we saw a flock of ducklings being herded down a busy street on a recent visit to Tiruppur.
I wondered where they were headed... to a duck farm, most probably, to be allowed to grow fat and healthy,,, till it was time for them to make another trip.. to the butcher this time. I couldnt help feeling sorry for these tiny creatures, which, unlike those of the nursery rhyme, wouldnt ever come back...
Five little ducks went out to play
Over the hill and far away
The mother duck said Quack, Quack come back
Four little ducks came running back
and so on.... till....
No little ducks came running back
Sad mother duck went out one day
Over the hill and far away
The daddy duck yelled QUACK, QUACK COME BACK!
Five little ducks came running back!
I was reminded of the rhyme when we saw a flock of ducklings being herded down a busy street on a recent visit to Tiruppur.
I wondered where they were headed... to a duck farm, most probably, to be allowed to grow fat and healthy,,, till it was time for them to make another trip.. to the butcher this time. I couldnt help feeling sorry for these tiny creatures, which, unlike those of the nursery rhyme, wouldnt ever come back...
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