What makes a story timeless? It is often the wisdom it carries and the fundamental truths it reveals about being human. 

Celebrated on the full moon day (Purnima) of the Hindu month of Ashwin, Valmiki Jayanti honors Maharshi Valmiki— revered as the Adi Kavi, or the first poet, in Indian literary tradition. He is traditionally credited with composing the Ramayana, the timeless epic recounting the life, duties, and trials of Lord Rama. 

According to legend, Valmiki’s journey as a poet began with a moment of grief. Moved by the sorrow of a bird whose mate had been struck down by a hunter, he uttered a verse that became the first shloka in Sanskrit poetry. This moment is traditionally associated with the birth of the poetic form in which the Ramayana was composed. 

Beyond the heroic journey of Rama, Sita, Lakshmana, and Hanuman, the Ramayana delves into enduring questions of duty (dharma), courage, loyalty, and righteousness. On Valmiki Jayanti, we celebrate not only the first poet, but the eternal power of storytelling to transform hearts and guide generations.

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In workshops across the country this week, mechanics will wipe down their tools and set them aside, just for a day. Weavers will do the same with their looms, blacksmiths with their hammers and potters with their wheels. As the Sun moves into Virgo, factories and workshops take a pause, all in honour of Vishwakarma Jayanti. 

Vishwakarma is the divine architect and engineer of the universe, the craftsman behind the gods’ creations. He is remembered as the maker of Lanka, later seized by Ravana, and of the flying chariot, Pushpak Vimana, fashioned for Kubera before it passed through other hands. He is said to have built Dwarka for Krishna and Indraprastha for the Pandavas, working in the Mahabharata alongside the illusionist-architect Maya. He forged Indra’s thunderbolt from the bones of the sage Dadhichi, shaped Shiva’s trident and Vishnu’s discus, and is even credited with carving the wooden forms of Jagannath and his siblings, still worshipped today at Puri. He is usually depicted with four arms, holding a measuring scale, a water pot, a book and a set of tools, each object an ode to the precision, learning and patience that true craftsmanship demands. 

It is fitting, then, that this festival finds its home not in temples but in workplaces. Engineers, architects, mechanics, weavers, potters and factory workers see this as their day to pay tribute to the tools of their trade. The rituals begin early, with workspaces swept and decorated with flowers, buntings and rangoli, while machinery, instruments and vehicles are washed, garlanded and set aside, unused, for the day. An idol or framed image of Vishwakarma is installed on a small altar, often adorned with marigolds and mango leaves, and the community gathers for a puja led by a priest or by senior workers themselves. Sweets, fruits and incense are offered, along with prayers that ask not for wealth or victory but for skill, safety and the steady inspiration to keep creating. In many workplaces, the day carries a festive, almost holiday air: colleagues share a meal together, children are sometimes brought along to see their parents’ tools honoured, and kite-flying is a popular pastime in parts of the country, with skies over industrial towns filling with colour for the occasion. 

The date and manner of celebration shift depending on where you are. In large parts of northern and western India, it falls on 17 September nearly every year, tied to the fixed solar movement of Kanya Sankranti (the day the Sun moves into Virgo), unlike most Hindu festivals that follow the lunar calendar. In eastern India, particularly West Bengal, Bihar, Jharkhand and Odisha, it is instead observed the day after Diwali. In Karnataka and Tamil Nadu, the spirit of the day often merges with Ayudha Puja, when tools and instruments are worshipped as part of the larger Navratri celebrations. Across these regional variations, the underlying idea remains the same: a recognition that behind every machine, building and object lies human effort worth honouring. 

In a world increasingly shaped by automation and technology, Vishwakarma Jayanti honours the craftsmen and artists of the world, and helps us remember that care, learning and imagination sit at the heart of every act of creation. It gives workers, so often unseen in the busyness of production, a day when their labour is treated with reverence and gratitude. Whether in a small roadside garage or a sprawling factory floor, the day offers a pause where effort is not simply expected but celebrated.

Read more stories about Indian Mythology, History and Culture on our very own ACK Comics App. 

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How do you capture the essence of a man who was as boundless and infinite as his name – Anant? Charismatic, joyous, sparkling, deep as a bottomless gold mine, and soaring high with infectious energy. The 15 years that I spent as his Assistant Editor and then as his Associate Editor for Tinkle magazine were the most meaningful in all my working life.  

Uncle Pai was a colossus in thought. His mind was ever searching for more knowledge, more wisdom and more ways in which to communicate all that he learned to the generation he regarded as the foundation of the future – children. 

For him, children were the most precious beings on earth. And on us, his team, he placed the responsibility of telling them stories which would help make them confident, happy, positive and self-assured individuals. He would often tell me that when he was a child, he had lacked self-confidence. Having lost his parents at the age of two, he had struggled during the initial years to stand up to challenges around him. Luckily for him, he had a very loving older sister who tried to take the place of a mother. And as he grew up and went to school and college in Mumbai, he had met some wonderful teachers who had instilled in his mind a belief in himself.  

He always wanted to do the same for children, especially Indian children. He saw them growing up heavily influenced by Western culture and Western thought, and wanted them to realise that they also had their own precious heritage, which was closer to them and one with them. They just had to understand it and get to know it, and the wisdom of the land they were born in would give them all the strength and confidence they needed in a fast-changing world.  

For this, he created Amar Chitra Katha and led it with an unshakable belief in its purpose. To his memory, we pledge to sustain his passion for Indian heritage, to continue his tireless search for an even better story than the last, and to honour his deep desire to create a world for children where they would feel safe, loved and full of hope. 

Discover Uncle Pai’s timeless stories of Indian History, Mythology and Culture at our very own ACK Comics App. 

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A musical instrument is more than an object. It carries the knowledge, skill and imagination of the community that makes it. Across India, generations of craftspeople have learnt to understand wood, leather, metal, strings, and sound—and turn them into instruments that can sing. Their knowledge is not always written down. It is learnt by watching, listening, practising and passing it on. 

The Mridangam Makers of Chennai 

Walk through the lanes of Mylapore in Chennai and you may hear the unmistakable sound of a mridangam coming from a small workshop. For some families, making these instruments has been a tradition for generations. One family (of Sebastian and Fernandes) documented in Mylapore, traces its mridangam-making lineage through five generations.  

A mridangam’s main body is traditionally made from a single block of jackfruit wood, which is carefully hollowed and shaped; and the two heads from layers of animal hide. The hides must be prepared and stretched to the right tension, while the maker carefully works on the black paste (made of rice powder and iron filings), or soru, on the right head. Small changes in the thickness, tension and placement of these materials can alter the instrument’s pitch, which supports the vocalist it accompanies. The makers have to match the pitch, a skill that takes years to acquire. 

Yet this highly specialised craft remains undervalued, and its makers have historically faced social and economic marginalisation. Their expertise may be essential to music, but the people who possess it are not always recognised as experts. 

The Veena Makers of Bobbili 

In Gollapalli, near Bobbili in Andhra Pradesh, the Sarwasiddi community has preserved a remarkable tradition of making the Bobbili Veena. This traditional instrument is carved entirely from a single block of seasoned jackfruit wood (unlike standard veenas which have separate parts). The artisan must carefully shape it into the veena’s distinctive body, neck, and resonating chamber. 

The veena is then fitted with metal frets and strings, while decorative elements may be added to its surface. But the beauty of the instrument is not merely ornamental—the proportions, thickness, and construction of the wood all affect the sound it produces.  

Today, the material itself presents a challenge. Good-quality jackfruit wood is becoming harder and more expensive to obtain, threatening both the craft and the livelihoods of the artisans who depend on it. 

The Tabla Makers of Andharjhor 

In Jharkhand, the village of Andharjhor is known for its traditional instrument makers. Around 70 families have been involved in making instruments such as the tabla, dhol, mandar, and mridangam. Their workshops are part of a community where the skills needed to make percussion instruments have long been a way of life. 

A tabla has two parts: the dayan, usually made from wood, and the bayan, traditionally made from metal such as brass or copper. Both are covered with prepared animal hide, while the centre of each drumhead is coated with the distinctive black syahi (soru in Tamil), a mixture of materials that gives the tabla its characteristic tonal quality. 

With the advent of virtual instruments and rising material costs, the shrinking market and slow returns are now making it increasingly difficult to sustain the craft. 

The Sitar Makers of Miraj 

For more than 150 years, the town of Miraj in Maharashtra has been a centre for making string instruments. A Miraj sitar begins with simple materials: a dried bhopla or gourd for the resonator; teakwood for the body; metal strings; and traditionally, deer horn for the bridge. Each is carefully prepared—the gourd dried, the wood shaped and polished, and the strings fitted by hand. But the real skill lies in crafting the jawari, the bridge that gives the sitar its distinctive sound. Shaping it takes years of practice and a finely trained ear. 

Today, younger generations of Miraj’s instrument-making families are increasingly moving towards other careers. As fewer young people take up the craft, the wealth of specialised knowledge accumulated over generations, risks disappearing with the people who carry it. 

Listening to the Makers 

These communities are only the tip of the iceberg. India has many such communities whose knowledge and craftsmanship have shaped the sounds of our music. We remember musicians for the music they leave behind. Let us also remember the people who make that music possible. Their knowledge lives in the grain of wood, the tension of hide, the shape of a reed—and in years of experience that can be almost impossible to put into words. 

Today, these craft communities face changing livelihoods, scarce materials and fewer young people taking up the craft. When a community disappears, we lose more than an instrument—we lose generations of knowledge that may never be recovered.  

Perhaps the first step towards keeping these communities visible is simply to become more curious. Who made the instrument? Who gets to be recognised as an expert in music? What happens when the materials run out or the craft can no longer provide a livelihood? And what happens to all that knowledge when there is no one left to pass it on?

Check out our latest title, Musicians of India, to read about the musicians we know and love. 

Read more about Indian History, Mythology and Culture at our very own ACK Comics App. 

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August carries some of the most important dates of the Indian Freedom Struggle. On 8th August 1942, Mahatma Gandhi gave the call for the Quit India Movement, pushing the country towards its final phase of struggle against British rule. On 12th August, the world observes International Youth Day, a fitting occasion to remember how young India shaped its own liberation. And on 15th August, we celebrate the day independence finally arrived. Between these dates lies a quieter story, of not just the marches led by well-known leaders, but the thousands of ordinary Indians — farmers, students and homemakers — who carried the freedom struggle forward on their own shoulders.  

A Flag for Everyone: The Flag Satyagraha of 1923 

In March 1923, the Jabalpur Municipality resolved to hoist the national flag on its building, right beside the Union Jack. The District Magistrate banned it, but municipal members went ahead anyway, hoisting the flag on 18th March. Colonial police pulled it down and trampled it underfoot. The outrage this sparked did not stay confined to Jabalpur for long and grew into what came to be known as the Flag Satyagraha. It soon spread to the nearby city of Nagpur. 

What made the Flag Satyagraha remarkable was how ordinary its participants were. Under the Nagpur District Congress Committee, volunteers set out daily in small batches to march through the city carrying the national flag, defying the government’s ban on public gatherings, and courting arrest without resistance, in true satyagraha fashion. Over the months that followed, an estimated 17,000 volunteers were arrested — not soldiers or seasoned political workers, but shopkeepers, students and farmers who travelled from across the country, some from as far as the princely state of Travancore, to take their turn at the front of the procession. 

When the movement’s local leader, Jamnalal Bajaj, was arrested, leadership passed to Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel. On 17th August 1923, after months of sustained, non-violent pressure, the government relented and permitted a flag procession through Nagpur’s restricted Civil Lines.  

Villagers and Women on the Dandi March 

Seven years later, in 1930, Gandhi opposed the harsh salt laws passed by the British Government. On 12th March, he set out from Sabarmati Ashram with 78 chosen followers, walking towards the coastal village of Dandi to break the government’s monopoly on salt production. 

Along the 240-mile route, villagers swept and watered the roads ahead of the marchers and showered them with flowers, and the walking crowd grew larger with each passing day. By the time Gandhi reached the sea on 5th April and broke the law the next morning by making salt, the march had grown from a small band of volunteers into a movement carried forward by entire communities along its path. 

Gandhi had initially hesitated to involve women directly in the march, but Sarojini Naidu and Kamaladevi Chattopadhyay were among those who insisted on taking part. When Gandhi was arrested in May 1930, just before the planned raid on the Dharasana Salt Works, it was Naidu who stepped forward to lead the volunteers in his place. Across the country, women picketed liquor shops and stores selling foreign cloth, made salt illegally in their own homes, and courted arrest alongside the men, a scale of participation that British officials themselves noted as an unprecedented turn in the freedom struggle. 

Quit India and Its Many Fronts 

By August 1942, with the Second World War underway and negotiations over India’s future stalled, the Congress made its most direct demand yet: an immediate end to British rule. On 8th August, Gandhi addressed a session of the All India Congress Committee at Bombay’s Gowalia Tank Maidan, giving India the mantra of ‘Do or Die’. Within hours, the British moved to crush the movement before it could properly begin, arresting Gandhi, Nehru, Patel and nearly the entire Congress leadership overnight. For a moment, it looked as though the Quit India Movement might collapse before it had truly started. Instead, it was carried forward by those the British had not thought to arrest. 

The next day, 9th August, a 33-year-old Congress worker named Aruna Asaf Ali took the stage the senior leadership had just been dragged from and hoisted the Congress flag at Gowalia Tank Maidan before the waiting crowd, formally launching the movement in the leaders’ absence. She went underground soon after, evading capture for years while helping coordinate the resistance from hiding. 

Elsewhere in Bombay, a 22-year-old postgraduate student named Usha Mehta took up a different kind of resistance. With press censorship tightening, Mehta and a small group of associates built a clandestine radio transmitter that went on air on 27th August 1942 as the Secret Congress Radio, broadcasting news of the movement, Gandhi’s messages, and nationalist songs to listeners across the country, reportedly reaching as far as Japanese-occupied Burma, from wavelength 42.34 metres. Mehta and her team moved the transmitter constantly to stay ahead of British trackers, until she was finally arrested that November and imprisoned for four years, having refused to give up her associates even under interrogation. 

Beyond Bombay, the movement took root in ways the Congress leadership, locked away in prison, could not have coordinated. In pockets of the country where British administration had crumbled under the weight of protest, ordinary people set up parallel governments of their own: in Ballia, Chittu Pandey led locals in briefly taking over the district administration; in Tamluk in Bengal, the Tamralipta Jatiya Sarkar ran cyclone relief and local justice for close to two years; and in Satara, the Prati Sarkar organised village courts and welfare work well into 1945. None of these governments lasted, and most were eventually reclaimed by British forces. But together, they demonstrated something the British could not easily suppress, that after August 1942, the demand for freedom no longer depended on any single leader to carry it forward. 

From a flag torn down in Jabalpur to a radio broadcasting in secret, India’s freedom was built as much by these lesser-told acts of defiance as by the leaders whose names we remember first. As we mark Quit India, International Youth Day and Independence Day this August, it is worth remembering that the freedom struggle was never carried by one voice alone, but by thousands who each found their own way to answer it. 

Read more stories about Indian History, Culture and Mythology on our very own ACK Comics App.  

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When we think of the Guru-Shishya Parampara, our minds usually paint a very specific picture: a wise sage with a long white beard, sitting under a massive banyan tree, while students sit in a neat circle memorising verses. But that is only one small chapter of a much grander story. 

In ancient and medieval India, education was never a one-size-fits-all product. Because different fields required completely different mindsets, India developed entirely unique models of mentorship. From top-secret warrior guilds to mathematical vocal codes and tactile artisan workshops, the way wisdom was passed down depended entirely on what was being taught. 

This Guru Purnima, let us explore the five fascinating ‘clans’ of master-disciple lineages that shaped our history, culture, and science.

1. The Music Families (Gharanas)

Imagine an education system where you do not just attend a class—you legally and spiritually join your teacher’s family. This is the foundation of India’s performing arts lineages, famously known as the Gharana system (from the word ghar, meaning home). 

In classical music and dance, knowledge was not written down on sheet music. It had to be caught live from the teacher’s breath, posture, and voice. To protect their unique musical styles, masters formed distinct ‘houses’ or Gharanas (such as the Gwalior or Maihar gharanas). Each house has its own secret techniques and signature musical phrases that make them instantly recognisable on stage. 

To seal this lifelong bond of artistic loyalty, a formal thread-tying ceremony called Ganda Bandhan is performed. The relationship was so intense that masters historically prioritised their top disciples over their own biological children to ensure that the purity of their art survived.

2. The Human Audio Recorders (Vedic Lineages)

Long before digital hard drives were invented, how did India ensure that thousands of pages of complex Vedic texts survived for millennia without a single word changing? They turned the human voice into a hyper-precise operating system. 

In these Vedic lineages, the exact pitch, accent, and vibration of every single syllable matters. To prevent human error, these lineages invented intricate mathematical recitation codes called Pathas. 

Instead of just reading a line straight, students learn it in complex geometric patterns. In Jata-patha, words are recited forward and backward in pairs (1-2, 2-1, 1-2). In the incredibly complex Ghana-patha, the pattern becomes a more dense matrix. If a student alters even a fraction of a tone, the pattern collapses. This rigorous vocal encryption created the longest-running, unbroken audio recording in human history.

3. The Art and Craft Guilds (Shilpa Lineages)

What if your school textbook wasn’t made of paper, but of raw clay, molten metal, or solid granite? This is the world of India’s traditional craft communities, guided for centuries by the Shilpa Shastras (ancient manuals of engineering and design) and organized into powerful Shrenis (artisan guilds). 

Whether it is the metal-casters of Bastar or the idol-carvers of Mahabalipuram, knowledge transfer here is built entirely on tactile intelligence—the wisdom stored directly in the muscles and the fingertips. 

In a traditional workshop, a master craftsman (Sthapati) rarely gives formal lectures. A young apprentice begins by simply doing chores—sweeping stone dust, mixing clay, or stoking the furnace. For the first few years, they simply absorb the rhythm of the work through their eyes, ears, and hands before ever touching a master tool. 

These communities also developed localised measurement systems based on the proportions of the human body, such as Tala (the length of a palm) or Angula (the width of a finger). A student learns to judge flawless geometric proportions purely by touch, sight, and intuition.

4. The Warrior Brotherhoods (Martial Akharas)

When the knowledge being passed down determines whether you live or die on a battlefield, the master-disciple dynamic shifts from peaceful contemplation to high-stakes survival. This is the world of the Akharas and martial lineages like Kalaripayattu in Kerala. 

Here, the Guru (often called the Gurukkal or Aashaan) builds an absolute brotherhood. The disciples live, train, cook, and heal together. Imagine training with live, razor-sharp swords swinging inches from your face—you have to trust your teacher and your peers with your life. 

In martial lineages, physical training is actually the easy part. The real test is temperament. A martial Guru will deliberately withhold advanced, lethal combat techniques until they are absolutely certain of the student’s emotional maturity. The ultimate goal is not to create a weapon, but a protector who possesses the restraint to never strike out of anger.

5. The Silent Teachers (Spiritual Lineages)

Our modern world believes that learning requires talking, reading, and taking notes. But India’s spiritual and esoteric traditions feature a lineage that completely turns this idea upside down: transmission through absolute silence. 

In the Shaktipat tradition, deep wisdom is not treated as information to be studied, but as a state of consciousness to be ignited. Think of it like using a lit candle to light an unlit one. The flame is passed over instantly, without changing the original light. 

The Guru passes their spiritual realisation directly to the disciple. This can happen through a sacred spoken word (Vachik), a physical touch (Sparsha), or in its rarest form, a direct, silent gaze (Drishti). It suggests that the highest form of teaching is not about filling an empty bucket with facts, but waking up a dormant energy that was inside the student all along. 

The Takeaway for Today 

Whether it is the discipline of the martial Akhara, the mathematical precision of the Vedic chant, the deep emotional bond of the Gharana, the tactile wisdom of the artisan guild, or the quiet focus of the silent lineages, the Guru-Shishya Parampara was never static. It was an incredibly fluid, adaptive network designed to keep the soul of a civilisation alive. 

In a digital age where we are drowning in information, these five lineages remind us of a timeless truth: true mastery has always required human connection. 

Read more stories on Indian History, Mythology and Culture on our very own ACK Comics App.

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As the first monsoon rains sweep across Goa, its landscape undergoes a dramatic transformation. Dry fields turn a lush green, rivers swell, and the scent of wet earth fills the air. It is against this vibrant backdrop that Goa celebrates São João, one of its most distinctive and high-spirited festivals. Observed annually on June 24, this celebration was introduced during the Portuguese era and has since evolved into a beautiful blend of Catholic tradition, local folklore, and a deep reverence for nature. 

Honouring Saint John the Baptist 

Dedicated to Saint John the Baptist, the festival’s core theme is joy. According to Christian tradition, John leapt with happiness in his mother’s womb upon learning of the upcoming birth of Jesus Christ. This spirit of profound gladness defines the modern festivities. The day begins with morning church services and prayers, which quickly transition into lively village processions filled with music, singing, and traditional Konkani chants. 

The Monsoon Connection 

Sao Joao is deeply intertwined with the agricultural calendar, occurring at a time when the monsoon is essential for replenishing water sources and preparing the land for cultivation. For generations, Goans have welcomed these rains as a symbol of renewal, prosperity, and abundance. Consequently, the festival serves a dual purpose: it is both a solemn religious observance and a secular celebration of the seasonal rains that sustain the region’s farms and communities. 

The Colourful Kopel 

One of the most recognisable symbols of the festival is the kopel—a beautiful crown, intricately woven from fresh flowers, leaves, and seasonal fruits. Participants wear these vibrant headpieces throughout the day, transforming streets and villages into a sea of colour. Crafted from locally available plants, the kopel serves as a wearable tribute to the earth’s fertility and the raw beauty of the Goan monsoon. 

A Leap into Tradition 

The most famous custom of São João is the exhilarating practice of jumping into wells, ponds, and streams. Revelers move through the villages in groups, accompanied by the beats of the ghumot (a traditional earthen drum) and cymbals. As they leap into the water to symbolize the joy of Saint John, the air fills with the thunderous, collective chant of “São João! Viva São João!” (“Long live Saint John!”) Historically, this splashing act also celebrated the replenishment of vital drinking water sources after the scorching summer months. Today, this tradition is further enlivened by floating pageants of decorated boats, pool parties, and lakeside cultural programmes. 

São João Today 

While rooted in Christian history, São João transcends religious boundaries to unite people of all backgrounds across Goa. It brings together families, friends, and neighbours in a shared expression of local pride. Through its infectious music, unique water rituals, and striking floral crowns, Sao Joao remains a timeless tribute to Goa’s rich cultural heritage and its enduring bond with the monsoon season. 

Read more about Indian Mythology, Culture and History at our very own ACK Comics App. 

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In January 1967, Goans stood in long lines, waiting to cast a vote that would change their future. It was the moment when the people of Goa were given the choice to either merge with Maharashtra or remain a Union Territory. Their choice eventually led to Goa being vested with full Statehood. Decades later, that moment is remembered with pride every year on Goa Statehood Day, celebrated on 30th May. 

To understand why this opinion poll mattered, we should look back at Goa’s colonial history and the long journey that led to statehood. 

Operation Vijay – The Liberation of Goa 

In 1510, Portuguese Admiral Afonso de Albuquerque captured Goa from Yusuf Adil Shah, the Sultan of Bijapur, thus beginning Portuguese rule in Goa. From then on, Portuguese was imposed while Konkani, the native language, was discouraged for official use. This deeply distressed the Goans. They were forced to adopt Portuguese culture and identity against their will. Over time, Goans resented the censorship and lived in fear. They faced harsh consequences that included police crackdowns due to their resistance. 

Even after Indian Independence in 1947, the Portuguese refused to give up their colonies (Goa, Daman, Diu). So, the people protested more than ever along with leaders like Dr Ram Manohar Lohia and T.B. Cunha. They participated in the Satyagraha movement, and the Konkani language was revived. Many suffered and risked imprisonment by hoisting the Indian flag and distributing secret pamphlets to spread the movement. In 1961, the Indian government finally decided to take military action. The Indian Armed Forces launched ‘Operation Vijay’, which successfully liberated Goa, Daman, and Diu, with minimal casualties, in just 36 hours. In a poignant irony, the Indian Navy sank the Portuguese warship, NRP Afonso de Albuquerque, putting an end to colonial rule. With the local population’s support, Goa, Daman, and Diu were integrated into India as a Union Territory. 

The Battle of the Flower and the Two Leaves  

Though freed in 1961, the future of Goa and its people remained uncertain. While some assumed that Goa would merge with Maharashtra, the majority of the Goans feared that Konkani and their distinct lifestyle — a unique blend of Indo-Portuguese traditions that are seen in their vibrant festivals like Shigmo, their soulful Fado and Mando music and their cuisine — would slowly die after the merger. Hence, the Indian government took a historic step on 16 January 1967.  

Goa held the first and only Opinion Poll (a referendum) in the history of independent India. The simple symbols on the ballot represented the choice. The ‘Flower’ for those who wanted to merge with Maharashtra and the ‘Two Leaves’ for those who wanted Goa to remain a separate Union Territory and preserve their unique language and culture. When the votes were counted, the ‘Two Leaves’ won by a margin of over 34,000 votes, much to the people’s delight and Goa continued to remain a Union Territory with Daman and Diu.  

The Final Road to Statehood 

The Opinion Poll ensured that Goa would not be merged with its neighbour. But as years passed, the Goans were disappointed that Konkani still lacked official recognition from the Indian government. For the next two decades, the desire for statehood and Konkani’s recognition as the official language of the territory grew. These desires were supported by prominent figures, most notably Luizinho Faleiro, who tabled resolutions in the State Assembly in 1980 and 1983 demanding ‘official language’ status for Konkani and statehood for Goa. The turning point came in the mid-1980s, when the Konkani Porjecho Avaz (Voice of the Konkani People) Movement began. The movement grew stronger with each protest as students marched through the streets, slogans for Konkani echoing across Panaji. In response to these demands, the ‘Official Language Act’ was finally passed by the Goa, Daman and Diu Legislative Assembly on 4th February 1987, making Konkani the official language of the territory. On 30th May 1987, Goa was granted statehood and became the 25th State of India. Daman and Diu remained a Union Territory. Goans celebrated as it was the result of their decades-long struggle to ensure that the ‘Goan identity’ would be preserved forever.  

Goa Today  

Today, Goa’s unique heritage and culture is not only protected but also actively celebrated through its festivals, music, dance, and dishes. During Statehood Day celebrations, people enjoy parades, cultural performances, and official ceremonies across the state.

On such occasions, the stories of the 1967 Opinion Poll are passed down to the younger generations. They are reminded that the power of their democratic choice and the need to preserve their centuries-old way of life are the main foundations of Goa’s identity and its future. 

Read more stories on Indian History, Mythology and Folklore on our very own ACK Comics App.

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On Buddha Purnima, we celebrate the three most significant events in the life of Gautama Buddha: his birth, enlightenment (Nirvana) and passing (Parinirvana or complete enlightenment). His journey toward truth did not begin in a single lifetime. It is chronicled through the Jataka Tales, a vast collection of over 500 stories detailing the Buddha’s previous births. 

In these stories, the Buddha is not always a prince or a teacher. Often, he is an animal — a deer, a monkey, an elephant, or even a bird — learning important lessons that shape his path towards enlightenment. These tales quietly remind us that humans are only one part of a much larger living world. 

Ancient Roots and Art 

Composed as early as the 4th century BCE and preserved in the Pali Canon, these stories emerged from a rich tradition of Indian folklore and fables. Before they were ever committed to parchment, Buddhist monks used these oral narratives to bridge the gap between complex philosophy and everyday life. The enduring popularity of these tales is etched into history; vivid scenes are still seen on the ancient stone carvings of the Bharhut and Sanchi Stupas (Madhya Pradesh). 

Mirrors of Morality 

In these stories, the Buddha appears in many forms — a courageous deer, a clever monkey, or a selfless hare. By imbuing animals with human virtues and flaws, the Jataka Tales serve as a mirror for our own behaviour. These characters allow us to reflect on greed, kindness, and bravery without feeling judged. 

Structurally, each tale connects the past with the present. A dilemma in the Buddha’s current life is resolved by recounting a relevant past-life experience. This narrative style illustrates the concept of karma not as a rigid law, but as a natural flow where every action has an echo. 

Lessons Beyond Words 

The power of the Jataka Tales lies in their ability to teach without preaching. Instead of giving direct instructions, they invite us to think, feel, and understand. We see choices being made, we see their consequences, and we slowly begin to shape our own sense of right and wrong. This is especially important today. In a fast-moving world filled with information, stories still have the power to slow us down and help us reflect. 

A Living Legacy 

Today, these stories transcend their ancient origins, appearing in different forms from carvings and paintings at Ajanta caves to comics and digital media. On Buddha Purnima, revisiting these tales is an act of reconnection. In a time when the world feels uncertain, these stories offer a gentler way of looking at life — one that values kindness over gain, responsibility over convenience, and connection over control.  

They remind us that the simplest stories — about animals in ancient forests — often hold the precise wisdom we need to navigate the complexities of the modern world. 

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The post When Animals Speak: Why Jataka Tales Still Matter Today appeared first on Amar Chitra Katha.

‘Ecology is a permanent economy.’ – Sunderlal Bahuguna

In the Himalayan forests of Uttarakhand, a group of women once stood between axes and the trees that had sustained them most of their lives. This gave birth to the ‘Chipko Movement’ — one of India’s most important environmental movements. On this World Earth Day, let us learn how this story feels more relevant now than ever. 

Background: Why the Movement Began 

The villagers who lived in the Himalayan region of Uttarakhand (then part of Uttar Pradesh) depended heavily on the nearby forests for their daily needs, such as fuelwood for cooking, timber for houses, and protection from soil erosion. During British colonial rule, laws were introduced under the Indian Forest Acts, which gave the government rights over natural resources in certain regions while limiting those of the local communities. After the Sino-Indian War in 1963, increased road construction and development led to further deforestation, which distressed the villagers.  

The tipping point came when the Uttar Pradesh Forest Department granted logging contracts to Symonds Company from Allahabad to cut trees. This angered villagers in the Chamoli district who felt that their needs were being ignored. With support from environmentalists such as Chandi Prasad Bhatt and his organisation, the Dasholi Gram Swarajya Sangh (DGSS), later known as the Dasholi Gram Swarajya Mandal (DGSM), the villagers began to protest to protect their trees. 

The Famous Reni Village Incident (1974) 

A defining moment came in March 1974, in Reni village (present-day Raini). When loggers were appointed to Reni, the men of the village were deliberately lured away under the pretext of receiving compensation. The women knew that saving the trees meant saving their children’s future. When the loggers arrived, they underestimated the determination of these women. As they advanced, the women, led by Gaura Devi, hugged the trees and refused to move till they left. The loggers realised that harming the trees meant striking the women first. Faced with such fierce and non-violent resolve, the loggers retreated.

The protest was so impactful that the government ordered a 10-year ban on cutting trees in the region.

The word ‘Chipko’ means ‘to embrace’ in Hindi. Since the women had ’embraced’ the trees, as news of the protest spread across the nation, it came to be known as ‘The Chipko Movement’.    

The Spread of the Chipko Movement  

Environmentalists like Sunderlal Bahuguna spread the message of the movement across the nation after this incident in 1974. During that time, people in the Himalayan villages had limited access to newspapers and other types of media. So, the villagers used folk songs and marches to spread the message to other parts of the hills and India. They began organising similar protests to protect their forests. Between 1972–1979, more than 150 villages were involved, resulting in 12 major protests and many minor confrontations in Uttarakhand. In 1978, the local women in the Tehri Garhwal district, Uttarakhand, tied sacred threads around the trees and recited verses from the Bhagavad Gita to stop the loggers. In Pulna village in the Bhyundar valley in the same year, the women confiscated the loggers’ tools and left receipts for them to be claimed if they withdrew from the forests. In some areas, chir pine trees that had been tapped for resin were also bandaged to prevent further exploitation of trees. The Chipko movement also inspired other environmental movements in India, including the 1983 Appiko Movement (‘Appiko’ means ‘to hug’ or ‘to embrace’ in Kannada), in Karnataka. As the support grew, the pressure also increased on the government to adopt policies that addressed people’s needs and were beneficial for the environment.  

The Leaders who helped the Movement 

While the movement was carried out by thousands of villagers, several leaders joined them and strengthened their hands. Among them, besides Gaura Devi and Sunderlal Bahuguna, were Chandi Prasad Bhatt and Dhoom Singh Negi. Sunderlal Bahuguna started the ‘Save the Himalayas’ movement and went on a historic 5,000 kilometre Trans-Himalayan foot march that took almost two years to complete. In this time, he highlighted the importance of protecting nature for future generations and connected with the villagers through folk songs. Social activist Dhoom Singh Negi fasted for five days to protest the commercial logging of the forests, which inspired people to participate in the movement. 

Impact and Importance 

In 1980, the movement reached a turning point when Prime Minister Indira Gandhi announced a 15-year ban on commercial tree felling in the Himalayan forests. It was a landmark victory that proved a movement led by ordinary people, especially women, could bring positive changes to national policy through peaceful, collective action. 

The Reni village protest showed women leading and carrying the movement across the nation. The image of women hugging trees in the hills of Uttarakhand remains one of the most powerful symbols of environmental care in India. Decades later, as the world faces environmental challenges, the voices of those Himalayan villages still guide us, reminding us that even the smallest acts of courage can protect the planet. 

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