Through the heartland of India – Episode-3 Sarnath: Where Silence Speaks and History Breathes

 

Through the heartland of India – Episode-3

Sarnath: Where Silence Speaks and History Breathes

*******************

Sarnath is a peaceful and beautiful village located ten kilometers northeast of the bustling and festive city of Varanasi. It is here that Gautama Buddha, who attained enlightenment under a banyan tree in Gaya, Bihar, arrived after days of walking. In this serene landscape, he met the five ascetics who had once accompanied him and delivered his first sermon, setting in motion the Wheel of Dharma and laying the foundation of the Buddhist monastic order.

As soon as you turn towards Sarnath from National Highway 31—which stretches from Unnao in Uttar Pradesh to Malda in Bengal—a calming stillness descends upon the mind. Lush trees and gardens flank both sides of the road, guiding you toward a world of meditation and peace. The village is uncrowded, yet it welcomes visitors from across India and abroad every day.

Ragesh parked the car in the designated parking area. From here, one must explore on foot. Local guides, trained remarkably well, stand ready to assist visitors. They do not demand any fixed fee for their service; instead, they accept contributions as Buddhist monks accept alms. Our guide was Raju Bharadwaj—a short man with pan covered red lips, a cheerful smile, and an infectious enthusiasm. He began narrating the history and spiritual significance of Sarnath.

Sarnath is one of the four most important Buddhist pilgrimage sites in the world. The sacred quartet includes Lumbini in Nepal, where Buddha was born; Bodh Gaya in Bihar, where he attained enlightenment; Sarnath, where he delivered the first sermon; and Kushinagar in Gorakhpur, where he attained Mahaparinirvana. In ancient times, Sarnath was known as Mrigadava and Isipatana. Emperor Ashoka, the great patron of Buddhism in the 3rd century BCE, visited Sarnath in 250 BCE and constructed stupas, monasteries, and pillars here. Excavations initiated by British scholars in the late 18th century revealed its immense historical significance. The Kushana and Gupta periods (1st to 6th century CE) marked the golden age of Sarnath, when Buddhist art and architecture flourished.

The Buddha Garden and the Standing Statue

Raju first guided us to a beautifully landscaped flower garden that houses a towering statue of the standing Buddha. Modeled after the Bamiyan Buddha of Afghanistan—destroyed by the Taliban in 2001—the statue stands 80 feet 8 inches tall, made from 280 stones brought from Bangkok. Thailand also contributed two crore rupees towards its construction. When we arrived, repair work was underway following lightning damage.

The largest single-stone Buddha statue, Raju told us, is at Hussain Sagar in Hyderabad. The Sarnath garden itself is dotted with smaller Buddha statues, serene ponds filled with lotus and water lilies, and an assortment of trees including jackfruit. A model of the Ashoka Pillar is also displayed here. Groups of devotees from Thailand, Malaysia, Bhutan, and other countries moved quietly through the garden. The cleanliness and discipline maintained throughout Sarnath are truly admirable and linger in the memory. Here, one feels connected to the Buddha directly, without priests or intermediaries.

Dhamek Stupa and Ancient Structures

The Dhamek Stupa, built during the reign of Ashoka, marks the sacred spot where Buddha delivered his first sermon. This 43.6-meter-high cylindrical structure contains intricately carved floral and geometric patterns from the Gupta period. The main shrine marking this holy spot is the Mulagandha Kuti, also called Chaukhandi because of its four-sided base. The octagonal tower now standing atop it was built in 1588 CE by Gokarna, son of Emperor Akbar’s minister Todar Mal, to commemorate Emperor Humayun’s visit. The original stupa, 93 feet tall, was later buried under layers of soil following the decline of Buddhism in India. Excavations have revealed remnants of outer, inner, and transverse walls, along with traces of classical Gupta art depicting Buddha turning the Dharmachakra.

Chinese pilgrims such as Fa-Hian and Hiuen Tsang visited Sarnath and recorded its grandeur. The site continued to thrive as a major Buddhist center until the 12th century, when it was destroyed by Turkish invaders and gradually fell into oblivion.

The Dharmarajika Stupa is one of the many stupas built by Ashoka to house relics of the Buddha—fragments of bone, hair, and personal belongings. It was demolished in 1794 by officials unaware of its importance, leaving only the foundation.

The remains of the original Ashoka Pillar also stand here. Its lion capital—once atop this pillar—is now India’s national emblem. Excavations have uncovered the remains of monasteries built from the Mauryan period up to the Pala era.

Temples, Viharas, and the Museum

The Archaeological Museum, established in 1910, contains invaluable objects unearthed from Sarnath, including the original Ashoka lion capital and sculptures depicting the Buddha’s first sermon. Unfortunately, it was closed on the day of our visit.

Modern Sarnath houses temples and monasteries built by Buddhist communities from various parts of the world—the Thai temple Wat Thai, the Tibetan Ladhan Chotrul Monlam Chenmo, the Japanese Nichigai Susan Horinji, and the Digambara Jain temple dedicated to the 11th Tirthankara, Shreyansanatha.

The main temple, built in Bangkok style, enshrines a nine-foot fifteen-inch statue of Buddha carved from a single stone. A Bodhi tree sapling, descended from the original brought to Sri Lanka by Ashoka’s daughter Sanghamitta, grows here. Beneath it stands a Buddha idol made of plaster of Paris. A meditation center lies below the temple, accessible only to monks. Nearly ten thousand Buddhist monks reside within a five-kilometer radius of Sarnath. The temples generally open at eight in the morning and close at 4:15 p.m. Almost every compound here features a pond, a garden, and a Buddha statue. In the Thai temple, writings in Thai script can be seen, and Buddha’s teachings are broadcast through speakers.

The Weavers of Sarnath

Raj mentioned that the most famous Banarasi paan is Bachu’s paan at Keshav Paan Bhandar, opposite Banaras Hindu University. Banaras mangoes, bangles, and chaat are also popular, gaining even more fame after they were served at Anant Ambani’s wedding.

A handloom society in Sarnath sells authentic Banarasi products directly from the weavers, without middlemen. Sarees start at ₹600 and come with an 18-month guarantee. We visited the center, where the veteran weaver Alimulla demonstrated how silk products are made. He was crafting a stunning silk-thread calendar of Goddess Saraswati. With over fifty years of experience, Alimulla is cheerful and friendly—always accompanied by the fragrance of paan. “Paan comes from Kolkata, silk from Bangalore,” he said with a smile.

The place was crowded with people purchasing Banarasi silk. Both Radhakrishnan and I bought a saree.

Anagarika Dharmapala and the Revival of Buddhism

Our next stop was the monastery of Anagarika Dharmapala, also known as the “Guardian of the Law.” Founder of the Mahabodhi Society, Dharmapala played a decisive role in reviving Buddhism after centuries of decline. Born in Sri Lanka on September 17, 1864, he reached Sarnath in 1891. Deeply moved by its neglected state, he dedicated his life to restoring Sarnath and Bodh Gaya, and promoting Buddhism across the world. Supported by Buddhist rulers and philanthropists, he succeeded in breathing new life into the ancient religion.

Dharmapala represented Buddhism at the 1893 Parliament of the World’s Religions in Chicago—where Swami Vivekananda also spoke. In 1923, at the behest of the British, the Sri Dharmarajika Chetiya Vihara was built in Calcutta, and in 1931, the new  Mulagandha Kuti Vihara was established in Sarnath. After renouncing all possessions, he adopted the name Sri Devamitta Dharmapala and continued traveling tirelessly. He passed away on April 29, 1933, expressing a wish to be reborn in India twenty-five times to serve Buddhism.

The presence of Buddhist scriptures in multiple languages across Sarnath reflects the deep impact of Buddhism in Japan, China, and Southeast Asia.

A Reflection

Buddhism once shone like the sun when parts of Hindu society were weighed down by social stagnation. Though Buddhism later declined in India due to the resurgence of Hinduism and the rise of Islam and Christianity, its flame never completely died. Dr. B.R. Ambedkar, in adopting Buddhism as a protest against caste discrimination, rekindled this flame—one that still burns quietly in many places.

 On our way back, we stopped at the Munshi Premchand Memorial in Lamhi. Lamhi is a quintessential North Indian village. We arrived there with memories of reading Premchand’s novels such as Godan, Gaban, and his short stories that inspired the freedom struggle. An arch bearing his name stood on the main road. However, the memorial itself left us disappointed.

The site includes his two-storey family house, a writing room, and a library. The house was in ruins and inaccessible due to ongoing renovation. We could only view the writing room and the library from the outside. After taking a photograph in front of Munshi Premchand’s statue, we returned.

Let us hope the authorities will give this memorial the attention and care it truly deserves in the future.

After resting at the hotel, we went for a walk. Under a flyover, we discovered a unique space enclosed in glass and converted into a small academy for table tennis and chess, complete with a toilet facility. In a nearby bookstore, a sign announced that Kerala school textbooks were available. The shopkeeper explained that a school in Varanasi follows a private Kerala syllabus—likely run by Malayalees.

Our next destination is Bodh Gaya, and the journey begins tomorrow morning.

Through the heartland of India- Episode- 2 - Kashi at Dawn: A Walk Through the Lanes of Light and History

 

Through the heartland of  India- Episode- 2 -

Kashi at Dawn: A Walk Through the Lanes of Light and History

We woke up at 3:30 in the morning. By 4:00 a.m., we set out to see the Ganges. Many roads were blocked. Construction of the ropeway and roadworks was underway, and security had tightened due to the Mauritian Prime Minister’s scheduled visit to the Vishwanath Temple at 9 a.m. Policemen stood guard at every junction. After circling around for some time, Rajesh finally found a place to park the car.

In the dim morning light, we saw a man burning pieces of coal, blowing on them gently to keep the fire alive. A small teapot sat above the embers. The tea he served came in tiny cups—flavourful, hot, and surprisingly refreshing. The price was ten rupees. The tea seller, Rajan, struck up a conversation. He had retired from the police force and chose to run a tea stall because it gave him independence. We wished him well and continued on foot.

After walking for a while, we reached Sushil Babu’s shop. Following his suggestion, Rajesh guided us through the narrow gallies towards Manikarnika Ghat. The lanes were quiet; only a few tea shops were opening their shutters. Most buildings were old, two-storied structures, with commerce on the ground floor and living spaces above. No large vehicles ever pass through these lanes.

The walk ended abruptly. The Ganga had spilled into the lanes leading to the riverbank. A cloudburst in Uttarakhand had sent torrents of water racing down to Kashi, overflowing the ghats. Boating was suspended. Small boats were tied to the banks. The bathing platforms and cremation sheds had been swept away. The river ran muddy and fierce. From the gallies, where water stagnated, the Ganga wasn’t even visible.

To get a clear view, we had to pay a thousand rupees to travel five hundred meters inland in a small boat. The amount must have been a welcome relief to the boatmen who had lost all work. They urged us to take a dip in the muddy water, but we declined.

Bodies were being cremated on a raised cement platform. The heat of the firewood was intense, yet the relatives waited calmly for the cremation to finish before taking a dip in the river. Strangely, there was no smell of burning flesh. We took photographs of the cremations and the roaring river. Only the crown of a nearby riverside temple was visible—the rest submerged. Thousands perform daily rituals around it when the water is at normal levels.

It was barely 5 a.m., still dark. We got back into the boat, returned to the gally, and walked again to Sushil’s shop.

Sushil, polite as always, immediately began assembling puja items based on our group size. Most visitors buy offerings for Kashi Vishwanath and Annapurna. He told us we could offer leaves and flowers at the temple and carry back the sweets. The baskets were priced at ₹350  for small basket, ₹500  for medium and ₹750  for the large one. Although I said we did not intend to perform a puja, he behaved as though it was compulsory. Finally, we bought two baskets for ₹700.

We left our bags and mobile phones at his shop—only puja items and purses were allowed inside the temple. Sushil summoned an elderly man to take us as a guide. His name was Jawaharlal Pandey. Thin-bodied but sharp-faced, he walked with a stick—not for support, but to guard against dogs and monkeys, which frequently snatch puja items. Seventy-five years old, yet fast. We had to quicken our steps to keep up.

We walked through gallies filled with cattle dung, stray dogs, sleeping people, and accumulated dirt. Finally, we reached the temple. There were security checks, but the process moved quickly.

Into the Sacred Geography of Kashi

The Vishwanath Temple stands on the western bank of the Ganges. It is one of the twelve sacred Jyotirlingas. Ancient Kashi, densely populated for centuries, was called the City of Light. Devotees believe that dying in Kashi or worshipping the Jyotirlinga grants liberation from rebirth.

The Kashikhanda of the Skanda Purana gives Kashi several names: Rudravasa, Avimukta, Anandakanana, Mahashmashana. According to legend, Shiva holds Kashi aloft on his trident—the three tines representing Kashi’s three regions:

Omkara Khanda is the Rajghat in the north

Vishweshwara Khanda ,the central plateau and Kedar Khanda,  the south

The temple has been rebuilt on the highest central plateau. The Kashikhanda mentions one thousand and ninty nine  temples in the city at the time of its writing—five hundred and thirteen  dedicated to Shiva alone. The main temple had five mandapams: the Garbhagriha, Jnanamandapam on the east, Shringaramandapam on the west, Aishwaryamandapam on north , and Muktimandapam on the south.

Adi Shankaracharya revered Kashi as the supreme spiritual centre. In his Kashi Panchakam, he compared Kashi to the human body.

The gold-plated temple towers gleamed in the early morning light. The surroundings were astonishingly clean—no litter or plastic. A wide open plaza now connects the temple directly to the Ganga. The entire area has been paved with marble and maintained meticulously.

Entry through the special queue cost rupees three hundred  per person, we were in the same queue ,but  did not paid that time. Pandey’s familiarity with the guards probably ensured smooth access. Monkeys were snatching puja items from waiting devotees, looking quite triumphant.

After visiting the Vishwanath and Annapurna temples, Pandey led us to a covered well inside the complex. Locals believe that priests hid the original idol in this well before Aurangzeb destroyed the temple. Whether historically accurate or not, the belief persists. When we offered a hundred rupees to the priest sitting nearby, he refused. He said he did not accept donations below five hundred—a sign of how inflation has even reached sacred rituals.

A Temple Rewritten Across Centuries

Historical accounts detail how the Vishwanath Temple was built, destroyed, and rebuilt multiple times:

• First attack by Ahmad Niyaltigin was happened on 1034 CE

• Major destruction under Qutb-ud-din Aibak  was  on 1194 CE

• Mosque built by Razia Sultana  on 1236–1240 CE

• Further destruction under Mahmud Shah Sharki in 1440–1457

• Sikandar Lodi’s attack  happened in 1494

• Reconstruction by Narayana Bhatta with support from Raja Todarmal was in 1585

• Renovation by Veer Singh Deo  is by 1605–1627

• Partial demolition happened under Shah Jahan

• Complete demolition and mosque construction was done  by Aurangzeb in 1669

Later contributions include:

• Rani Ahilyabai Holkar  reconstructed the temple and the work was in completed 25 August 1777

• Gold plating was done  by Maharaja Ranjit Singh and Maharani Datar Kaur  using one ton of gold in 1841 and  Bhonsle Snanghat was also built 

• Seven foot high Nandi stone sculpture was  donated by the Rana of Nepal 

In 2019, Prime Minister Narendra Modi laid the foundation of the Kashi Vishwanath Corridor. Built on 50,000 sq. meters. It required relocating 1,400 houses and establishments. The corridor opened on 13 December 2021. The sanctum’s gold plating  using 60 kg gold  was completed in February 2022.

Kashi, Banaras, Varanasi: The Names of a Living City

The ancient name Kashi comes from Kāṣa  means radiance.

The name Varanasi was  emerged from the rivers Varuna ,north to the city  and Asi ,south to the city.

Banaras is  rooted in Pali and Hindustani, gained currency during the Mughal and British eras.

Even today, institutions across the city use all three names. One of the railway stations is still called Banaras.

The city’s economy revolves around the Vishwanath Temple and the Ganges. Banaras silk is woven largely by the Muslim Momin Ansari community, while the yarn comes from Hindu suppliers. The fabric blends Persian artistry with Hindu motifs—a centuries-old aesthetic harmony.

Common people—Hindus and Muslims alike—only want peace. Pandey told us that the proximity of the Gyanvapi Mosque and the Vishwanath Temple often causes inconvenience. “Keeping fire and cotton in the same room,” Pandey said, “is dangerous.”

He also noted that even if local Muslims agreed to relocate the mosque peacefully, external political forces would prevent it. There are multiple ongoing cases—local, High Court, and Supreme Court—along with ASI studies. Anyone visiting the area understands that consensus, not litigation, is likely the only lasting solution.

A City That Survives Through Harmony

We paid Pandey  rupees 2,500, including fee for the special queue . We knew Sushil would take a sizeable share. From there, we walked to another ghat. Thousands were performing pitru tharpanam. The river was still overflowing.

A cycle rickshaw driver named Majnu, who had come from Bihar to earn a livelihood, offered to take us from the Ganga bank to St. Thomas Church. We paid him  rupees 300. He smiled widely, revealing teeth blackened by gutka, then turned away happily. That 300 was enough for him for the entire day.

That was Majnu’s happiness index. 

Through the heartland of India---Episode 1- Varanasi

 

Through the heartland of India

Episode 1- Varanasi

By V. R. Ajith Kumar

Although I had spent eleven long years in Delhi, I had never found the time to visit Varanasi or Prayagraj—two cities that had lived only in my imagination through books, stories, and the news. This September, the opportunity finally arrived. Joining me were Hari and Radhakrishnan, friends from the Public Relations Department, and my childhood companion Jayachandran. Hari came from Madurai, while Jayachandran and Radhakrishnan travelled from Kollam to Chennai, where our journey began on the morning of September 11.

A Smooth Start: Chennai to Varanasi

We flew from Chennai to Hyderabad on Air India Express and spent two hours in transit before boarding the connecting flight to Varanasi. Since our tickets were booked well in advance, the round-trip fare came to just ₹10,500 per person—remarkably economical for such a long journey.

Our tour and accommodation were arranged by Mugini Trails, Chennai, managed by Muraleedharan Nair. At the Lal Bahadur Shastri International Airport, our driver Rajesh awaited us with warmth and a shawl. The weather displayed a pleasant 33°C, and a statue of Lal Bahadur Shastri set against a beautifully maintained garden greeted visitors.

Interestingly, more than forty passengers on our flight were from Palakkad, travelling via the Kochi–Hyderabad–Varanasi route, although the aircraft still had many empty seats. Varanasi, however, was brimming with activity for another reason entirely: Mauritian Prime Minister Naveen Chandra Rangoolam, Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi, and Uttar Pradesh Chief Minister Yogi Adityanath were all in the city that day. Traffic restrictions had cast their influence across the city.

A Glimpse Into History Through a Modern Lens

Naveen Chandra Rangoolam carries a fascinating legacy. His grandfather, Mohit Rangoolam, migrated from Bihar’s Bhojpur district in 1896 as an indentured labourer to Mauritius aboard the ship Hindustan. His father, Sir Seewoosagur Rangoolam, became the first Prime Minister of independent Mauritius. Naveen Chandra, now Prime Minister himself, often describes India as his extended family. During his visit from September 9 to 16, 2025, he travelled to Varanasi, Ayodhya, and Tirupati. Remarkably, the Bhojpuri language still thrives among the descendants of Bihari migrants in Mauritius.

Settling In: First Impressions of Varanasi

Lunch awaited us at Saffron & Spices in the Cantonment area—a bustling restaurant where we relished a hearty thali meal before checking into our hotel, The Elegant. True to its name, the hotel offered clean rooms and a good in-house restaurant. Our tour package included breakfast and dinner at all accommodations.

We initially planned to witness the famous Ganga Aarti in the evening. But Rajesh informed us that the swelling Ganges had swallowed the ghats in recent days, forcing a temporary suspension of the ritual.

In the evening, we strolled along the road near our hotel. Banaras Locomotive Works stood nearby, and the Mauritian Prime Minister’s visit there had caused complete traffic closure. We joined the crowd lining the streets to watch the VIP convoy pass by. Once the restrictions were lifted, the roads filled rapidly with vehicles and people, and we set off for temple visits.

In the Labyrinth of Varanasi

Rajesh drove through the impossibly narrow and busy lanes with astonishing ease. Our first stop was the modern Vishwanath Temple located within the Banaras Hindu University (BHU) campus. A serene garden, fountains, and the quiet presence of students added to its peaceful charm.

Pandit Madan Mohan Malaviya, the visionary founder of BHU, began construction of this temple in 1931 with support from the Birla family. Completed in 1966, the white-marble temple rises 250 feet high. Its architecture marries the traditional Nagara style with modern engineering. The ground floor enshrines Lord Shiva; the first floor houses Lakshmi Narayan and Goddess Durga. Verses from the Bhagavad Gita, Vedas, and Upanishads are etched into the walls. Importantly, Malaviya opened the temple to people of all religions and castes—a gesture that reflected the inclusive spirit of Hinduism. Unlike the compact, crowded surroundings of the original Kashi Vishwanath Temple, the BHU campus offers a vast expanse of greenery and tranquillity.

From BHU, we headed to the historic Sankatmochan Hanuman Temple, founded in the 16th century by poet-saint Goswami Tulsidas, who composed the Ramcharitmanas and Hanuman Chalisa. Devotees arrive here seeking relief from adversities and planetary doshas. Offerings include tulsi leaves and gram-flour laddus, sold abundantly in front of the temple. Tuesdays and Saturdays draw the largest crowds.

Nearby stands the Durga Temple, built in the 18th century by the Bengali queen Bhabani of Natore. Its striking red façade and multi-tiered tower make it architecturally distinct. The Tridev Mandir, also in the vicinity, houses idols of Brahma, Vishnu, Shiva, Durga, and Hanuman and is adorned with carvings, murals, and intricate decorations.

Another significant stop was the Tulsi Manas Mandir, constructed in 1964 by the Surekha family of Howrah. The entire structure, made of white stone, bears engravings of verses from the Ramcharitmanas. Inside, the idols of Rama, Sita, Lakshmana, and Hanuman radiate a serene grace. Policemen in uniform could be seen offering prayers—a reminder that every individual carries personal struggles, regardless of duty or position.

We returned to the hotel for a simple dinner of chapati, curry, and rice—bringing to close an eventful and fulfilling first day in Varanasi.(To be contd---)

 

Thirteen Years, 527 Pages—and Still No Final Justice

 

People for Better Society (PEBS) -campaign for reform Indian judiciary

#ReformIndianJudiciary #JusticeDelayedIsJusticeDenied

Thirteen Years, 527 Pages—and Still No Final Justice

The Bombay High Court has sentenced former Tehelka magazine editor Tarun Tejpal to ten years of rigorous imprisonment in a case relating to the alleged sexual assault of a colleague. The court has also directed that the woman be paid compensation of ₹10 lakh.

The incident took place in 2013 during the Think Fest organised by Tehelka in Goa. The allegation was that Tejpal sexually assaulted his colleague in a lift. After the matter became public, Tejpal resigned as editor of Tehelka on November 20, 2013. He surrendered on November 30 without seeking anticipatory bail. The charge sheet was filed in February 2014, and the Supreme Court granted him bail on July 1, 2014.

The trial began in September 2017. On May 21, 2021, the Sessions Court acquitted Tejpal, holding in a 527-page judgment that the prosecution had failed to prove the case. The matter subsequently reached the Bombay High Court, which has now reversed that outcome and sentenced him on August 6, 2026.

The next stage will be the Supreme Court. What the final outcome there will be, of course, remains unknown.

But there is another question that deserves attention: Can a justice system that takes thirteen years to reach this stage really be called an effective system of justice?

The allegation concerned an incident that supposedly took place inside an elevator. Yet it has taken thirteen years for the judicial process to reach the present stage. The judgment of the trial court alone runs to 527 pages. And even now, the case is not over.

Meanwhile, both the accused and the survivor have had to spend a substantial part of their lives dealing with the case, along with considerable amounts of money, time and emotional energy.

This raises a larger question about the functioning of our justice system. A criminal justice system must certainly provide every accused person with a fair trial and protect the rights of the survivor. There can be no compromise on either principle. But justice must also be timely. Justice delayed is not merely an administrative failure; prolonged litigation can itself become a form of suffering.

One may argue that a complicated case requires time, that evidence must be examined carefully, and that appeals are an essential part of the judicial process. All of that is true. Yet there must also be a point at which we ask whether the procedures intended to ensure justice have become so prolonged and complicated that they themselves stand in the way of justice.

In a monarchy, where the ruler could pronounce a decision immediately, a case might theoretically be settled in a day—but without the safeguards, fairness and accountability that a modern justice system is expected to provide. Democracy and the rule of law necessarily require due process. The challenge is to make that process both fair and reasonably swift.

The purpose of courts is not merely to produce judgments. It is to deliver justice.

When a case continues for thirteen years, produces hundreds of pages of judgments, passes through several levels of the judicial system, and still has no final conclusion, it is legitimate for society to ask whether something fundamental is wrong with the system.

A justice system should not resemble a patient kept alive indefinitely in a prolonged vegetative state. Justice must be alive, accessible and timely.

Thirteen years. 527 pages. And the case is still not over.

Is this justice?

"Reforming the judiciary is not weakening the judiciary. It is strengthening justice."

#ReformIndianJudiciary
#JusticeDelayed
#JusticeForAll
#JudicialReform
#Muthanga
#TribalRights
#PEBS
#BetterSociety

 

Simple and Complex – Episode 4 Palakkad’s Simplicity: Small Things, Quiet Lives

 

Simple and Complex – Episode 4

Palakkad’s Simplicity: Small Things, Quiet Lives

This time, I was travelling to Palakkad to attend the wedding of Haridas’s daughter. Haridas had worked with me at Kerala House in Delhi. I had booked a room at Hotel Nalanda Inn.

The bus I boarded passed Nalanda and stopped a little further ahead. I assumed there might be some traffic-related reason for the delay. When I looked out, I saw the conductor get down and walk towards a public water tap to collect water.

I slowly got down from the bus, walked back and reached the hotel. There were two hotels on opposite sides of the road—Nalanda Inn and Nalanda Rich. My room was in Nalanda Rich. After checking in, I had lunch at the hotel restaurant and rested for a while.

By around four in the afternoon, I went out for a walk.

Palakkad Fort came into view. I had visited the fort several times before. Adjacent to it is Vadika Garden, for which I bought a ticket for ₹25. It is a pleasant place to spend some time, especially with children. I walked around the garden for a while and then came out.

It was around 4:45 p.m. The fort closes at 5:30. I spent some time around its surroundings and continued walking. On the right, I saw the martyrs’ memorial and the park opposite the fort.

It was the second half of December, and people were busy with Christmas and New Year shopping. Since I had nothing particular to buy, my only intention was to wander around and observe the town.

There was a road leading towards Thrissur and another towards Olavakkode and Kozhikode. I took the Kozhikode road and eventually reached the town bus stand. After making enquiries, I learned that I could take a Cherpulassery bus from the municipal bus stand and get down at Peringode, where the wedding was to be held.

I decided to take that route the next morning.

The Chirava

The walk also reminded me of a call I had received the previous day from my friend Hari in Madurai. He had asked me to see whether I could buy a chirava—a handy traditional device used for grinding coconut on a flat surface.

During our recent North-East India trip, our host in Guwahati was also a Hari. It was at his house that my friend Hari had seen this device. He was fascinated by it and had been looking for one ever since.

The new version of the chirava is manufactured in Coimbatore. Hari had therefore asked me to look for one in Coimbatore.

I thought it might actually be easier to find one in Kerala than in Coimbatore. Coconut is an essential ingredient in Kerala cooking, and such devices are therefore more likely to be sold here. The manufacturers in Coimbatore, I have noticed, are remarkably inventive. Give them an idea, and they will often create a device to suit it. That is how this new form of chirava seems to have evolved.

My guess proved correct.

I saw a chirava displayed in front of a shop and bought two—one painted green and another in plain steel. Back at the hotel, I sent a photograph to Hari.

His response was immediate: he did not want the painted one!

So I agreed to give him the steel one.

That night, Hari got down at Palakkad Town Railway Station while travelling towards Olavakkode. He had also come to attend the wedding. He came straight to the hotel. We had dinner together and then, after collecting the steel chirava, he went to the accommodation arranged for him near Olavakkode Railway Station.

A Quiet Morning

The next morning, I took an auto to the municipal bus stand and boarded a bus to Cherpulassery. Hari joined me from Olavakkode station.

We reached the wedding venue quite early. We had idlis from a small tea shop nearby. The shop was run by a couple.

What fascinated us was the rhythm of their work.

They prepared and served poori, idli, dosa and chapati with remarkable precision and without the slightest appearance of hurry. Everything seemed to happen naturally, one after another.

When I complimented them on their work, the shop owner explained that their regular employee had not turned up that day. Yet they had simply carried on with their business without informing customers about the shortage or allowing it to disturb their work.

There was something deeply reassuring about that attitude.

The Wedding Venue

From there, we walked to the Cloud Five Convention Centre. Women were busy cleaning and preparing the premises.

Some of Haridas’s relatives had already arrived. We noticed a temple nearby, slightly away from the main road, and decided to visit it.

It was the Saariri Durga Temple. There was a priest and two women there. It was a quiet temple, with only a few people attending the daily puja.

I did not enter because, according to the local custom, I would have had to remove my shirt. Hari went inside and offered a puja.

When we returned, we met the manager of the wedding hall. He told us that he was responsible for the centre around the clock.

The convention centre is owned by three people whose main business is tyre trading. The centre itself has ample parking, a large hall that can accommodate around 2,000 people, a good stage and a spacious dining hall. There is also accommodation behind the main building.

Sreedevan, who had worked with us at Kerala House in Delhi, and his wife Subha were staying there. Sivadasan and his wife had arrived from Pathanamthitta. They had left at around 2 a.m. by car and reached Palakkad.

As we exchanged news and stories, Haridas and Chandrika arrived.

Friends from Thiruvananthapuram and elsewhere also joined us. Gopan, Shaji, Anila, Krishnachandran, Surendran, Ramakrishnan, Raji, Sarasamma, Rajani, Govindaraj, A.R. Raju, Dayakumar, Sreejith, Mohanan, Shailesh and many others came.

The gathering itself became a celebration.

There was affection, old friendship, laughter and countless memories being shared. Everyone seemed genuinely happy to meet one another again.

Meanwhile, the wedding ceremonies began with the reception of the groom and the wedding rituals.

The arrangements were impressive. A large stage had been prepared, and photographers had been provided with facilities to take good photographs from below.

But there was one amusing contradiction.

The majority of the guests could hardly see the wedding itself!

Relatives and photographers had formed a virtual human wall around the couple.

The feast was perhaps not quite as elaborate as those traditionally served in South Kerala, but the women who prepared it had done an excellent job. The food was simple, tasty and well prepared.

Five Cloud and the Women Behind It

What interested me most, however, was something beyond the wedding itself.

Five Cloud is not merely a convention centre. It is also an initiative that provides women in the area with opportunities to earn a livelihood.

The ventures may be small, but their significance is not.

Such small enterprises can create employment, generate income and strengthen the local economy—particularly by bringing more women into economic activity.

That, perhaps, is another form of simplicity that we often overlook.

A small tea shop run by a couple.
A woman earning through a small enterprise.
A conductor stopping to collect drinking water from a public tap.
Friends travelling long distances simply to attend a wedding.
An old-fashioned chirava bringing two friends together.

None of these things appears extraordinary.

Yet, when we pause and look closely, they tell us something important about life.

Perhaps simplicity is not the absence of complexity.

It is the ability to live with what is necessary, do what has to be done, and find happiness in ordinary things.

That was what Palakkad seemed to tell me this time.