Swamy The Sonahar

Swamy once a very young boy, learning his craft from his grand father, was fixing the rare jewelry his grand father made for a rich family, Irony is that he is asking his grandson to watch him now.

Back then, women would be more social than what they are today, with stunning jewelry and shining silk robes. As and how the country is rolling into twenty first century, all the crafts of erstwhile Raj stand obsolete or neglected and it is not everyday one looks for such jewelry.  

Prashanti didn’t know what to do with her highly valuable jewelry, she inherited from her great grandmother. 

Fortunately they are not pure gold, but alloy. In those days the jewelry made from some cities in Maharashtra unlike Rajasthan, were accessible to not so rich people, so every father can see his daughter off in expensive and valuable jewelry. 

The value was more of the gem setting and workmanship, rather than the weight of gold. 

Swamy held the old Kolhapuri necklace up to the light, turning it slowly between his fingers. The stones still caught the sun in a soft, sparkling shimmer, though the metal had not really lost its original lustre. Time had not destroyed it- only mellowed it.

“These are not meant to be worn every day,” he said softly with a sigh, almost to himself. “They were meant to be remembered.”

Prashanti watching uneasily, the way the jewelry was assessed felt it heavier than its actual weight. It was not just metal and stones—it carried stories she had never been told fully, stories of women whose names were fading from family memory.

Her great-grandmother had lived in a different world. Jewelry then was not merely ornamentation but identity, social language, and security all at once. In certain regions of Maharashtra, unlike the heavily gold-dependent traditions of Rajasthan, artisans had developed intricate alloy-based designs that were more accessible to families who were wealthy in dignity but modest in coin. The beauty lay less in pure gold weight and more in craftsmanship—stone setting, filigree patterns, and what elders called “chekanam”, a refined form of hand detailing that made each piece unmistakenly alive.

Prashanti nodded, though her thoughts were unpresent. “So what do I do with it now? It feels wrong to lock it away, but it also feels… out of place.”

Swamy placed the necklace back into the velvet box. “That is the question every inherited object asks its next owner.”

For a moment, neither spoke. Outside, modern life indeed moved quickly—chaos and noise, taking away the humming, and rhythm of a century that no longer exists, transforms culture, as if they were remnants of museum exhibits. Yet inside the quiet room, the past still persists.

Swamy said finally, though his tone did not encourage it. “if you sell it, you will be only trading mounted metal and stones. What you truly have is design heritage. That cannot be replaced.”

“What do you advise, kaka?” Prashanti was asking with hesitant tone. 

Swamy smiled faintly. “It is not who gets to buy, for what price; these brilliant stones are an artisan’s fine example of craftwork, teams toiling through red hot fire in sultry workshop, in the hottest weather, reflecting in the sheen, we will preserve for future generation, changing it’s mode”

Prashanti said, very pleasantly, ” much obliged kaka, we will work on this together, creating and transforming , preserving and practicing, not just preaching. “

Prashanti knew, what assignment she was going to give her Sociology and arts students, in the next hour.

Govind Gopala

Govind, where are you? Mom Yashoda was looking for Govind, but he was nowhere close by.

The eastern winds were growing strong, with clouds as dark as the Vindhya mountains. The cowherds returned the cattle early, so they could have a play date with the young gopi girls, assisting their elders in the kitchen.

“Guys, have you seen Kandha..?” Yashoda mom was asking with a doubt in her voice.

“No ma’am, not since evening.”

Yashoda was concerned, but it was still not too dark outside. Govind may have gone out with  friends, for a swim in the river Yamuna, mom was contemplating.

“Mother Yashoda,” one gopi came, “your Govind is stealing butter,” she complained. She came with whole team of gopi mothers supporting her.

“You know, the other day I was sleeping near the verandah, waiting to catch Govind in action. God knows where he and the friends crept in from—all the butter on the hanging shelves in the foyer was gone, the pots destroyed, and on his way back, he even applied the butter to my face and that of my daughter-in-law.”

“Not just that, Yashoda Maiyya, he untied the calves and left the doors ajar. The cows had a field day feeding their calves, and there was abundant hay and water too.”

“No, my Kanha is too young. Where is he?”

Govind was still not found anywhere.

“Alright, Gopi ladies,” said Yashoda, “we have enough dairy to last a lifetime for entire Brindavan. Let me get you your containers.”

 Govind was seen playing his melodious Vamsi, as Yashoda opened the pantry doors, all flying grazing, leaping singing friends of all kinds, from forest were enjoying their meals.

“Oh Kandha!” Yashoda Maiyya was too happy to have found him, Kandha was in the walk-in pantry, sitting near the large window with all his forest mates.

Minute Loyalties

The dark night outside the window is no indication of the brightness of mercury and neon lights shining across the corridor into the palaces where Lalitha Devi is being decorated and Her graciousness is being celebrated. The Goddess Lalitha Devi presides over the temple of King Aditya Krishna Vamshikar. Queen Rukmini Devi and Aditya Krishna are just been blessed with a beautiful baby boy.

There were dances, musical performances and dinners for the entire community to enjoy. It was after a decade of waiting for an offspring did Rani Rukmini Devi gave birth to their very first boy. All the relatives and friends were joyous to welcome the little lad.

Not totally untrue was the presence of some minds with conspiracies, to pull their prominence down. Aditya Krishna married Rukmini Devi Nayanakar while they were in The Bronx . They were both visiting their relatives for a friend’s wedding and were site seeing the Bronx zoo. Later they saw each other in the Yankees stadium concession centers. A look into the eyes lead to their hearts and both were too happy to be building a loving relationship. After a year of pursuing their fine art diplomas, they solidified their love in the holy matrimony in presence of their elders and other adults. The Maharani of Gualliore was disappointed in their marriage since their grown-up daughter, Swetambari could not find a dream come true life partner. Her brother, Pranavsen had all his hope on building a relationship within the families with future possible matrimonial, where his goal was to have his daughter to be married in future into the Vamshikar family.

What man desires, might not happen, as they say, man proposes, God disposes. Pranav told his sister that, he would definitely take good care of their prestige issue. What he thought was, of a ploy to destroy the marriage. The dark clouds gathering outside were like a huge storm coming up soon, with thunderstorms and tunnel clouds was possible tortornados. His misplaced loyalties were too much of an error brewing within the palace, creating possible chaos in the family, and their inheritance and riches. Maharani’s direction was to penetrate into the married life of the King and queen and replace her with her daughter taking the place of the other person.

Somewhere in the remote corners of their town foxes were howling. There were sounds of wild birds being chased and the vultures were staring and eagles howling over the open yard, so they can catch some food as they leave it. Prabav Sen’s first wife, Raseshwari Radhani Bhama who died after having a baby girl, because of complications of her pregnancies, seemed to have been visiting in a bright spiritual form as she was a daughter of Vamshikar family. Thousands of years before, the lady's maternal great grandfather was a relative of Chandrabhanu, brother of Vrishabhanu and son of Suryabhanu Thakur.

They say a human spirit never dies. They all live in golok, after the passing phase of life after life of living in human form and succeeding In finding wisdom and meaning of life and eternity. When someone in need thinks of her, her guardian angel, Radha Rani tells her to provide care, nutrition and nurturing in invoking the earth’s angels to help the needy person who believes her. Earth’s angels are the tiny tiny angels that go to and fro as if in molecular form. In Sanskrit they are known as Volakilyas. They generate energy to convert elements into food using bio-chemical and solar energy.  Lakes are generated and trees are producing fruit due to this nature. A truly loving heart when is saddened breaks the heart of mother earth and rivers gush out to this pressure they are going through and cities and villages, mountains and bridges get washed out. Earth is truly connected to each and every individual and to their heart’s vibrations. In essence each body is like a powerhouse, generating and utilizing energy and why will it not be connected, wherever one is, for the sheer reason of being present as individuals and humans who care and abide by rules. Sometimes, humans try to manifest their presence by being arrogant, selfish or inconsiderate. However they will, as mother earth believes and gives umpteen chances, to improve, they become more ingrained with the human essences of sympathy, generosity, empathy, love, determination and devotion.

Radha ben was standing in front of the rising Sun., shining in her grandoire with tilaka on her forehead, reflecting in the water in saffron color of shining Sun’s rays carrying fresh batch of Volakilyas, who have assignment of a bright day to care and nurture and show path to the seekers.

The Story of Water

This story began with a material, that was colorless, tasteless and life giving, was derived from a few lonely random substances which had energy and nothing else. It was an ion, that was a lonesome electron or a positively charged hydroxide particle, looking for one electronic ion since it was not possible to exist all alone, sought a Hydrogen ion, actively looking for a mate and the single electron irresistibly bonded with an agitated postive particle seeking an electron, finally found a home in its orbit… millions of years ago.”

Sara stopped telling the story to grandma. ‘Listening’, said grandma. Long story short, this water you are using to create rotis, is not formed now.. it is older than matter!

Team Work

Sara was busy creating a surprise for Chanda for her wedding. It is a surprise Sara said

Oh ok. Is that what you are offering her? Asked Sumitra.

‘No Aunt Polly, it is so not.

Raja wanted to surprise her with all the pictures as a collage. I am helping out.’

‘Sara! Is it ok to let Raja sleep away while you are working it all by yourself?’

‘I don’t see anything wrong. He takes forever,’ said Sara.

‘Would you rather want Raja to create it or you compile it with your ideas?’

‘Raja's.’

‘Sara, how could he do it? you are doing his work. Would that do any help in bringing out the best of his friendship?’

‘Aunt Polly, I did not see it coming. I was only helping.’

‘Now you do! I am not saying you cannot help, but it should be a team effort! Right?’ said Sumitra.

Deadly Aunt 'Polly' From Mahajanapath

‘Memorized the poem 3 today?’ Aunt Sumitra asked

Raja read the poem aloud. 

He tore up the next poem to avoid reciting.

Is that why your Aunt'Polly’ asked you to paint the fence? Sara asked

Rain Rain Go Away

Once upon a time, long ago, in a faraway fictitious land, in a village called Mahajanapath, there lived a young boy with his grandmother. She was a kind-hearted woman who cared for everyone in her village, offering advice on raising crops, cattle, chickens, and children. All the children affectionately called her "Ajji," meaning grandma.

The little boy grew into a handsome young man. He was called ‘Raja’ for his noble thoughts, generous nature, and willingness to help others, especially those in need of protection from exploitation.

Sara, from a neighboring village, was preparing to move to the city where her friends were studying while residing in a hostel. On her journey to Mahanagar city, Sara stayed with Grandma along with other students, as they had been good friends before moving into Grandma’s homeschooling.

Many years passed, and Grandma was nearing retirement. Other grandma homes were opening up, but typically, a grandma home only ran for two months at a time for each resident. Visitors stayed anywhere from a weekend to three weekends, and at most, up to 12 weekends. They had to return after four or five months at the earliest. If they were facing exams or assignment deadlines and their mothers were unavailable, they could extend their stay by two more months, but no longer.

Most of the time, Grandma was healthy, but occasionally, she fell unwell. During those times, other grandmas stepped in to help. Just as the children spent time at different grandma homes, grandmas also took on roles for short- or long-term stays depending on their interest. There were entire blocks of grandma quarters, each home blessed with a resident grandma.

Children who had passed through different grandma homes at various times would, by chance, meet others who had also stayed there. Some even found friendships that eventually helped them find their soulmates. Raja, in particular, was a permanent resident of the grandma homes since no one knew when his parents would return. They had gone on an assignment with the Maharaja to advise on projects related to welfare, research, and development.

Fortunately, while Raja was primarily cared for by his own grandmother, he had the opportunity to attend classes from different grandmas, learning about ethics, aesthetics, science, art, and even cryptocurrency. He reconnected with old friends and made new ones during these times, but he knew he would soon have to return to Maharaja’s staff quarters as an employee.

One day, while horseback riding, he suddenly heard the terrified screams of a young girl. To his shock, he saw Sara riding a wild, untamed horse from the stables. The horse was behaving erratically, clearly disturbed by something. Raja called out, “Attaboy!” in an attempt to calm it. Slowly, the horse began to relax, stopping as Raja helped Sara climb onto his own horse instead.

Their eyes met, and for a moment, they felt a deep connection. Just then, the horse jerked again—or so Raja thought.

Sprinkles of raindrops touched his face. He opened his eyes.

Grandma stood before him, smiling. "Today, you need to pick up Sara from the train station. Have you forgotten?" she reminded him.

Looking around, Raja saw that the house was decorated. Wedding decorators from Chennai were working in front of the home.

"Sara is arriving to attend her friend’s wedding. Go and pick her up," Grandma said again.

Raja smiled. ‘Oh my, problems are nothing more than bubbles—now you see them, now you don't! Thank God Sara is safe and far away from trouble!’  Good God grandma stop pouring water over me! Cried Raja as the dream bubble is popped away!