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The Artisans of Diwali and Dussehra

by Keya Gupta

The festive season is filled with beauty. Flowers, rangolis, and diyas transform neighbourhoods for Dussehra and Diwali. These crafts are so woven into our celebrations that they often seem invisible. But who makes these objects, and what goes into making them? 

Building Ravana: The Effigy Makers of Dussehra 

As early as August, the work for Dussehra’s biggest spectacle, the burning of grand Ravana effigies, begins. In Delhi’s Titarpur and across northern India, this is a months-long family affair of turning bamboo and cane into massive figures, some reaching up to 40 feet! 

Effigy makers start by sourcing bundles of bamboo from local wholesalers. These are then split, bent, and woven into massive skeleton frames, a lightweight yet sturdy base that supports cloth and papier-mâché. Each body part is made separately: the torso, arms, legs, and, most importantly, the ten heads. All the features are exaggerated. Ravana is depicted with bulging red eyes and flared moustaches, made from papier mache, where glue and paper are alternatingly layered. 

After days of drying, the frames are painted in vivid traditional colours, decorated with sequins and vibrant fabrics, and dressed grandly. Firecracker garlands are carefully put in after all the decorating has been done, for the final dramatic burning. The work is collaborative; with the women and children also helping with colouring and assembly.  

Art: Saumya Ray
Masks of Ramlila: The Artists of Majuli Island 

On Majuli Island in Assam, the complex and vibrant masks of Ramlila are more than a source of livelihood; mask-making is a historic tradition passed down through centuries. This tradition is nurtured by the Satra community. Master craftsmen like Hemchandra Goswami and Haren Goswami are passing down the knowledge to apprentices, keeping it alive in the new generation.  

Masks of characters such as Rama, Hanuman and Ravana are made using split bamboo, cane, clay, cow dung, cotton cloth, and pith; a soft cork-like material. Craftsmen make bamboo frames which are then layered with cotton cloth dipped in a mixture of clay or cow dung. Each layer is painstakingly sundried. Each layer adds more details, and the mask grows more elaborate. Craftsmen add features like blinking eyes, moving mouths and eyebrows to make the features more expressive.  

The craft is kept alive both as a means of livelihood and a marker of cultural identity. Mask making is seasonal, ramping up during festival months but often supported by teaching workshops and tourism the rest of the year. As outside interest grows in the craft, artists have even adapted it across secular lines to make masks for a wide range of art and performances. 

Diyas: Lighting Festivals 

The diya might be smaller and simpler than the intricate effigies and masks, it is inseparable from the festival: every home glows with its presence.  

In the months leading up to Diwali, Kumhar and Kumbhar potter families shape thousands of diyas. Each diya begins with clay, sourced from riverbanks or the Western Ghats. The clay is then sifted for impurities, kneaded with water and shaped into diyas on a wheel by hand. Once the diyas are shaped, they are sundried and baked in makeshift kilns fuelled by scraps of wood and carboard. They are often painted and decorated by women and children before being taken to the market.  

For many families, Diwali is the busiest and most profitable part of the year, but the work is physically demanding, with cramped workshops and health risks. The kiln fumes while firing the diyas also pose an environmental challenge. Despite this, potters persist, driven by tradition, skill, and necessity.  

Art: Saumya Ray

The artisans behind these crafts – effigy makers, mask artists, and potters – are not just preserving tradition, they are also adapting to new challenges. Their skills carry centuries of culture and have shaped how communities celebrate these festivals. Artisan livelihoods, like the festivals themselves, are seasonal: intense and rewarding, but brief. For a few weeks, demand increases and communities come together, working with tradition. Supporting these local artisans as we carry out our own festivities does not just ensure that the season remains beautiful, but that the ancient traditions remain alive a bit longer.  

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A Dussehra Beyond Borders: Dashain in Nepal 

By Keya Gupta

Marking the end of monsoon, communities across South Asia celebrate with festivals that commemorate the triumph of good over evil. In the month of Ashwin, the seventh month in the Hindu calendar, which is typically during September-October, India celebrates Dussehra with grand Ram-Leela performances and Ravana effigies. Similar celebrations occur across the region in Sri Lanka, Bangladesh, Thailand and Cambodia.

Art: Ram Waeerkar 

It is in Nepal, however, that Dussehra takes the expansive form of ‘Dashain’, celebrated across 15 days and touching nearly every household, whether Hindu or Buddhist. It celebrates Goddess Durga‘s victory over the demon, Mahishasura, symbolising the victory of righteousness and divine power. Unlike many Indian Dussehra or Durga Puja celebrations which are often shorter, Dashain’s celebrations create an atmosphere of festivity for weeks. Dashain shows us how the myths and festivals we are familiar with, have been adapted in Nepal. 

The first day of the festival is Ghatasthapana, when barley seeds are sown and nurtured in homes. This grows into a sacred grass called jamara. The barley seeds are grown over the days of the festival and by the end, they take on their distinctive yellow-green colour. This sacred grass is a symbol of prosperity and protection, like welcoming Goddess Durga into homes during Durga Puja.  

Throughout Dashain, families meet relatives, close and distant, to share the festive spirit, while donning new clothes and sharing meals to welcome the prosperity and blessings that Goddess Durga brings. Children streak the sky with kites, as is tradition, and kids and adults alike enjoy swinging on large traditional bamboo swings called ping. Both these traditions are more than just play. The kites are believed to be a way to send messages to the gods up in the skies, as the clouds clear out with the end of monsoon. Swinging in the ping is believed to be a way to rinse away the burdens and sins in one’s life.  

Maha Ashtami is the eighth day of the festival, when Durga is worshipped in her most frightening and fierce form of Kali, and is appeased through the sacrifice of animals and poultry. On Maha Navami, the ninth day, people worship their tools, vehicles, and instruments; a practice similar to the Vishwakarma Puja in India. This ritual recognises the importance of tools and implements in livelihoods and the conveniences in daily life that are often taken for granted, seeking divine protection for the safety of the things that provide livelihood.  

Art: Ram Waeerkar 

The main day of Dashain is Vijaya Dashami, the tenth day of the festival, when Durga slayed Mahishasura. Elders apply a ‘tika’ which is a mixture of red vermillion, curd, rice and the sacred jamara on the foreheads of younger family members. The jamara in the tika ties one to the earth and nature’s bounties, reflecting the end of the harvest season. Historically, this tradition of tika harks back to the largely agrarian and warrior culture of Nepal. After a period of agricultural rest during the first nine nights or Navratri of the Dashain period, it symbolises farmers or warriors receiving it as a symbol of protection and strength before returning to work.  

The festival’s last and final day falls on a full moon, called the Kojagrat Purnima or Sharad Purnima. Kojagrat literally means ‘one who is awake’, and it is believed that Lakshmi, the goddess of prosperity, descends to Earth on this night and showers the ones who stay awake all night, with blessings.  

As Dussehra and Dashain light up homes, they remind us that despite regional differences, the essence and spirit of these festivals is the same — the triumph of good over evil and the joy of togetherness and community.   

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The Astrology of Navratri

By Keya Gupta

In Indian culture, astrology is more than a tool to predict our ever-changing lives. It is the thread that connects everyday life to the stars and sky. As Sharad Navratri arrives, the air grows crisp and the seasons turn, along with a shift in the spiritual landscape. This is the festival that honours Goddess Durga, whose power is mirrored in the skies and the cycles of nature. 

Navratri means ‘nine nights’, a time where Goddess Durga is worshipped in her nine different forms. Each night is a step in the journey from darkness and struggle to clarity and transformation. The festival represents the triumph of good over evil, light over darkness, and knowledge over ignorance as Durga slays the demon, Mahishasura. But Navratri is also deeply tied to astronomy and astrology, with each day’s timing and meaning influenced by the planets and their movements.   

Sharad Navratri begins around the autumn equinox, the time when day and night are almost equal in length; highlighting balance in the universe, a natural balance in the earth’s cycle, and the shift from summer into the cooler season. The equinox reminds us of balance not only in the outside world but also in our inner lives. Just like day and night are equal and in harmony during this time, Sharad Navratri encourages us to find balance within ourselves.  

Each night of Navratri celebrates one of the nine forms of Goddess Durga, each representing different qualities like strength, courage, wisdom, and protection. Each of the nine days and corresponding forms of Durga is linked to the ‘Navagraha’ of Hindu astrology: Moon, Mars, Mercury, Jupiter, Venus, Saturn, Sun, Rahu, and Ketu. By praying to each form, we seek harmony with the energies of these cosmic bodies. The movements of these bodies influence the timing of the festival, making it a special time when spiritual and universal energies are aligned.  

 

Illustration: Harshal N. and Srinath Malolan

Why nine nights? The number nine holds a significant position in both mathematics and spirituality. Nine is the last digit before numbers repeat in cycles, as the digits ‘1’ and ‘0’ begin to repeat after ‘9’, symbolising completion and renewal. In Hindu thought, nine signals the end of one cycle and the beginning of another, representing rebirth, transformation, and infinity. Nine is the apex, both an ending and ushering of a new start. During Navratri, nine marks the harmony of the physical and spiritual, the journey through stages of life, from ignorance to finding the divine. The nine forms of Durga depict the nine stages of individual growth from death to rebirth, cleansing, and enlightenment. Even the structure of the Vedas and the planetary system is shaped by nines, reflecting a universe that moves in cycles, guided by the Navagraha. With each turn of the seasons and each phase of the moon, the number nine reminds us to recognise the rhythms of nature in our own lives.  

Sharad Navratri is more than a festival; it is a celebration of the skies and spiritual growth. As people light lamps and offer prayers, they participate in a tradition that honours the relationship between the stars and human life. For nine sacred nights, under the changing skies, Navratri invites us to embrace change, seek balance, and move toward renewal. 

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Monsoon Ragas: How Indian Classical Music Welcomes the Rain

By Shree Sauparnika V

When dark clouds gather and the first drops kiss the earth, nature begins its grand symphony. The wind whistles, thunder rumbles, and in homes, temples, and concert halls, a voice rises in song. In India, the monsoon is not only heard, seen or felt but also sung. 

Music and the Seasons 

In Indian classical music, a raga is more than just a melody. It is a living form with its own mood, time of day, and even season. Ancient texts like the Natya Shastra and the Sangita Ratnakara describe how music mirrors the rhythms of nature—sunrise and dusk, summer heat and winter chill, and the cool showers of Varsha Ritu. For centuries, musicians have turned to special ragas to welcome the rains, believing their music could not only celebrate the season, but even invite it. 

Carnatic Voices of Rain 

In Carnatic music, no raga is more closely linked to rain than Amrithavarshini, which means ‘the shower of nectar’. Legend tells us that the great composer Muthuswami Dikshitar once sang his composition Anandamrutakarshini in this raga at Ettayapuram in Tamil Nadu during a drought, and rain followed soon after. With its bright pentatonic notes that sparkle like falling drops, Amrithavarshini continues to be sung during the monsoon, carrying with it the aura of this miracle.

Some traditions even connect ragas to deities. Just as Amrithavarshini evokes joy and abundance, ragas like Varunapriya are linked to Varuna, the Vedic god of rain and water (who is often compared to the Puranic Lord Vishnu). Music, myth, and nature flow into one another seamlessly. 

Illustration: Sana Tripathi
Hindustani Ragas of Monsoon 

In the Hindustani tradition too, the monsoon has inspired some of the most beloved ragas. Megh, with its deep, resonant notes, is said to echo the rumble of monsoon clouds. Miyan ki Malhar, attributed to Tansen, carries the drama of storms and sudden showers. Desh, soft and lyrical, feels like gentle rain on a quiet evening. These ragas are often performed during the rains, their swells and pauses mirroring the rhythm of downpours and the freshness of wet earth. 

Regional Flavours of Rain Songs 

Across India, the rains are welcomed in many different musical voices. In Uttar Pradesh and Bihar, women sing Kajris which are playful, yearning songs that capture the beauty of dark clouds and the ache of separation. In Bengal, the monsoon finds its voice in Rabindra Sangeet, where Tagore’s melodies weave rain with love and devotion. In Maharashtra, folk traditions like Ovis and Lavanis bring out the rhythm of village life in the wet season, while in Kerala, temple courtyards come alive with folksongs that celebrate Varsha Ritu as a time of renewal. From the banks of the Ganga to the backwaters of the South, the rains become a reason to sing, each region adding its own colour to the music of the monsoon. 

Illustration: Sana Tripathi
Echoes Across the World – Western Musical Parallels

While Indian ragas are closely tied to seasons and moods, Western classical music also paints nature in sound, though with different methods. Composers there often use ‘tone painting’, shaping rhythm, harmony, and orchestration to mirror the world outside. Antonio Vivaldi’s famous concerto The Four Seasons captures a summer storm with rapid violin strokes and dramatic chords, much like a monsoon cloudburst. Later, Impressionist composers such as Claude Debussy created musical ‘weather’ with flowing, unpredictable scales and rhythms that evoke rain, wind, or waves. Unlike ragas, which are bound to specific times and seasons, Western music tends to suggest nature through mood and metaphor. Yet, across cultures, music and rain have always danced together.

The Rain in Our Hearts 

What is it about a raga that makes the rains feel so near? Perhaps it is because the monsoon in India is more than just weather. It is relief after heat, joy after waiting, and hope for abundance. Indian classical music transforms this anticipation into melody, carrying the rhythm of falling rain and the fragrance of the earth within its notes.

Perhaps we are always waiting for the rain; a cathartic flow of emotions, a much-needed respite. Our ragas give voice to these feelings. They don’t just describe the rain. They become the rain.  

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Ganesh Chaturthi and the Evolution of Sacred Art

by Keya Gupta

When you think of Ganesha, you picture the pot-bellied elephant-headed God, worshipped across India. But historically, Ganesha has travelled around the world, with the oldest surviving Ganesha statue being found in the Kung-sin province of China, in 531 CE! 

In fact, Ganesha idols have been found all over the world, from Japan to the islands of Thailand and Indonesia and even Afghanistan. The Ganesha statue in Gardez, Afghanistan is from the 4th or 5th Century CE. That is about 2,500 years ago! Ganesha has even been adopted into other religions, and an idol can be found in the Buddhist temples in Japan. There he has been transformed into Kangiten, and this form of Ganesha is worshipped differently than we do here in India.  

Kangiten, God of Bliss. Illustration: Srinath Malolan

But how did idols come into the form we see them in today? As we prepare for Ganesh Chaturthi, we must remember that these celebrations, and the idols, the centre pieces of our worship, represent a nearly 3,000-year-old tradition and craftsmanship evolving from simple stone to masterpieces.  

The First Forms      

The story of Ganesha sculptures begins nearly 3,000 years ago with statues of elephant-headed yakshas (nature spirits or minor deities in Hindu, Buddhist or Jain mythology) in ancient Mathura art. The Ganesha in Kung-sin, China, is dated around this era. During this time, the forms of Ganesha were still developing and were simpler and slimmer than what we see today.  

A little bit later, Ganesha appears in his more classic form about 2,500 years ago in the famous sculptures in the Udayagiri caves in Madhya Pradesh and the carvings in the Elephanta Caves near Mumbai.  

How Ganesha’s Form Evolved     

With time, Ganesha evolved to have more of the characteristic features that we recognise today. Early sculptures showed Ganesha with just two arms, but now he is usually depicted with four arms, each holding his broken tusk, a noose, a laddoo or a bowl of modaks, and an axe. These items are a visual representation of his ability to remove obstacles, his control over the mind, his love for sweets, and his power to destroy evil, respectively.    

Illustration: C.M. Vitankar

The worship of Ganesha developed later than that of other gods, sometime around 500-750 CE. While it was later than other gods, it was still in ancient times about 2,300 years ago. During this time, the Hoysalas of Karnataka built temples with incredibly detailed Ganesha statues, showing every piece of jewellery and fold of cloth. Around the same time, the Chola dynasty in the Tamil Nadu region created Ganesha idols with bronze casting, making them more portable and eventually leading to the idols we carry around in processions today. 

Shaping Modern Worship   

About 200-300 years ago, Maratha rulers adopted Ganesha as their family emblem and built more Ganesha temples in a conscious effort to elevate Ganesha from a supporting deity to a main one.  

In 1893, Lokmanya Tilak launched the first-ever Ganeshotsava festival to rally support against the British. This transformed Ganesh Chaturthi from a private family celebration to the grand public festival we know today. This evolution into a public festival created new demands on artists and sparked a shift from permanent stone or bronze statues to temporary clay ones meant for pandals and then visarjan (immersion in water).  

Yet through every transformation, Ganesha’s essence remains unchanged. Today’s celebrations are the living heartbeat of a tradition that spans thousands of years. Master artisans in Mumbai and Pune don’t just carry on family trades, they are the guardians of a chain of devotion. In every festival idol, ancient traditions meet modern celebrations, proving that while art may change, the spirit it captures is timeless.  

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Independence Day Stories: Courage Beyond Years

By Shree Sauparnika V

When we think of our freedom struggle, we often imagine towering  leaders and seasoned revolutionaries. Yet, history tells another, equally powerful story of young boys and girls who, with hearts full of courage, stood up for their country. Across the world, in every movement for justice, children and youth have been the ones to carry the torch forward. Their energy, fearlessness, and unshakable belief in a better future have made them a vital part of every social and cultural change. 

India’s fight for independence was no different. In towns, villages, and cities, young people risked their lives for the dream of a free nation. They braved imprisonment, exile, and even death, often before they had lived half their lives. 

Baji Rout of Odisha was only twelve years old when he became the youngest known martyr of India’s freedom struggle. In 1938, during the Praja Mandal Movement against the feudal rulers and the British, police forces tried to cross the Brahmani river in search of protesters. Baji, who worked as a boatman, refused to ferry them across. His defiance angered the armed officers, and they ended his life on the spot. His sacrifice at such a tender age ignited a wave of protests and became a symbol of unflinching courage among the youth of India.  

Illustration: Arijit Dutta Chowdhury; Script: Tanushree Banerji

Kartar Singh Sarabha was just nineteen when he became one of the key members of the Ghadar Party, which sought to overthrow British rule through armed revolt. His speeches and writings inspired many to join the cause. Arrested for his role in the Ghadar Conspiracy, he faced his trial with unwavering resolve and was executed at the age of nineteen and was thus immortalised as one of the youngest martyrs of the Independence movement. 

Illustration: Arijit Dutta Chowdhury; Script: Surekha S.

Then there was Saraswathi Rajamani, who was only sixteen when she joined the Indian National Army in the 1940s under Subhas Chandra Bose. Disguising herself as a boy to evade suspicion, she worked as a spy, gathering intelligence from behind enemy lines. Even when she was captured and interrogated, she refused to betray her comrades. 

Illustration: Arijit Dutta Chowdhury; Script: Shakthi Bharathi

These three are but a glimpse of the many young hearts, some remembered by name, others lost to time, who laid down their lives for the nation’s freedom. Countless children marched, carried messages, and braved danger, never to witness the sunrise of the independence they had dreamed of. Their courage, whether recorded in history or passed down in whispers, remains a quiet but enduring part of India’s story. 

Even as times have changed, the spirit of young changemakers has not. Around the world today, young people continue to be at the forefront of movements like speaking up for climate action, demanding social justice, protecting cultural heritage, and standing for equality. From streets filled with peaceful protests to voices amplified through social media, the younger generation is reshaping conversations and challenging systems with the same fearlessness that once drove India’s young freedom fighters. The tools may be different, but the courage, vision, idealism and hope for a better world remain the same.  

This Independence Day, as we honour the leaders who shaped our nation, let us bow in gratitude to the young heroes who dared to dream of freedom. In their courage, we see the boundless energy and hope that only youth can bring. They are the heartbeat of every movement for change, the promise of a brighter tomorrow, and the reminder that the spirit of freedom lives on most fiercely in the hearts of the young. 

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The Eternal Teachers: Great Gurus from Ancient India

By Shree Sauparnika V

In the Indian tradition, knowledge is sacred and those who share it are even more so. A Guru is not merely a teacher, but a guide who leads the seeker from darkness to light, from confusion to clarity. On the day of Guru Purnima, we honour these luminous figures who shaped minds, preserved dharma, and lit the path for generations to come. Among the many Gurus remembered in our scriptures, some stand out like constellations in the night sky— eternal, guiding, and ever-present.  

  1. Veda Vyasa – The First Among Gurus

Guru Purnima itself is named after him—Vyasa Purnima. Veda Vyasa is said to have compiled the four Vedas, written the Mahabharata, and composed the 18 Puranas. His work laid the foundation for nearly every aspect of Hindu philosophy and storytelling. In the Mahabharata, Vyasa appears not just as a writer, but also as a wise elder whose presence shapes the fate of generations. By bringing the vast knowledge of the Vedas into an accessible form, he became the Guru of all Gurus. 

Illustration: S.B Tendle
  1. Krishna – The Teacher Divine

In the middle of a battlefield, with war about to begin, Krishna becomes a Guru. To a hesitant and grieving Arjuna, he delivers the Bhagavad Gita, a text that is both deeply spiritual and profoundly practical. Krishna does not simply offer comfort but reveals truths about duty, detachment, devotion, and the eternal self. As a Guru, Krishna stands as the voice of clarity in confusion, the calm in the storm. His teachings continue to guide seekers, soldiers, and scholars alike. 

Illustration: Pratap Mullick
  1. Dronacharya – The Master of Warfare

In the Mahabharata, Dronacharya is the royal Guru of the Pandavas and Kauravas. An expert in warfare, Drona trained his students in archery, combat, and dharma. His teachings shaped some of the greatest warriors in the epic—most notably Arjuna. Drona’s story is not without moral challenges. His loyalty to Hastinapura, his complex choices, and his tragic end show that even Gurus must walk a difficult path. Yet, his dedication to his students and to his art made him a Guru remembered for his discipline and skill. 

Illustration: P.B Kavadi
  1. Rishi Sandipani – The Guru of the Divine

Not every Guru appears in royal courts or mighty battles. In a quiet ashram by the river, Rishi Sandipani taught three young boys: Krishna, Balarama, and Sudama. He taught them the scriptures, the arts, and the duties of life. It is said that Krishna, out of gratitude, brought back Sandipani’s lost son from the realm of death. Sandipani’s greatness lies not in his fame, but in the values he passed on to his students; values that even gods chose to learn from. 

  1. Sage Vasishta – The Seer of Truth

Vashishta, one of the Saptarishis, appears in many ancient texts, including the Ramayana. He was the royal Guru of the Raghu dynasty and served as the teacher and advisor to King Dasharatha and Prince Rama. His deep understanding of dharma and inner peace shines through in the Yoga Vasishta, a dialogue between him and the young Rama. Vasishta is the calm voice of wisdom in a changing world — a Guru who teaches that the highest knowledge comes not from rituals alone, but from self-realisation. 

Illustration: Rakesh C.S

The wisdom of a Guru does not fade with time, it lives on in every lesson remembered, every path chosen, and every act guided by truth. From palaces and battlefields to quiet forest ashrams, these ancient teachers shaped not only the heroes of our stories, but the soul of a civilisation. On Guru Purnima, as we touch the feet of our own mentors, let us also bow in spirit to these eternal Gurus, whose teachings continue to whisper across time, reminding us that knowledge shared with love is the most powerful gift of all. 

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The Jagannath Rath Yatra

Illustration: Vrishti Rachna

by Shree Sauparnika V

In the sacred town of Puri, a festival unfolds each year that draws millions to its streets and millions more in prayer. It is a celebration of devotion, tradition, and the bond between the divine and the devotee. Ancient in its origins and grand in its scale, it is one of the most cherished festivals in India. This is the Jagannath Rath Yatra.  

The Chariots of the Gods 

The words ‘Rath Yatra’ simply mean ‘chariot procession’. But the scale of this yatra is anything but simple. It involves three giant, hand-carved wooden chariots, each more than 40 feet tall, built afresh every year for Lord Jagannath, his elder brother Balabhadra, and his sister Subhadra. 

Illustration: Vrishti Rachna

On the day of the yatra, celebrated in the Hindu month of Ashadha (June–July), these deities leave their grand abode, the Jagannath Temple, and travel to their aunt’s temple, the Gundicha Temple, about three kilometers away. The streets of Puri transform into a living river of people, pulling the ropes of these majestic chariots, singing devotional songs, and celebrating what is to them, the most divine road trip of the year.  

Different kinds of Sevakas or helpers, from the Jagannatha Temple offer their services; the most important among them being the Suara Mahasura Dahuka; a couple of charioteers who recite what is known as the Dahuka Boli, which are essentially bawdy songs. The lyrics of the Dahuka Boli tend to be very risqué, with a lot of double entendre. Since it is believed that the Rath Yatra is a symbol of fertility and the cycle of life; unless the Dahuka Boli is sung, the Rath Yatra does not start. 

 

Myth and Mystery 

The Rath Yatra has been celebrated for over a thousand years, with records tracing it back to the 12th century, when the Jagannath Temple itself was built by King Anantavarman Chodaganga Deva. Since then, the chariots have rolled through the streets of Puri every year without fail, watched over by generations of kings, pilgrims, and priests. But the legend of King Purushottama Deva, who ruled Odisha in the 15th century, adds a stirring and dramatic chapter to the festival’s legacy. 

According to the famous Kanchi-Kaveri legend, King Purushottama Deva once sent a marriage proposal to the princess of the powerful Kanchi kingdom in the south. However, the Kanchi king rejected the proposal, mocking that Purushottama, despite being a ruler, had humiliated himself by sweeping the chariot path of Lord Jagannath during the Rath Yatra. To the devout Odia king, this was no humiliation, but the highest honour—serving the Lord as his humble devotee. 

Feeling insulted, Purushottama vowed to teach the king of Kanchi a lesson. He launched a military campaign against Kanchi, but his first attempt failed. On returning to Puri, he prayed to Lord Jagannath and sought his blessings for a second expedition. 

This time, before setting out, the king declared that Jagannath and Balabhadra themselves would lead the army. As the story goes, during the march, two mysterious warriors—one dark and one fair—were seen riding ahead of the Odia forces. They stopped at the house of a cowherd woman and asked for curd-rice. She offered them food, unaware of their divine identities. When the king arrived later and heard her account, he was deeply moved and realised that the Lord and his brother had truly gone ahead to bless the battle. 

This time, the Odia army triumphed over Kanchi. The princess, moved by the divine tale and the king’s devotion, agreed to marry him. As a tribute to Lord Jagannath, Purushottama Deva brought her back to Puri and arranged for the royal wedding to be held in the presence of the deities. 

Since then, the Kanchi-Kaveri story has been celebrated in Odia lore as a shining example of divine intervention, royal devotion, and victory of dharma. It also highlights the sacred bond between Lord Jagannath and the kings of Odisha, where even monarchs see themselves as mere servants of the Lord. 

One particularly sweet belief is that the Lord goes out on this Yatra so that his devotees, who are not allowed into the main temple (non-Hindus, for instance), get to see him during this public procession. It is a festival of inclusion, where every devotee, no matter where they’re from, gets darshan. 

A Festival like no Other 

Preparations for the Rath Yatra begin months in advance. Special logs of wood are brought from select forests to build the chariots. The colours of each chariot are symbolic—red and yellow for Subhadra, red and green for Balabhadra, and red and blue for Jagannath. The entire event is orchestrated with clockwork precision, yet it holds the chaotic energy of a divine carnival. 

Illustration: Vrishti Rachna

The pulling of the chariots is the high point. Thousands gather to hold the ropes—because it is said that pulling the Lord’s chariot washes away one’s sins and brings good fortune. The procession takes several hours, sometimes an entire day, and ends with the deities resting at the Gundicha Temple for nine days before returning to their sanctum. 

For centuries, the Jagannath Rath Yatra has reminded devotees that the divine is never distant. It is a festival of faith, humility, and shared joy. As the chariots roll through the streets of Puri, they carry with them the prayers of a people and the grace of a tradition that continues, year after year. As the Lord sets out on his journey, devotees find meaning in their own. 

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Temples that Rose from the Ashes

by Shree Sauparnika V

Temples in India are not just structures of stone and mortar — they are living legacies. They carry echoes of chants, the rhythm of footsteps, and the weight of centuries. In their silence, they have witnessed celebration and sorrow, kings and commoners, seasons of abundance and times of destruction. Some still stand as they did long ago. Others have stumbled through time — shaken by nature, broken by war, forgotten by generations. And yet, many of these temples return to us — not just rebuilt, but reborn. 

Temples have been vulnerable to the whims of nature. Earthquakes shattered sanctums, like those in Bhuj during the 2001 quake. Rivers shifted their course, swallowing temple towns whole. Entire settlements once flourishing along the Saraswati and Ghaggar-Hakra faded into dust. In 2013, when a massive flood swept across Uttarakhand, the ancient Shri Kedarnath Temple was caught in the path of destruction. Entire villages disappeared. But the temple stood — shielded by a massive boulder, which devotees believe was placed by divine grace. In the face of ruin, the stone walls of Kedarnath whisper a story of survival. 

But not all wounds come from the earth and sky. Through centuries, the Indian subcontinent has seen waves of invasions and power struggles. Temples, often rich in material and symbolic value, became targets. The Shri Somnath Jyotirlinga Temple in Gujarat faced repeated destruction — famously by Mahmud of Ghazni in the 11th century, and later during other periods of conflict. Yet, with every fall, the temple rose again. In 1951, it was rebuilt once more — this time as a national symbol of resilience, inaugurated by then President Rajendra Prasad. Today, it faces the Arabian Sea like a sentinel of memory, its past woven into its present. 

Illustration: Siddhartha Tripathi; Script: Kayva Gokhale

Sometimes, the erasure of temples was not through war, but through policy and changing tides of belief. The magnificent Martand Surya Temple in Anantnag, Kashmir — built in the 8th century by King Lalitaditya Muktapida — was among the earliest and grandest temples dedicated to the sun. In the 15th century, it was ordered to be destroyed. What remains today is a hauntingly beautiful shell: a skeleton of pillars and sanctums open to the sky, still whispering tales of devotion, light, and loss. 

There are other temples that vanished, not with a bang, but with silence. Some, like the Sri Airavatesvara Temple in Dharasuram, Tamil Nadu—a jewel of Chola architecture—simply fell out of sight. Overgrown, encroached upon, forgotten. But with patient effort by conservationists and renewed curiosity from visitors, the temple has once again become a place of admiration and awe. Its carved stone wheels, elegant horses, and musical steps remind us of an age where art, devotion, and architecture were one. 

Illustration: Siddhartha Tripathi; Script: Kayva Gokhale

Even temples that never faced outright destruction have stories of disappearance. The Shri Padmanabhaswamy Temple in Thiruvananthapuram, Kerala, long revered but quiet in the public eye, startled the world in the 2010s when its ancient underground vaults were opened. Inside, lay treasures — gold, jewels, and sacred heirlooms preserved for centuries. But more than wealth, what the world discovered was the quiet continuity of faith. A temple that had held its silence had now become the centre of national wonder. 

Illustration: Onkarnath Bhattacharya; Script: Prabha Nair

Temples rise again because someone remembers to light a lamp. Because someone sweeps the courtyard, or re-tells an old story, or dreams of what once was. Sometimes it is a community, sometimes a single devotee, sometimes a child asking a question. And in that act of remembering, history breathes again. 

Destruction is easy. But to rebuild — to care, to restore, to pass the story on — that is the work of generations. And it is a work we continue to do, through every article, every comic, every story we tell. Because in remembering the temples that rose from the ashes, we also celebrate something deeply human: our capacity to hope, to heal, and to begin again. 

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Waking up to Vishu

By Adithya Ganapathy (Age -12)

It is the first day of Medam. Crops are about to be harvested, and then Vishu comes. Vishu, also known as the Malayali New Year, is a Hindu festival celebrated in Kerala. 

It is believed that on this day, Lord Krishna killed Narakasura, a demon. It is also celebrated as the day that the Surya Dev (Sun) returned to rising in the east after the demise of King Ravana, who had prevented him from doing so. 

Vishu is a day that marks the beginning of the new agricultural cycle for farmers in Kerala. Traditionally, Vishu is celebrated by decorating a table full of auspicious symbols. It starts with an Uruli (a round bowl used for cooking, especially seen in South India) kept in the middle in which people keep what they have or have grown on their farm/gardens, such as fruits, vegetables, some gold items, Kanikonna (a yellow flower), cash, and a mirror in front of Lord Krishna. They also light Nilavelakku (a traditional oil lamp from Kerala) as a symbol of prosperity and hope. These things are arranged the day before Vishu and covered with a piece of cloth.  

Illustration: Adithya Ganapathy

The most striking part are the yellow flowers that are seen especially during this time of the year – Konna. The ‘kanikonna’ (Indian laburnum, Cassia fistula) flower, also known as Vishu Kanikonna, is associated with Lord Krishna. Legend has it that a boy who was a devotee of Lord Krishna was helping with a pooja in a temple. While removing the dried flowers and cleaning the idol, he accidentally threw away Krishna’s golden waist chain (Aranjanam). Everyone in the temple scolded him and some even accused him of stealing the ornament. It is said that Lord Krishna brought back the golden waist chain himself, which was found among the beautiful yellow flowers, the kanikonna, in front of his idol. Krishna wanted the boy to know that his devotion and love meant more to him than gold. 

On Vishu day, the eldest person in the family wakes up very early in the morning to open the cloth that covers the items and then lights the lamp. The others in the family are then woken from their beds and taken to see this set up, with their eyes closed all the way till they are right in front of the decorated Vishu Kani. This way, the Vishu Kani becomes the first thing that they will see when they get up.  

On this day, people also wear new clothes to mark new beginnings. Vishu Kaineetam is also a fun tradition where the younger members of the family are given money and blessings from the older members. These moments are the most exciting for children, along with the Sadhya. Sadhya is the highlight of Vishu. Rice, sambar, olan, avial, kootukari, paayasam, kichadi, and pachadi , crunchy paapad are served on a green banana leaf. We also have sweet payasam for dessert! Everybody sits together and enjoys the meal and wishes each other a good new year ahead. This is how Vishu is celebrated in Kerala. 

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