*BJP's Task In Bengal Is Bigger Than Governance*

*BJP's Task In Bengal Is Bigger Than Governance* West Bengal’s new government has a five-year mandate, but its real task will take a generation. Three successive regimes — British, Nehruvian, Communist, and then Trinamool — spent a hundred and fifteen years suppressing one of the most productive civilisations the modern world has seen. The BJP now has the first real opportunity to reverse that. In December 1911, the British announced from the Delhi Durbar that they were moving their imperial capital out of Calcutta because, as Lord Curzon put it candidly to the House of Lords, they wished merely "to escape the somewhat heated atmosphere of Bengal." The voters of Bengal have just ended an arrangement that began on that day. The BJP that now inherits the state must understand that its task is not merely to govern it for the next five years but to play its part in reviving the civilisation that the long arrangement was designed to suppress. Most educated Indians have been taught for two generations not to look at what that civilisation was. Between roughly 1820 and 1941, a single Indian province produced a body of work whose like was not produced anywhere else in colonised Asia. It produced the first non-European Nobel laureate in literature; the equation by which modern astrophysics still calculates the temperature of stars; the statistics that govern the behaviour of half the particles in the universe and after which those particles are now named; the first demonstration of millimetre-wave wireless transmission in 1894, two years before Marconi's celebrated public version; India's first indigenous pharmaceutical company, founded in a back room with seven hundred rupees of capital. It produced the religious revival — Ramakrishna, Vivekananda, Aurobindo — that gave nineteenth-century Hinduism the confidence to argue with Western Christianity in Western languages and not lose. It produced the revolutionaries — from Bagha Jatin to Khudiram Bose to Surya Sen to Subhas Chandra Bose — whose deaths weighed more heavily on British imperial accounting than any number of Gandhian fasts. It produced Vande Mataram, Jana Gana Mana. And it produced, alongside all this, money: the Bengal Presidency by the 1910s contributed more than half of British India's overseas trade, and Calcutta operated as the second city of the Empire after London. Calcutta, in Curzon's honest phrase, had become heated; in plainer language, it had begun to win the argument with the West, and the argument had become inconvenient. What was done to Bengal between 1911 and 2026 was not natural decline. It was the cumulative work of three regimes, each of which had a structural interest in keeping the place weak. The British recognised in 1911 that they could no longer manage Calcutta and moved their capital out. The Lutyens-Nehruvian establishment that inherited the British arrangement in 1947 deepened it. The Boundary Commission severed Calcutta from its East Bengal hinterland. Four million Hindu refugees walked westward into a state given no plan for them. Shyama Prasad Mukherjee — who almost single-handedly saved West Bengal from absorption into Pakistan, and whose political party has now returned to govern it — asked Nehru for a Punjab-style population exchange; Nehru declined; Mukherjee resigned in 1950 and died in detention in Srinagar three years later under circumstances the Government of India has never investigated. Then came freight equalisation, the policy by which the Government of India subsidised the transport of coal and steel and iron ore at uniform national prices and thereby destroyed, by administrative fiat, the locational advantage that had made the Hooghly valley industrial. Bengal's share of national industrial output collapsed from twenty-seven per cent in 1947 to seventeen per cent by 1961. The same establishment that had appropriated Vande Mataram and Jana Gana Mana for the Republic proceeded to hollow out the place that had produced them, characterising this asphyxiation, with a straight face, as the natural drift of markets. The Communists who took office in 1977 ran the longest continuous Communist government in any democracy in human history. Polite commentary remembers Operation Barga and forgets the rest. The rest includes the Naxalite period, in which an entire generation of Bengal's most academically gifted young people was destroyed under Charu Majumdar's doctrine of class annihilation, and the murder of the vice-chancellor of Jadavpur University in his own home by his own students in December 1970. It includes the Marichjhapi atrocity of January 1979, when several thousand Bengali Hindu Dalit refugees were blockaded on a Sundarbans island, deprived of food and water, and on the thirty-first of January fired upon. The Information Minister who declared the island "refugee-free" three months later was Buddhadeb Bhattacharjee, who would later become Chief Minister and is to this day fondly remembered in Lutyens drawing-rooms as a cultivated, poetry-loving Marxist. The official death toll is two. There has never been a formal investigation. The historian Ross Mallick was the first to ask, in print, whether the response would have been the same had the dead been Banerjees and Mukherjees instead of Mondals and Sarkars. The question has not been answered because the answer is known. The Trinamool Congress that took over in 2011 did not reverse the decline but monetised it. Six thousand six hundred and eighty-eight registered companies relocated their head offices out of West Bengal between 2011 and 2025, on the Government of India's own count tabled in the Rajya Sabha last July, with the destinations of choice being Maharashtra, Delhi, Uttar Pradesh, Chhattisgarh and Gujarat. There is now a country to the east called Bangladesh, partitioned out of Bengal in 1947, that records a higher per-capita income than West Bengal. The province that produced J.C. Bose has fallen behind the country containing the village he was born in. These facts are not seriously in dispute. What has been in dispute, until now, is whether they were reversible. I want to argue that they are indeed reversible. The seventy-five-year stretch between 1947 and 2026 is best understood as an interregnum — a gap between two Renaissances, the first concluded in 1941 with Tagore's death, the second deferred by three hostile regimes, and now, for the first time in a hundred and fifteen years, structurally unblocked. You see renaissances across the world do not run on continuous timelines. The Italian Renaissance survived the Sack of Rome in 1527, after which Caravaggio came, and Galileo came, and Venetian painting flowered. Renaissances are often interrupted, but rarely killed. What kills them is sustained regime hostility. What revives them is the lifting of that hostility, applied to a civilisational reservoir that has remained intact. I want to argue that Bengal's reservoir is intact. Even under three boots Bengal produced Satyajit Ray, Amartya Sen, Abhijit Banerjee. The diaspora is global and remains, despite five decades of cultural deracination, recognisably Bengali. The institutions are still standing — Presidency, Jadavpur, Visva-Bharati, IIT Kharagpur, the Indian Statistical Institute, Belur Math, Bose Institute. Visva-Bharati was inscribed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 2023. Durga Puja was inscribed on the UNESCO Intangible Heritage list in 2021, the first festival in Asia to receive that recognition. The cultural inventory is world-class. What it has lacked, for three generations, is a state government interested in deploying it. The BJP's mandate therefore has two components. The first is the governance reset, which is necessary and which had better be executed without delay: law and order in the border districts, the syndicate raj broken, the autonomy of the universities restored against political-cadre appointments, the Tajpur deep-sea port actually built after fifteen years of theatre, the Siliguri Corridor secured, the seminar room at R.G. Kar Medical College made safe for the women who study there. None of this is glamorous. All of it is the precondition for the second component, which is the cultural reset — the work no Indian state government has hitherto seriously attempted. This cultural revival involves treating Bengal's universities as universities rather than as patronage networks with hostels attached; deploying Visva-Bharati and Belur Math and Bose Institute as the civilisational generators their founders intended; recovering Subhas Chandra Bose, Vivekananda and Aurobindo from the dismissive custody of the secular consensus; and above all, making it possible for an ambitious young Bengali to imagine a future in Calcutta that does not require leaving Calcutta. The polite commentariat that said the BJP could not win West Bengal will now say that the BJP cannot do this either. It will be wrong about that for the same reason it was wrong about the first thing: it has stopped looking at Bengal and started looking at its own assumptions about Bengal. The arc of decline that began at the Delhi Durbar in 1911 was a single arc, executed by three different sets of hands but unified in its structural intention to keep Bengal weak; and several generations of Bengalis have looked at it long enough to be done with it. What comes next is up to them, and to the government they have just elected — a government whose responsibility is not merely to govern a difficult state for the next five years but to play its part in restoring the civilisation that the long arrangement was designed to suppress. Bengal has the reservoir. It has, for the first time in a century and more, the political conditions. The rest is a question of nerve.

I am a delivery boy. I mostly work the evening shift.

I am a delivery boy. I mostly work the evening shift. That day, around 9 PM at night, I picked up the last order. When I took the packet from the restaurant, I noticed—it was a small order, just plain khichdi, curd, and two bananas. The address was in the old part of the city. A rundown building. Third floor up. I pressed the doorbell. An elderly woman opened the door. White hair, trembling hands, thick glasses on her eyes. Her face showed fatigue, but her voice had a sweetness— "Son, put it inside, please… my hands shake." I set the food on the table and turned to leave when she asked— "Will you sit for two minutes? Eating alone doesn't feel good." I checked my watch. My shift was over. I was a bit tired. But for some reason, I sat down. The room was silent. An old clock ticked on the wall. In one corner, a small picture of God. And on the opposite wall, dozens of photos. She opened the plate. Started eating the khichdi slowly. After every two bites, she'd look at me and smile. Then she said— "You know, son, I don't order food from outside every day. Today, I just felt like it… to hear a human voice." I stayed quiet. She pointed to a picture on the wall. "This is my husband. He worked in the railways. He passed away five years ago." Then another picture— "This is my son. Lives in Canada. He's doing very well… sends money every month." Then she fell silent for a bit. She smiled, but this time her eyes welled up— "It's just… he doesn't have time to send." Suddenly, the clock's ticking in the room sounded very loud. She took another bite. "This is my daughter. In Bengaluru. She's happy in her own world. She should be. If children don't fly, what was the point of raising them?" As she spoke, her voice cracked. But there was no complaint on her face. Just emptiness. She asked me— "Do you have a mother?" I said— "Yes." "Do you call her every day?" I went quiet. The truth was, I too went days without calling home. Fatigue, work, the rush… Every time, I'd put it off thinking I'd do it tomorrow. She read my silence. She said softly— "Parents don't count money, son… They count voices." Something inside me quietly broke. The meal ended. She drank some water. Then she took 500 rupees from her purse and held it out to me. "This isn't a tip. This is the price for that half hour, when you didn't let me eat alone." I refused immediately— "No, Amma, I can't take this." She smiled— "Take it. You didn't deliver food today… You delivered company." I took the money. But I didn't put it in my pocket. I held it in my hand. As I was leaving, she said— "And yes— Go home today and call your mother for sure." That night, I didn't start my bike at the bottom of the building. I called my mother first. From the other end came her voice— "Calling suddenly today? Everything's okay, right?" Just hearing that choked me up. I said— "Yes, Mom… I just wanted to hear your voice." There was silence for a few seconds on the other end. Then Mom said— "Have you eaten?" And I stood by the roadside and broke down crying. After that night, I started calling Mom every day. And not just Mom— Every delivery stopped being just an order for me. Some homes need medicine. Some homes need relief from loneliness. Some homes need waiting to end. Some homes just need a voice. Now, when the door opens, I don't rush. I look at the face. I listen to the voice. Sometimes I ask— "And everything else okay?" Most people just say "Yes." Some smile. And some faces tell me they haven't spoken to anyone all day. Two months later, an order came from the same address. I rushed over. Someone else opened the door. It was the neighbor aunty. She said softly— "Amma passed away last week." I stood at the door for a few seconds. My hands were empty, but something heavy had fallen inside me. She brought out a small envelope from inside. "She left this for you." My hands shaking, I opened it. Inside were 500 rupees. And a small note. It said— "Son, If you're reading this, I've gone. Thank you for eating with me that night. You didn't give me food—you gave me respect. And yes—keep calling your mother. Amma" Even today, those 500 rupees are in the inner pocket of my bag. I haven't spent them. Because that night, I understood for the first time— Behind every door isn't just a customer. Sometimes it's a mother. Sometimes it's a wait. Sometimes it's a last conversation. We're all living with our own hungers— Some need bread, Some need medicine, And some just need two minutes of company. Humans don't always need a delivery of money— Sometimes, they just need a delivery of presence. The story ends. PS The story ended but the heaviness in my heart lingered for a long time Loneliness and old age are terrible indeed when they occur together. If lack of resources also joins these two it is the ultimate tragedy For those whose parents are still around , it is a gentle reminder please make time to call them

In 458 BC, Rome was on the brink of collapse.

In 458 BC, Rome was on the brink of collapse. An invading army had trapped the Roman consul and his legion in a mountain pass. Panic spread through the city. The Senate did the only thing they could think of: They sent messengers to find a 60-year-old farmer plowing his field. His name was Lucius Quinctius Cincinnatus. He had once been a senator, then lost his fortune paying his son's bail. Now he worked his own four-acre plot just to feed his family. When the Senate's envoys arrived, they found him sweating behind a plow. They asked him to put on his toga so they could deliver an official message. The message: Rome was making him dictator. Absolute power. Total command of the army. No checks. No oversight. No term limit. He accepted. Within 16 days, Cincinnatus had raised an army, marched out, surrounded the enemy, and forced their surrender. The republic was saved. He had legal authority to rule for six months. He could have stayed. He could have expanded his power. He could have done what every other ruler in human history did when handed unlimited control. Instead, he resigned on day 16. He took off the toga, walked back to his farm, and finished plowing the field he'd left half-done. Twenty years later, when Rome faced another crisis, they called him back. He was 80 years old. He took command, crushed the conspiracy, and resigned again, this time after just 21 days. He died poor. On his farm. 2,200 years later, when George Washington was offered a kingship after winning the American Revolution, he refused and went home to Mount Vernon. The reason he was hailed as "the American Cincinnatus" is because Europeans literally could not believe a man who had won would willingly give up power. King George III, on hearing Washington would resign rather than rule, said: "If he does that, he will be the greatest man in the world." The lesson isn't that Cincinnatus was humble. The lesson is that for most of human history, the people most qualified to lead were the ones who didn't want to. And the moment a society starts rewarding those who chase power instead of those who flee from it is the moment the republic begins to die. Cincinnati, Ohio is named after him. Most people who live there have no idea why.

________________________________________ Temples in Andhra Pradesh

________________________________________ Temples in Andhra Pradesh Andhra Pradesh, known as a major pilgrimage hub, features ancient temples like the world-renowned Tirumala Venkateswara Temple, the sacred Jyotirlinga site Srisailam Mallikarjuna, and the artistic Lepakshi Temple. Other prominent sites include Kanaka Durga (Vijayawada), Srikalahasti, Ahobilam (Narasimha shrines), and Yaganti. Trawell.in +2 Famous Temples in Andhra Pradesh: • Tirumala Venkateswara Temple (Tirupati): Dedicated to Lord Venkateswara, this is one of the most visited holy sites in the world. • Srisailam Mallikarjuna Temple (Kurnool): A sacred Jyotirlinga and Shakti Peetha located in the Nallamala Hills. • Srikalahasti Temple (Srikalahasti): Known for its Vayu Lingam and as a Rahu-Ketu Kshetra. • Kanaka Durga Temple (Vijayawada): A popular temple located on Indrakeeladri Hill overlooking the Krishna River. • Lepakshi Temple (Anantapur): Famous for its architectural brilliance and the hanging pillar. • Ahobilam Temple (Kurnool): The revered abode of Lord Narasimha with nine shrines. • Yaganti Temple (Nandyal): Famous for the rock-cut idol of Shiva and Parvathi and its unique, growing Nandi idol. • Annavaram Satyanarayana Swamy Temple (Annavaram): A popular shrine dedicated to Lord Satyanarayana atop Ratnagiri Hill. • Mangalagiri Lakshmi Narasimha Temple (Guntur): Famous for its high tower and for being one of the Nava Narasimha temples. • Simhachalam Temple (Vizag): A prominent temple of Lord Narasimha, often covered in sandalwood paste. Trawell.in +4 Key Regional Temples: • Sri Mallikarjuna Kamakshi Tayee Ammavari Temple (Zonnawada, Nellore): A famous goddess temple. • Sri Bala Balaji Devasthanam (Appanapalli): Known for its divine importance in East Godavari. • Chadalada Tirupathi (East Godavari): An ancient 9000-year-old temple. • Sri Prasanna Venkateswara Swamy Temple (Appalayagunta): Near Tirupati, visited for its historical significance. • Sri Subramaneswara Swamy Temple (Kotanka): A self-manifested deity near Ananthapuramu. AP TEMPLES Official Website +4 Regional Significance: • Nava Narasimha Temples: Ahobilam, Penchalakona, Kadiri, Simhachalam, Antarvedi, Mangalagiri, and Vedadri are known as key Vishnu shrines in the region. • Shiva Centers: Besides Srisalaham, Yaganti and Srikalahasti are major centers. Digit Insurance +4 Many of these temples offer online services for devotees, such as booking sevas or accommodation. AP TEMPLES Official Website 12 sites • AP TEMPLES Official Website Here are some temples in Andhra Pradesh: * **Sri Mallikarjuna Kamakshi Tayee Ammavari Temple** Located in Zonnawada, Nellore * **S... AP TEMPLES Official Website • 23 Best Pilgrimage Sites & Temples in Andhra Pradesh (2026) Andhra Pradesh has many pilgrimage sites, including temples and other holy places.**Temples** * **Tirumala** A famous pilgrimage s... Trawell.in • 9 Famous Temples in Andhra Pradesh You Must Visit - Digit Insurance 9 Best Temples to Visit in Andhra Pradesh * Tirumal Venkateswara Temple | Tirumala. ... * Srisailam Mallikarjuna Temple | Kurnool. Digit Insurance Show all Known and unknown temples in Andhra Pradesh Andhra Pradesh is home to both globally renowned pilgrimage centers and hidden ancient gems tucked away in forests and villages. While the Tirumala Venkateswara Temple in Tirupati is the most famous, many offbeat sites like Ahobilam and Yaganti offer equally profound spiritual experiences. Digit Insurance +3 Well-Known Major Temples Sri Venkateswara Swamy Temple (Tirumala Tirupati Devasthanams) 4.8 (152.9K) Hindu temple Tirupati Urban, Andhra Pradesh One of the world's most visited and wealthiest shrines, dedicated to Lord Vishnu as Venkateswara. ________________________________________ Mallikarjuna Swamy Devasthanam 4.7 (58.8K) Hindu temple OpenSrisailam, Andhra Pradesh A unique site where one of the 12 Jyotirlingas and one of the 18 Shakti Peethas coexist. ________________________________________ Sri Durga Malleswara Swamy Varla Devasthanam 4.7 (55.3K) Hindu temple OpenDurga Agraharam Located on Indrakeeladri Hill, it is a prominent Shakti shrine overlooking the Krishna River. ________________________________________ Srikalahasti Temple 4.7 (115.2K) Hindu temple OpenSrikalahasti, Andhra Pradesh Known as the "Kashi of the South," it represents the Vayu (wind) element of the Panchabhoota Sthalams. ________________________________________ Sri Varaha Lakshmi Narasimha Swami vari devasthanam 4.7 (68.5K) Hindu temple OpenAdavivaram, Visakhapatnam, Andhra Pradesh Dedicated to Lord Narasimha, whose idol is famously kept covered in sandalwood paste year-round. ________________________________________ Sri Veera Venkata Sathyanarayana Swamy Vari Devasthanam Annavaram 4.7 (30.2K) Hindu temple OpenAnnavaram, Andhra Pradesh Famous for the Satyanarayana Vratam performed on its holy hilltop. Trawell.in +4 Lesser-Known & Offbeat Gems Ahobilam (Kurnool): Hidden in the Nallamala Forest, it features nine shrines of Lord Narasimha; some are only accessible through challenging forest treks. ________________________________________ Yaganti Temple (Nandyal): Famous for a growing Nandi idol and for being a rare site where Lord Shiva is worshipped in an idol form rather than a Lingam. ________________________________________ Lepakshi Veerabhadra Temple (Anantapur): A 16th-century architectural marvel known for its hanging pillar, massive monolithic Nandi, and vibrant frescoes. ________________________________________ Gandikota Temples (Kadapa): Located within the "Grand Canyon of India," these ancient temples (like the Madhavaraya temple) sit alongside a fort and a deep river gorge. ________________________________________ Draksharamam (East Godavari): One of the Pancharama Kshetras, it houses a 9-foot-high Shiva Lingam and a mysterious Naga Devda shrine under an ancient tree. ________________________________________ Mahanandi (Kurnool): A picturesque village surrounded by forest, featuring nine Nandi temples and a crystal-clear freshwater pool. ________________________________________ Vedagiri Narasimha Konda (Nellore): An ancient hilltop temple with "Ashwatthama caves" where legend says the immortal figure still performs penance. ________________________________________ Urukunda Eeranna Swamy (Kurnool): A rare temple where Shaiva and Vaishnava traditions merge, featuring a roofless shrine under a giant Peepal tree. Trawell.in +4 Pancharama Kshetras (Five Sacred Shiva Temples) These five ancient temples were built between the 9th and 14th centuries and are spiritually significant to visit in a single day: 1. Amararama (Amaravathi). 2. Somarama (Bhimavaram). 3. Ksheerarama (Palakollu). 4. Draksharama (Draksharamam). 5. Kumararama (Samalkot).

Sri Venkateswara Swamy Temple (Tirumala Tirupati Devasthanams)

Sri Venkateswara Swamy Temple (Tirumala Tirupati Devasthanams) 4.8 (152.9K) Hindu temple Tirupati Urban, Andhra Pradesh Ask about One of the world's most visited and wealthiest shrines, dedicated to Lord Vishnu as Venkateswara. ________________________________________ Mallikarjuna Swamy Devasthanam 4.7 (58.8K) Hindu temple OpenSrisailam, Andhra Pradesh A unique site where one of the 12 Jyotirlingas and one of the 18 Shakti Peethas coexist. ________________________________________ Sri Durga Malleswara Swamy Varla Devasthanam 4.7 (55.3K) Hindu temple OpenDurga Agraharam Located on Indrakeeladri Hill, it is a prominent Shakti shrine overlooking the Krishna River. ________________________________________ Srikalahasti Temple 4.7 (115.2K) Hindu temple OpenSrikalahasti, Andhra Pradesh Known as the "Kashi of the South," it represents the Vayu (wind) element of the Panchabhoota Sthalams. ________________________________________ Sri Varaha Lakshmi Narasimha Swami vari devasthanam 4.7 (68.5K) Hindu temple OpenAdavivaram, Visakhapatnam, Andhra Pradesh Dedicated to Lord Narasimha, whose idol is famously kept covered in sandalwood paste year-round. ________________________________________ Sri Veera Venkata Sathyanarayana Swamy Vari Devasthanam Annavaram 4.7 (30.2K) Hindu temple OpenAnnavaram, Andhra Pradesh Famous for the Satyanarayana Vratam performed on its holy hilltop. [1, 2, 3, 4, 5] Lesser-Known & Offbeat Gems Ahobilam (Kurnool): Hidden in the Nallamala Forest, it features nine shrines of Lord Narasimha; some are only accessible through challenging forest treks. ________________________________________ Yaganti Temple (Nandyal): Famous for a growing Nandi idol and for being a rare site where Lord Shiva is worshipped in an idol form rather than a Lingam. ________________________________________ Lepakshi Veerabhadra Temple (Anantapur): A 16th-century architectural marvel known for its hanging pillar, massive monolithic Nandi, and vibrant frescoes. ________________________________________ Gandikota Temples (Kadapa): Located within the "Grand Canyon of India," these ancient temples (like the Madhavaraya temple) sit alongside a fort and a deep river gorge. ________________________________________ Draksharamam (East Godavari): One of the Pancharama Kshetras, it houses a 9-foot-high Shiva Lingam and a mysterious Naga Devda shrine under an ancient tree. ________________________________________ Mahanandi (Kurnool): A picturesque village surrounded by forest, featuring nine Nandi temples and a crystal-clear freshwater pool. ________________________________________ Vedagiri Narasimha Konda (Nellore): An ancient hilltop temple with "Ashwatthama caves" where legend says the immortal figure still performs penance. ________________________________________ Urukunda Eeranna Swamy (Kurnool): A rare temple where Shaiva and Vaishnava traditions merge, featuring a roofless shrine under a giant Peepal tree. [1, 2, 4, 5, 6] Pancharama Kshetras (Five Sacred Shiva Temples) [1, 2] These five ancient temples were built between the 9th and 14th centuries and are spiritually significant to visit in a single day: 1. Amararama (Amaravathi). 2. Somarama (Bhimavaram). 3. Ksheerarama (Palakollu). 4. Draksharama (Draksharamam). 5. Kumararama (Samalkot). [1, 2]

*Aisa Bhi Hotha Hai*

*Aisa Bhi Hotha Hai* *_The_Last_Pen_* Meenakshi Amman Temple entrance, Madurai. Periyasamy. Age 60. Every morning at 6 AM, he would sit at the temple entrance. In front of him, a small cloth spread. On it—pens, pencils, erasers, compasses. A pavement shop. But no real business. Periyasamy had one rule. Whenever someone asked for a pen, he would first ask: “Son… is it for an exam?” “Yes, grandfather. I have a maths exam today. I forgot my pen.” Immediately, Periyasamy would pick a good pen and give it. “Here. This is a lucky pen. Go get 100 marks.” “How much, grandfather?” “Money later. First write your exam. Come back and tell me your marks. Then pay.” The children would laugh and run off. They never returned. Periyasamy never asked either. His wife, Thangam, would scold him: “Are you mad? One pen costs ten rupees. If you give them away like this, what will we eat? Who will pay the rent?” Periyasamy would take out an old diary. In it, he had written entries by date: “12.03.2010 – Ramesh – Maths exam – Pen – Pending” “05.06.2011 – Sumathi – Hindi exam – Pen – Pending” “18.09.2013 – Murugan – 10th Public Exam – Pen – Pending” The diary was full of “pending” entries. When counted—around 3,000 pens. Thirty thousand rupees. “Look, Thangam,” he would say, “this isn’t debt. It’s an investment. One day it will return.” Thangam would sigh: “Your ‘investment’ will turn to dust. You’re getting old. Who is going to come back now?” Twenty years passed. Periyasamy was now 80. His eyesight had faded. Hearing was weak. Still, every day he sat at the same temple entrance. Same cloth. Same pens. But now, no business at all. Kids used gel pens, sketch pens, everything online. One morning, a car stopped at the temple entrance. A man stepped out—about 35 years old. Suit and tie. Holding a bouquet. He walked straight to Periyasamy and fell at his feet. “Grandfather… do you recognize me?” Periyasamy strained his eyes. “Son… I’m old. I can’t see properly.” “Grandfather… 18 years ago… 10th public exam. Maths paper. That morning I came crying. My pen had broken. I had no money. You gave me a pen and said, ‘This is a lucky pen. Go score 100 marks.’ You didn’t ask for money.” A faint memory returned to Periyasamy. “Son… you are…” “I’m Murugan, grandfather. I wrote my exam with that pen. Scored 98 marks. I passed. Went to college. Today, I own a software company—‘Penna Technologies.’ My life started with your pen.” Thangam stood at the doorway, listening, tears flowing silently. Murugan took out a cover. “Grandfather… that day I owed you ten rupees. Today, I return it with interest.” Inside was a cheque—for ten lakhs. Periyasamy’s hands trembled. “Son… I don’t need money. You’ve become successful. That’s enough.” “No, grandfather. This isn’t money. It’s your investment—returning with profit. You don’t need this pavement anymore. I’m here for both of you.” The next day, newspapers carried the headline: “A software entrepreneur offers Gurudakshina of ten lakhs to pavement grandfather.” After reading the news, the next day another car arrived. “Grandfather, I’m Sumathi. I took a pen for my Hindi exam. Now I’m a Hindi teacher.” Then Ramesh came. “Grandfather, I’m now an auditor. Your pen wrote my first balance sheet.” Within a week, the temple entrance looked like a wedding house. Doctors, engineers, collectors, police officers—everyone came in line, fell at Periyasamy’s feet, bringing flowers, fruits, envelopes. Thangam took out the old diary. Three thousand entries. Thirty thousand rupees pending. But now, what had come back was three crores. Periyasamy wept and said: “Thangam… I told you. This wasn’t debt. It was seeds. I sowed them. Today, it has grown into a forest.” Today, at the Meenakshi temple entrance, there stands a big shop: “Periyasamy Pen Store.” No rent. Murugan bought it. A board in the shop reads: “Pens are free here for students going to write exams. Just come back and tell your marks. Pay later.” Below it, a small line: “A ten-rupee pen can change a life. Believe it.” And do you know who runs the shop now? Murugan—the software company owner. Twice a week, he removes his suit, sits in the shop, and gives pens to children. “Son… this is a lucky pen. Go get 100 marks.” What you give is not just a pen—it’s hope. One day, that hope will return and bow at your feet. That day, you will realize—you were never poor. You were truly rich.

*The_Last_Pen*

*The_Last_Pen* Meenakshi Amman Temple entrance, Madurai. Periyasamy. Age 60. Every morning at 6 AM, he would sit at the temple entrance. In front of him, a small cloth spread. On it—pens, pencils, erasers, compasses. A pavement shop. But no real business. Periyasamy had one rule. Whenever someone asked for a pen, he would first ask: “Son… is it for an exam?” “Yes, grandfather. I have a maths exam today. I forgot my pen.” Immediately, Periyasamy would pick a good pen and give it. “Here. This is a lucky pen. Go get 100 marks.” “How much, grandfather?” “Money later. First write your exam. Come back and tell me your marks. Then pay.” The children would laugh and run off. They never returned. Periyasamy never asked either. His wife, Thangam, would scold him: “Are you mad? One pen costs ten rupees. If you give them away like this, what will we eat? Who will pay the rent?” Periyasamy would take out an old diary. In it, he had written entries by date: “12.03.2010 – Ramesh – Maths exam – Pen – Pending” “05.06.2011 – Sumathi – Hindi exam – Pen – Pending” “18.09.2013 – Murugan – 10th Public Exam – Pen – Pending” The diary was full of “pending” entries. When counted—around 3,000 pens. Thirty thousand rupees. “Look, Thangam,” he would say, “this isn’t debt. It’s an investment. One day it will return.” Thangam would sigh: “Your ‘investment’ will turn to dust. You’re getting old. Who is going to come back now?” Twenty years passed. Periyasamy was now 80. His eyesight had faded. Hearing was weak. Still, every day he sat at the same temple entrance. Same cloth. Same pens. But now, no business at all. Kids used gel pens, sketch pens, everything online. One morning, a car stopped at the temple entrance. A man stepped out—about 35 years old. Suit and tie. Holding a bouquet. He walked straight to Periyasamy and fell at his feet. “Grandfather… do you recognize me?” Periyasamy strained his eyes. “Son… I’m old. I can’t see properly.” “Grandfather… 18 years ago… 10th public exam. Maths paper. That morning I came crying. My pen had broken. I had no money. You gave me a pen and said, ‘This is a lucky pen. Go score 100 marks.’ You didn’t ask for money.” A faint memory returned to Periyasamy. “Son… you are…” “I’m Murugan, grandfather. I wrote my exam with that pen. Scored 98 marks. I passed. Went to college. Today, I own a software company—‘Penna Technologies.’ My life started with your pen.” Thangam stood at the doorway, listening, tears flowing silently. Murugan took out a cover. “Grandfather… that day I owed you ten rupees. Today, I return it with interest.” Inside was a cheque—for ten lakhs. Periyasamy’s hands trembled. “Son… I don’t need money. You’ve become successful. That’s enough.” “No, grandfather. This isn’t money. It’s your investment—returning with profit. You don’t need this pavement anymore. I’m here for both of you.” The next day, newspapers carried the headline: “A software entrepreneur offers Gurudakshina of ten lakhs to pavement grandfather.” After reading the news, the next day another car arrived. “Grandfather, I’m Sumathi. I took a pen for my Hindi exam. Now I’m a Hindi teacher.” Then Ramesh came. “Grandfather, I’m now an auditor. Your pen wrote my first balance sheet.” Within a week, the temple entrance looked like a wedding house. Doctors, engineers, collectors, police officers—everyone came in line, fell at Periyasamy’s feet, bringing flowers, fruits, envelopes. Thangam took out the old diary. Three thousand entries. Thirty thousand rupees pending. But now, what had come back was three crores. Periyasamy wept and said: “Thangam… I told you. This wasn’t debt. It was seeds. I sowed them. Today, it has grown into a forest.” Today, at the Meenakshi temple entrance, there stands a big shop: “Periyasamy Pen Store.” No rent. Murugan bought it. A board in the shop reads: “Pens are free here for students going to write exams. Just come back and tell your marks. Pay later.” Below it, a small line: “A ten-rupee pen can change a life. Believe it.” And do you know who runs the shop now? Murugan—the software company owner. Twice a week, he removes his suit, sits in the shop, and gives pens to children. “Son… this is a lucky pen. Go get 100 marks.” What you give is not just a pen—it’s hope. One day, that hope will return and bow at your feet. That day, you will realize—you were never poor. You were truly rich. The law of Karma never fails. As you sow so shall you reap!!!Karma kartaa too chal fal ki apaykshaa na rakh!!!