Of Smart Cards, SIR, Makhtedars, and Shadow Kingmakers >>>>> Eighteenth Friday Evening Multilogue at Press Club : Vanam Jwala Narasimha Rao

 Of Smart Cards, SIR, Makhtedars, 

and Shadow Kingmakers

Eighteenth Friday Evening 

Multilogue at Press Club

Vanam Jwala Narasimha Rao 

(June Month 12, 2026)

The Eighteenth Friday Evening Gathering at Press Club Hyderabad unfolded around a set of diverse yet unexpectedly interconnected themes, making it one of the more engaging sessions in the continuing series. The conversation moved seamlessly across subjects as varied as the introduction of Smart Cards at the Press Club, the proposed Special Intensive Revision (SIR) of electoral rolls, the historical institution of Makhtedars, and the informal influence once exercised by certain individuals in shaping outcomes within institutional spaces.

Adding to the evening's ambience was a noticeable contrast from the previous gathering. In place of distracting noise from an adjoining table, there was a parallel congregation of nearly ten veteran citizens, most of them in their plus eighties, engaged in animated conversation of their own. Their presence created a backdrop of shared fellowship, subtly reinforcing the spirit of dialogue and collective reflection that has increasingly come to characterize these Friday Evenings.

The evening's conversation opened with the introduction of the subject of Smart Cards at the Hyderabad Press Club, marking a transition from the traditional identity cards that had served members for decades. From there, the discussion moved to the proposed Special Intensive Revision (SIR) of electoral rolls, scheduled to commence on June 25, 2026 as announced earlier in the day by the Telangana Chief Electoral Officer. The dialogue then turned to the historical institution of the Makhtedar, a title once associated with major landholders who held Maqta estates under the erstwhile Hyderabad State.

While the title Makhtedar has long lost its administrative significance, the subject evoked reflections on social change, shifting economic realities, and the gradual transformation of traditional structures over time. Interestingly, the conversation then moved to what one participant described as the role of an ‘Unofficial Kingmaker’ or more precisely as ‘Shadow Kingmaker’ in club institutional affairs. Recollections surfaced of a period nearly two decades ago when certain paid staff members of the Press Club were widely perceived to wield influence disproportionate to their designated responsibilities.  

One participant recalled occasions when one or two staff members, including a senior employee, openly expressed confidence in his ability to influence the electoral fortunes of contestants in Club elections. Whether such assertions reflected reality, perception, or a combination of both, the discussion revived memories of a phase when the outcomes of certain contests were believed by many to have been influenced by factors beyond the visible electoral process, at least on couple of occasions. The conversation naturally broadened into a reflection on institutional governance.

Participants observed that membership-driven organisations derive their strength from the confidence of their members and the integrity of their democratic processes. When paid staff, whose primary responsibility is to facilitate the functioning of an institution, come to be perceived as influencing leadership contests or organisational direction, the distinction between administration and governance begins to blur.

The discussion underscored the importance of maintaining clear boundaries between elected leadership and administrative support structures, so that institutional credibility remains firmly anchored in the members. This reflection emerged in an unexpected context.

Later, a steward requested some participants to produce their Press Club identity cards, not the conventional membership card, but the newly introduced Smart Card. The development generated immediate interest. Enthusiastic as ever, Saye Sekhar volunteered to collect them and returned not only with his own, but also those belonging to Amar and a few others. For several participants, it marked their first direct encounter with the Press Club's new Smart Card initiative, which soon became a subject of discussion in its own right.

As the evening progressed, and social refreshments accompanied the conversation, the newly introduced Smart Card emerged as a subject of interest. The discussion, initiated by Amar and joined by others, focused on its potential to serve as a secure and integrated membership tool for access, identification, and transactions within the Club. Participants observed that many established social and service clubs have gradually moved towards such systems.

Participants felt, they would simplify operations, reduce dependence on manual processes, and enhance institutional efficiency. The introduction of the Smart Card at the Hyderabad Press Club was viewed as a welcome step in that direction, reflecting an effort to align a five-decade-old institution with evolving practices. At the same time, it was felt that the true value of the initiative would lie not merely in possessing the card, but in the effectiveness and utility of the systems that support it.

A substantial part of the evening was devoted to the proposed Special Intensive Revision (SIR) of electoral rolls, a subject introduced and explained by Hanumanth Rao. The exercise, announced for implementation later this month, seeks to update and authenticate voter records through an extensive verification process. The discussion touched upon its legal basis, administrative objectives, and the broader questions it has generated in the public domain.

Participants noted that the exercise is intended to improve the accuracy of electoral rolls and address concerns such as duplicate or outdated entries. However, the participants also observed that, it has also attracted criticism from sections of political opinion and civil society, particularly on issues relating to implementation, documentation requirements, and the possibility of unintended exclusion. The conversation reflected the complexity of balancing electoral integrity with inclusiveness, underscoring the importance of transparency, public awareness, and effective execution in any exercise of such scale.

Then, the discussion on the Special Intensive Revision (SIR) also touched upon some of the concerns being expressed in public discourse. Participants noted that while the exercise is intended to improve the accuracy of electoral rolls through extensive field verification, questions have been raised regarding documentation requirements, the possibility of unintended exclusions, and the need to ensure that no eligible voter is disadvantaged in the process.

The conversation acknowledged both perspectives: the importance of maintaining accurate voter databases and the equally important obligation of safeguarding democratic participation through transparency, fairness, and effective implementation. More than the procedural aspects, however, it was an observation by Hanumanth Rao that added a human dimension to the discussion. Recounting a recent interaction with a friend whose name no longer appeared in the electoral rolls after multiple changes of residence over the years, he explained the steps required for restoration and re-registration.

The friend's response, however, prompted deeper reflection. He questioned what tangible loss he would suffer if his name did not figure in the voters' list and whether the effort involved was worth undertaking. The anecdote led participants to reflect on a larger concern that extends beyond electoral rolls themselves: the gradual erosion of civic engagement and the declining value many citizens attach to their vote.

In that sense, the discussion moved beyond administrative processes to the broader challenge of sustaining public participation in democratic life. It was felt that the ultimate success of exercises such as SIR would depend not only on accurate verification, but also on strengthening citizens' awareness of the significance of their electoral rights and responsibilities.

An equally engaging recollection emerged from a Door Darshan programme hosted by Hanumanth Rao nearly two decades ago, when he conducted a walk-and-talk (Vijetha) interview with Amar during the latter's tenure as Chairman of the AP Press Academy. In the course of that conversation, Amar had spoken candidly about his childhood, describing how, despite his family's ancestral association with substantial landholdings in the Warangal region, his own upbringing was rooted in the realities of a lower middle-class household.

Amar recalled periods of financial hardship and the everyday adjustments that accompanied them, including memories of sleeping on the floor wrapped in old newspapers during difficult times. The telecast, Amar reminisced, drew an unexpected reaction from a close family elder, his father’s younger brother, Devulapalli Prabhakar Rao. Taking exception to the portrayal of hardship, he reminded Amar of the family's historical standing as Makhtedars of several (9) villages and felt that the account understated that legacy.

The incident, recalled in a lighter vein, sparked a thoughtful exchange on how family memory often preserves inherited prestige, while individual experience is shaped by the circumstances of a particular generation. In that distinction lay a revealing glimpse into the social transitions that many families experienced across the decades. Recalling the episode further, Amar remarked, with characteristic candour, that he himself knew little about the villages associated with the family's Makhtedar legacy and that such memories perhaps belonged more to his grandparents' generation than to his own.

The disagreement, however, left a lasting impression. According to Amar, his uncle, the late Devulapalli Prabhakar Rao, did not speak to him for nearly four years after the telecast. The recollection carried an added historical footnote, as Prabhakar Rao later went on to serve as the first Chairman of the Official Language Commission constituted during the tenure of K. Chandrashekar Rao as Chief Minister. The anecdote also highlighted a larger social transition. Across generations, many families moved from the prestige of inherited landownership to the uncertainties of urban life.

In Amar's case, the memory of ancestral Makhtedar status coexisted with the lived experience of a modest lower middle-class upbringing. The contrast illustrated how inherited identity and personal reality do not always travel together, often reflecting the profound economic and social transformations experienced by families across the Deccan during the twentieth century. The discussion also prompted a broader reflection on the experience of many families whose fortunes changed with the passage of time.

The generation immediately preceding Amar's, like countless others across the region, witnessed the gradual decline of traditional agrarian structures and the migration of families from rural estates to expanding urban centres. In the process, inherited status often proved less enduring than changing economic realities. Landholdings became fragmented or difficult to sustain, and families accustomed to social prominence found themselves adapting to entirely new circumstances in cities that placed greater value on education, professional competence, and personal endeavour than on ancestral distinction.

Viewed in that context, Amar's recollections resonated beyond an individual life story. They reflected a larger social journey experienced by many families whose memories carried echoes of former prosperity, while their daily lives were shaped by modest means and disciplined striving. If earlier generations had inherited position, subsequent generations were often required to create opportunity anew.

The conversation recognised that such transitions, though frequently accompanied by hardship and dislocation, also produced stories of resilience, adaptation, and achievement that became defining features of post-Independence social mobility. Then, the evening's reflections acquired an additional personal touch through a recent milestone in Amar's life. Having celebrated his seventieth birthday two days earlier, on June 10, 2026, with family members, friends, and well-wishers, he recalled one among several memories that had resurfaced during the occasion.

Referring to a photograph included in a collage prepared by his daughter-in-law, he pointed to an image showing a group of journalists seated in a narrow lane outside the residence of the late NT Rama Rao, awaiting a press interaction. Among those captured in that moment from another era was A Saye Sekhar, a detail that prompted both recognition and reminiscence. The photograph served as a quiet reminder of a generation of journalists whose professional journeys have unfolded alongside many of the political and social transformations discussed during these Friday gatherings.

With veteran journalist Venugopal Kadempally joining the Friday Evening Multilogue for the first time, the eighteenth gathering brought together Amar Devulapalli, Bhandaru Srinivasa Rao, Mallepally Lakshmaiah, BS Ramakrishna, A Saye Sekhar, Hanumanth Rao, GK Murthy, Subbarao, Yazi, and myself. As conversations traversed subjects ranging from institutional change and electoral processes to social mobility, memory, and journalism, the evening once again demonstrated how seemingly unrelated themes often converge through shared experience and collective reflection.

As the circle of conversation continues to widen with each passing Friday, it is hoped that more colleagues, friends, and well-wishers will find time to join these informal exchanges. After all, the richness of a multilogue lies not merely in the subjects discussed, but in the diversity of experiences and perspectives that come together around the table.

End of the 18^th Friday Meeting on June 12, 2026. 

A quiet Six Decade Ledger of Our Standards >>>>> Monthly Grocery Bill Taught Us About Living Well : Vanam Jwala Narasimha Rao

 A quiet Six Decade Ledger 

of Our Standards

Monthly Grocery Bill 

Taught Us About Living Well

Vanam Jwala Narasimha Rao

            Our June month provision bill from a reputed grocery store in Hyderabad is little over Rs 9400, and I noticed plus or minus 15% the same amount every month. As I studied the bill containing rice, dal, flour, cooking oil, spices, coffee, ghee, cow ghee, and a few household necessities, I realized that it told a much larger story, not merely about what I and my wife eat, but about how we live. I am 78 years old, my wife 73, and have been married for 57 years. We live in Hyderabad in the apartment bought for us by my son, and despite our children have their own lives and responsibilities, we both are taken care of comfortably by them.

Looking at this grocery bill made me reflect on the economics of ageing and the simple upper middle-class habits that have helped us maintain a reasonably contented life. In addition to expenditure on provisions, we spend about Rs 1500 on vegetables. Milk remains an important part of our daily routine and costs between Rs 3500 and Rs 4000 every month. We eat out occasionally, spending another Rs 4000 to Rs 5000. A modest allowance for sweets adds about Rs 1500. Our monthly expenditure on these items would be roughly Rs 18,500 to Rs 20,000.

Looking at the grocery list, I see influence of eating habits formed over a lifetime, far more than commodities and prices. There is rice, idly rava, rice flour, dals, spices, besan, jowar flour and cooking oil. There are negligible packaged snacks, instant foods, sugary beverages or fashionable products popular in markets. Despite change in prices, shockingly, our grocery basket remained unchanged over the past 57 years. Essentials remain much the same. We continue to eat the foods we grew up with trust, and that itself is one reason we feel comfortable with our lifestyle.

One item on the bill always attracts our attention whenever I and my wife discuss household expenses, is the coffee powder. We are particular about our coffee and spend a fairly substantial amount on it each month. We never planned to switch to a cheaper brand and save a few hundred rupees. At this stage of life, I have come to believe that not every decision should be made with a calculator. The pleasure of beginning the day with a good cup of coffee shared with my wife, and of late prepared by me has a value that cannot easily be expressed in financial terms.

The same principle applies to our occasional restaurant visits. In fact, most of our meals are prepared at home. We dine out because it gives us a change of scene, an opportunity to meet friends or simply an excuse to step out together. Likewise, the small amount we spend on few favourite sweets each month has been part of our lives for decades. At seventy-five and beyond, moderation is important, but so is enjoyment. A life stripped of all pleasures in the name of efficiency can become unnecessarily austere.

We both believe in cultivation of sustainable habits. The quality of old age life often depends as much on lifestyle as on income. My wife and I are not particularly thrifty, nor are we extravagant. We spend on things that genuinely matter to us and avoid spending merely because others do. We do not go by advertisements and we do not imitate lifestyles displayed on social media. This does not mean denying our comforts. On the contrary, we believe old-age life should be enjoyed. We distinguish between genuine comforts and cluttered expenditures.

What struck me most while studying our grocery bill was how ordinary it looked. There was nothing remarkable about it. Yet perhaps that is precisely the point. Most meaningful lives are built not on extraordinary events but on ordinary routines repeated over many years. A simple breakfast, a cup of coffee, a home-cooked meal, an evening outing, a favourite sweet and a conversation with our spouse: these small pleasures accumulate quietly and become the foundation of a satisfying life.

That handwritten grocery bill that we receive for payment, therefore, became more than an account of monthly expenses. It became a reminder that a good life need not be complicated. In a world that constantly encourages us to consume more, upgrade more and desire more, there is wisdom in recognizing when we already have enough. If there is a lesson hidden in that bill, it is not about saving money. It is about living deliberately.

Financial security matters, but so does simplicity. Health matters, but so does enjoyment. Planning matters, but so does gratitude. Somewhere between austerity and extravagance lies a balanced way of living. As my wife and I move through our early and late seventies, that balance is what we continue to seek, and, most days, what we are fortunate enough to find.

There is another item that quietly occupies a similar place in our monthly budget: cow ghee. Our expenditure on cow ghee is almost equal to what we spend on coffee powder, amounting to about Rs 1600 a month. Interestingly, very little of it is used as a food ingredient. My wife spends a few hours every day engaged in prayer and devotional activities, and cow ghee is used regularly for Harathi in the kundulu. This may appear to be an avoidable expense. But it is part of a lifelong spiritual routine that brings peace, discipline and a sense of continuity.

Our milk consumption may appear somewhat high for a two-person household, but there are reasons for it. A significant portion of the milk eventually finds its way into buttermilk, which has been a regular part of our diet for many years. Hyderabad summers are long and often unforgiving, and we always found buttermilk to be one of nature's simplest and most effective refreshments. It is light, nourishing and comforting, especially in advancing age.

Bananas are a staple in our home. We consume them every day, after night meal, which of late is Idly. Over the years, bananas have remained one of the most affordable, nutritious and convenient fruits available. Unlike many modern dietary trends that come and go, both buttermilk and bananas have stood the test of time in our household, providing sustenance without fuss and reminding us that good nutrition is often found in the simplest foods.

There is one final item that does not appear explicitly in the grocery bill but nevertheless influences our monthly household expenditure. I have a modest social drinking habit, and from time to time a few close friends and visitors join me at home. The beverages themselves are only part of the story. Hospitality in our culture is rarely limited to a glass in hand. It is accompanied by snacks, fruits, home-prepared items and the general warmth of receiving guests.

Consequently, such gatherings add a little to our provision bill every month. I do not regard this as an expense in the conventional sense. Friendships become increasingly precious as one grows older. The opportunity to sit together, exchange memories, discuss current events, laugh over old stories and enjoy each other's company is one of life's understated blessings. In a world where loneliness has become a growing concern among senior citizens, maintaining friendships may be as important for well-being as maintaining a healthy diet.

Looking back, I realise that our monthly grocery bill is not merely a record of expenditure. It is a quiet ledger of our values, reflecting nourishment for the body through food, for the mind through companionship, and for the spirit through faith: proof that a good life is measured not by how much we spend, but by how meaningfully we live.

Unexpected Kindness of Mike and Cathy Buker (Church of God) >>>>> My 51st Birthday on an American Highway: Vanam Jwala Narasimha Rao

 Unexpected Kindness of 

Mike and Cathy Buker (Church of God)

My 51^st Birthday on an American Highway

Vanam Jwala Narasimha Rao

Nearly three decades have passed since that memorable August evening, yet the images remain vivid: a birthday celebration in Cincinnati, an unexpected breakdown near Williamstown on USA Interstate 75, the anxiety of being stranded on a busy American highway, and the reassuring presence of strangers who appeared when hope was fading. America's interstate highways impressed me with their engineering, discipline and efficiency. Their design minimizes many of the risks familiar to Indian travelers, with dedicated shoulders, clearly marked exits, rest areas and strict traffic enforcement.

Yet, that evening also revealed a different side of such efficiency. On a highway where thousands of vehicles sped past, we found ourselves surprisingly alone. In a country where systems function remarkably well, human assistance may not always arrive as quickly as one expects. India, by contrast, has traditionally depended more on human interaction than on infrastructure. Although modern highways in India have improved enormously in recent years, a stranded traveller invariably finds help from fellow motorists, roadside vendors, villagers or passers-by. The assistance may be informal and unorganized, but it is often immediate and heartfelt.

This is not a comparison of superiority. Undoubtedly, America excels in systems. But India often excels in spontaneous human response. Both have strengths and limitations. My experience on Interstate 75 taught me that while efficient infrastructure can make travel safer and more comfortable, it is human compassion that gives travelers confidence during moments of uncertainty. American highways are fascinating in their scale, speed and discipline. Vehicles cruise through multiple lanes at speeds of 55 to 65 miles an hour, guided by strict traffic rules and vigilant highway patrols.

Though India's National Highways have developed rapidly in recent decades, the American Interstate system remains distinctive for its design, extensive facilities and emphasis on safety. It was on one such highway that I experienced an unforgettable lesson in human kindness nearly three decades ago. It was a memorable experience in August 1999. The American Interstate Highway System. Designed for speed, safety and efficiency. They are divided by wide medians, eliminating head-on collisions. Vehicles move in multiple lanes according to speed, and lane discipline is strictly observed.

Prominent signs remind drivers to ‘Keep Right Except to Pass,’ while seat-belt regulations and traffic laws are rigorously enforced. Unlike many highways in India at that time, American interstates were equipped with dedicated shoulders for emergencies, clearly marked exits, regular rest areas, fuel stations, restaurants, lodging facilities and medical services. A traveler could drive hundreds of miles with confidence, knowing that facilities were never too far away. Yet there was another side to this impressive system.

The highways often passed through long stretches with little roadside activity. Unlike in India, where villages, shops and fellow travelers are usually within sight and help often comes informally, an American highway can leave a stranded motorist feeling surprisingly isolated despite all its sophisticated infrastructure. It was on such a highway, Interstate 75 connecting Ohio and Kentucky, that I learned how, in moments of difficulty, human kindness can be more valuable than even the most advanced transportation system.

Despite all its impressive infrastructure, a vehicle breakdown on an American highway can be a frightening experience, as I discovered on 8 August 1999, my fifty-first birthday. My daughter Kinnera, who gave birth to my first grandson, Yashwin Koniki, celebrated the occasion at her home in Cincinnati, Ohio. My relative Gannamraju Venkateshwara Rao and his wife Shailaja, who were living in Lexington, Kentucky, for barely a year and a half, joined us to greet me. After the birthday celebrations, Gannamraju and I, and his two children, set out for Lexington to spend the weekend there. Shailaja stayed back with my daughter.

Gannamraju was driving. About halfway through the hundred-mile journey on Interstate 75, near Williamstown, our vehicle developed a mechanical problem and came to a halt. We stepped out and looked around helplessly. As vehicle after vehicle sped past, no one stopped to offer assistance or even a lift. With no immediate solution in sight, we pushed the car onto the shoulder and wondered what to do next. The roar of speeding vehicles was almost unbearable. Darkness was slowly descending, and before long the clock struck 8 PM. Our only hope was that a highway patrol vehicle might eventually come by. With no other option, we decided to walk towards the next exit.

Just then, we noticed a vehicle stop about a hundred yards behind us. Later, we learned that another motorist had alerted them that the luggage strapped to the roof of their car appeared insecure and might fall off. To us, however, their arrival seemed nothing short of providential. We approached them and asked whether they had a mobile phone so that we could inform my son-in-law in Cincinnati about our predicament. Mobile phones were not yet common by then, and they too did not have one either. Instead, to our surprise and immense relief, they offered lift to take us to the next exit.

Their car was already packed with passengers and luggage, yet Mike and Cathy Buker cheerfully rearranged themselves to accommodate us. During the journey, they told us that they believed they had been sent by Jesus Christ to help people in need. Members of the ‘Church of God’ and deeply committed to their faith, they were travelling to London, Kentucky, about fifty miles beyond Lexington. We had no words to express our gratitude. They kindly dropped us at the next exit, nearly ten miles away, enabling us to seek further assistance.

From there, we telephoned a friend in Lexington, Sreenivasa Rao, son of Jaganmohan Rao, an Indian Forest Service officer then serving the Andhra Pradesh Government. Accompanied by his wife Lavanya, he drove over and took us safely to Lexington. Thus, my fifty-first birthday came to be celebrated in three places: Cincinnati, a shoulder on Interstate 75 near Williamstown, and finally Lexington, over rotis, conversation and a celebratory drink.

What touched us even more was that Mike and Cathy Buker sent an e-mail the very next day to inquire whether we had reached our destination safely. Such concern from complete strangers was both unexpected and heartwarming. As the years turned into decades, we gradually lost contact, but the memory of their kindness never faded. Recently, while searching the internet, I came across references to Michael and Cathy Buker, a respected couple associated with Parkway Ministries Church of God in Corbin, Kentucky.

I learned that Michael Lee Buker passed away on August 6, 2023 at the age of seventy, while Cathy continues her association with the church and its community activities. Whether they are the very same Mike and Cathy Buker who came to our rescue on Interstate 75 that August evening remains impossible to establish with complete certainty. Yet the names, location and church affiliation closely match my recollection, and in my heart, I would like to believe they are indeed the same people.

If that belief is correct, this article is a small tribute to two Good Samaritans whose kindness left an impression far greater than they could ever have imagined. For them, it may have been a simple gesture, offering help to four stranded travelers on a busy highway. For us, however, it was a moment of reassurance when anxiety was giving way to helplessness. Nearly three decades have passed, but I still remember their compassion, their humility and their willingness to inconvenience themselves for complete strangers.

Roads, vehicles and journeys eventually fade into memory. What endures is the humanity we encounter along the way. Every time I recall my fifty-first birthday, I remember not the highway breakdown, but the kindness of two strangers who stopped when everyone else drove on.

Simplified and faithful rendering of the Adi Kavya-26 >>>>> The Celestial Wedding of Sita and Rama >>>>> A Contemporary Retelling from Valmiki Ramayana: Vanam Jwala Narasimha Rao

 The Celestial Wedding of Sita and Rama

A Contemporary Retelling from Valmiki Ramayana

Simplified and faithful rendering of the Adi Kavya-26

Vanam Jwala Narasimha Rao

The preceding articles in this ongoing series traced the spiritual, moral, and narrative arc that culminates in one of the most luminous moments of the Valmiki Ramayana: the wedding of Sri Rama and Sita. This episode is not merely a royal ceremony or a familial alliance, but it is a cosmic affirmation of dharma, balance, and divine purpose expressed through human relationships. For modern readers, especially Indian readers across the world who engage with the epic in English, this moment offers enduring insights into partnership, responsibility, and shared moral vision.

After Janaka narrated his lineage and after he offered his two daughters, Sita and Urmila, in marriage to Rama and Lakshmana, Vasishta and Vishvamitra declared that both Ikshvaku and Videha lineages were equally commendable and illustrious, standing supreme among royal houses. They affirmed that in beauty, virtue, and mutual suitability, Rama and Lakshmana were perfectly matched with Sita and Urmila respectively. They then proposed that Kushadhvaja’s daughters, Mandavi, and Shrutakirti, be married to Bharata and Shatrughna respectively. This declaration reflects an ancient yet timeless principle that, marriages are not merely personal choices, but harmonies of values, families, and shared ideals.

Janaka instantly accepted the proposal and proclaimed that all four weddings would be conducted on the same auspicious day. Citing expert astrologers, he selected the sacred period when both Purva Phalguni and Uttara Phalguni stars were present, with the latter presided over by Bhaga, the deity of progeny and prosperity. Thus, Janaka resolved to solemnize the weddings at a time symbolizing continuity, abundance, and cosmic harmony.
Even today, the emphasis on choosing meaningful moments reminds of the human desire to align personal milestones with larger rhythms of time and belief.

Rising from his throne, Janaka approached Vishvamitra and Vasishta with deep reverence, expressing that their counsel was an act of supreme grace, binding him forever as their disciple. He invited them to preside over the thrones of Mithila, Ayodhya, and his brother’s kingdom, declaring that Mithila belonged to Dasharatha as much as Ayodhya belonged to him. Janaka requested the sages to guide the marriages so that, they would be conducted in the noblest manner. This gesture highlights leadership rooted in humility, an enduring lesson for governance in any age.

Dasharatha, overwhelmed with joy, returned to his guest palace and began the preliminary rites associated with marriage. Summoning his sons, he performed generous acts of charity, gifting four hundred thousand milk-yielding cows, along with brass milking vessels for each son, as prescribed by tradition. Numerous gifts were also distributed to Brahmins. Charity before celebration underscores the belief that personal happiness is most meaningful when it uplifts the wider community.

On the same day, the son of the Kekaya king, Bharata’s maternal uncle, arrived in Mithila via Ayodhya. The following morning, Dasharatha entered the Vedic ritual hall with his sons, led by Vasishta and other sages. The ceremonial rites connected with the sacred marriage thread and allied observances were duly performed. Family presence and collective participation transform individual unions into shared cultural memories.

As they entered, Vasishta reminded Janaka that Dasharatha awaited him as the donor of the bride. He emphasized that in weddings, rituals become valid only when benefactor (Janaka) and beneficiary (Dasharatha) unite in purpose. Janaka replied that all preparations were complete and that his daughters, radiant and joyful, were already present near the sacred fire. This mutual readiness symbolizes trust and balance between giving and receiving.

Janaka added that his duties were fulfilled and that Dasharatha might now proceed without delay. Dasharatha sent his sons one by one into the hall with the sages. Janaka then requested Vasishta to conduct the ceremonies, honoring Rama as one celebrated across the universe. With Vishvamitra and Shatananda assisting, Vasishta commenced the sacred rites.
The seamless coordination reflects how great outcomes arise from shared responsibility.

Vasishta prepared the altar of fire at the center point of the wedding hall, adorning it with sandal paste and flowers. Vessels were filled with puffed rice and turmeric-infused grains. Sacred grass was arranged by Vasishta, in harmony with Vedic chants, and the ritual fire was kindled, followed by the Homam. Fire here stands as a universal witness, an ancient yet ever-relevant, to vows and truth.

Janaka then led forth Sita, adorned in exquisite bridal ornaments, and placed her before Rama near the sacred fire. Addressing Rama, he declared: ‘O ‘Kausalya Kumara! (son of Kausalya!) This is Sita, my daughter, your lifelong partner in duty. Sita is the symbol of moral truth and morality tolerant womanhood. She will walk with you in every righteous path you choose. Accept her hand and take her from her father. May all auspiciousness be yours.’ He poured sacred water into Rama’s hands amidst chanting of hymns, as flowers rained from the heavens. This moment captures marriage as companionship in purpose, not mere ritual.

Janaka similarly gave Urmila to Lakshmana, Mandavi to Bharata, and Shrutakirti to Shatrughna. The four princes accepted their brides’ (all the four daughters of Janaka and his brother Kushadhvaja) hands and circumambulated the sacred fire, sages, and elders, affirming their vows. The collective ceremony reinforces equality, unity, and shared destiny among siblings.

Thus, under Vasishta’s guidance, the weddings were concluded, consistent with the customs and traditions as directed by sage Vasishta amid divine music, celestial showers of flowers, and joyous celebrations by Gandharvas and Apsarasas. The couples completed the final circumambulations and retired to their palaces, followed by elders and sages. Joy here is portrayed as sacred, dignified, and inclusive.

During the wedding, Janaka declared, ‘Kausalya Kumara (O son of Kausalya), this Sita is my daughter. She is your Saha Dharma Charini (Partner in Dharma). Take her hand in marriage. You will gain worldwide fame and auspiciousness. Hold her hand with sacred mantras.’ Janaka poured sacred water into Rama’s hands. The phrase ‘Iyam Sita’ (This Sita) signifies reverence and pride. The phrase subtly teaches respect for womanhood, modesty, and dignity. Out of modesty, Sita does not step forward, prompting Janaka to say ‘This Sita’ while handing her over to Rama. Though born of the earth, Janaka considers Sita as his own daughter (Mama Suta).

Janaka’s addressing Rama as ‘Kausalya Kumara’ removes all ambiguity. It defines Rama through his moral lineage rather than mere royal identity. Even today, identity rooted in values outweighs labels of power or position. By saying ‘This Sita,’ Janaka protects Sita’s modesty and Rama’s dignity, ensuring no misinterpretation of intent. The episode highlights the importance of sensitivity and social perception in human interactions. Mirrors in the wedding hall reflected Sita everywhere, symbolizing her unparalleled beauty and presence. Janaka’s guidance ensured Rama’s focus on the true Sita. This reminds modern readers to seek substance beyond appearances.

Sita, though discovered in a furrow, represents noble effort bearing fruit, just as cultivation yields harvest. Janaka implies that Rama’s endeavors will succeed through Sita’s unwavering support. Partnership remains the cornerstone of achievement. Sita is likened to the celestial Ganga, capable of purifying those who seek her grace. Janaka asserts her equality with Rama in nobility and spiritual stature. True partnership knows no hierarchy.

Calling Sita ‘Saha Dharma Charini’ assures that she will share Rama’s dharma in all circumstances. As Lakshmi to Vishnu, she accompanies him in creation, preservation, and dissolution. The marriage, thus, is a divine play enacted for the world’s guidance.
In essence, the union teaches that shared values, mutual respect, and collective responsibility form the heart of enduring relationships.

The celestial wedding of Sita and Rama was not merely an event of the past, bit was a living narrative that continues to speak to contemporary society. It reminds modern readers, whether in India or across the globe, that, marriage is a sacred partnership grounded in dharma, equality, and mutual growth. By revisiting this episode through accessible English retelling enriched with traditional insight, one can reconnect timeless wisdom with present-day lives, ensuring that the Ramayana remains a guiding light for generations to come.

Tradition, Memory, and Measure

A Message on Living Tradition and Sacred Continuity

The wedding of Sita and Rama, as envisioned in the Valmiki Ramayana, is not merely an episode within an epic, but a measure by which sacred order is understood and preserved. In this vision, word, rite, lineage, and intent move in harmonious proportion, revealing that dharma is sustained not by novelty or display, but by remembrance rightly preserved and consciously transmitted. What is remembered with care endures, and what is altered without measure fades.

Rituals born of the Ramayana are acts of recollection rather than reenactment. They do not seek to recreate the past as spectacle, but to reawaken it as lived meaning. Their strength lies in restraint, where clarity prevails over excess, where sequence matters, and where silence often conveys as much truth as speech. Such rituals teach by alignment, not assertion.

Marriage, in this sacred vision, is ‘Saha Dharma,’ a shared journey of responsibility, not merely a shared identity or title. Janaka’s offering of Sita as Saha Dharma Charini affirms companionship rooted in duty, equality refined by grace, and endurance shaped by purpose. This conception neither diminishes individuality nor elevates hierarchy, instead, it binds two lives in moral symmetry. Such a principle remains untouched by time.

Tradition lives when it listens attentively to its source. The Valmiki Ramayana itself allows poetic freedom, symbolic depth, and narrative beauty, yet it never loosens its moral or ritual spine. Imagination there is disciplined, never unmoored from intent. Continuity, therefore, is not achieved by repetition alone, but by fidelity to essence, by knowing what may be adapted and what must remain inviolate.

When sages like Vasishta and Shatananda, with deliberate clarity and sacred authority, recounted the lineages of Dasharatha and Janaka, they were doing more than narrating genealogy. They were situating the rite within cosmic order, social structure, and moral inheritance. Custom and tradition, shaped by such precision, therefore ask for nothing excessive, but only adherence to the Adi Kavya, the Valmiki Ramayana, from which their legitimacy flows.

Deviation, when it refines understanding, clarifies symbolism, or deepens devotion, may find its own natural acceptance over time. Growth that illuminates is not foreign to tradition. Yet when departures cloud meaning, disturb coherence, or weaken the narrative spine, they invite discernment. Correction, in such cases, need not arise from contention, but time itself, guided by scholarship and collective conscience, has a quiet way of restoring alignment.

Sacred narration is not an arena for display, nor is ritual an occasion for intellectual triumph. Scholarship here is service, and eloquence finds its highest form in simplicity. The sages taught by illumination rather than insistence, by example rather than excess, allowing truth to settle gently and enduringly in the listener’s heart.

Bhadrachalam, revered by generations as a southern echo of Ayodhya, reminds that living tradition thrives when memory, measure, and reverence remain aligned. When essence is preserved and expression remains true to source, the Valmiki Ramayana continues to speak, not loudly, not insistently, but lastingly, across centuries, cultures, and peoples, as a steady guide to balance and dharma.

Bhadrachalam, cherished by devotees as a spiritual extension of Ayodhya, occupies a unique place in this living continuum. Its legacy reminds that devotion flourishes best when memory, ritual, and reverence move in harmony. Preserving such harmony does not require confrontation, but reflection, and not accusation, but alignment with sources that have withstood time.

{{From my Published Book ‘Simplified and Faithful Rendering of the Adi Kavya’

Valmiki Ramayana: The Greatest Epic (Bala and Ayodhya Kandas)}}

(This Book is free of cost for all those who are interested to read the English Version of Valmiki Ramayana, provided they collect it from me in person preferably. Mobile: 8008137012)

>>>>>> Photos Courtesy Rama Bhakta Vijaya Raghava Dasu

LEARN FROM THE SUAVE DIPLOMACY TACT EXEMPLIFIED BY LORD KRISHNA : Vanam Jwala Narasimha Rao

 LEARN FROM THE SUAVE DIPLOMACY TACT

EXEMPLIFIED BY LORD KRISHNA

Vanam Jwala Narasimha Rao

Hans India (June 7, 2026)

{Through reasoned persuasion, Krishna demonstrated that enduring peace emerges not from domination but from equitable governance and respect for legitimate rights, beyond power and privilege. Krishna said that when truth and righteousness are repeatedly ignored, conflict becomes increasingly difficult to prevent. His appeal reflected a diplomatic principle that remains relevant today: peace is sustained not merely by goodwill but by the timely resolution of grievances} – Editor’s Synoptic Note

Just prior to the Mahabharata battle at Kurukshetra, when peace and destruction were delicately balanced, Krishna undertook what may be regarded as the most profound diplomatic mission recorded in ancient literature. The impending conflict drew together kingdoms and people from vast regions, prompting many scholars to view it conceptually as an ‘Early world-scale war.’

Krishna's mission was not merely an attempt to avert bloodshed. It was a supreme exercise in statesmanship, moral courage, and commitment to reconciliation. Arriving in the Kaurava Court as a peace envoy, Sri Krishna displayed exemplary diplomatic conduct.

He neither asserted authority nor sought privilege, but conducted himself with dignity, restraint, and respect toward all present. His presence transformed the atmosphere of the royal assembly into one of reflection and solemnity. In every aspect, he embodied the ideal diplomat, firm in principles, impartial in approach, and unwavering in commitment to peace. Addressing the Blind King Dhritarashtra, Krishna emphasized that the welfare of both Kauravas and Pandavas rested upon justice, mutual respect, and harmonious coexistence. He reminded the king that leadership carried obligations to preserve unity, fairness, and stability.

Through reasoned persuasion, Krishna demonstrated that enduring peace emerges not from domination but from equitable governance and respect for legitimate rights, beyond power and privilege. Krishna further reminded the assembly that the Bharata Dynasty earned lasting glory through adherence to dharma, truth, compassion, and sacrifice. Throughout its history, personal ambitions were subordinated to collective welfare. Never before had the dynasty contemplated self-destruction for the sake of political power. He questioned why a lineage celebrated for wisdom and restraint should now abandon its noblest traditions and principles.

The peace envoy warned that unchecked ambition and attachment were gradually corroding the ethical foundations of governance. He appealed to Dhritarashtra to rise above familial weakness and act as guardian of justice. His message carried a universal truth, that societies seldom decline because of external threats alone. Instead, they weaken when those entrusted with responsibility fail to act with courage, fairness, and foresight.

Speaking on behalf of the Pandavas, Krishna indicated that opportunities for reconciliation still existed. Yet he also cautioned that indifference toward injustice eventually harms both victims and bystanders.

Krishna said that, when truth and righteousness are repeatedly ignored, conflict becomes increasingly difficult to prevent. His appeal reflected a diplomatic principle that remains relevant today: peace is sustained not merely by goodwill but by the timely resolution of grievances. The great sages present in the court supported Krishna's counsel and urged reconciliation. Their collective wisdom highlighted the grave consequences of allowing pride to overpower reason. Yet despite these appeals, Dhritarashtra remained silent, unable to influence events decisively. Silence in the face of mounting injustice often contributes to the very tragedies it seeks to avoid.

Duryodhana, however, remained unyielding. Rejecting every proposal for compromise, he insisted that no portion of the kingdom would be shared with the Pandavas. His determination reflected absolute confidence in his strength. Yet diplomacy teaches that genuine strength lies not merely in the capacity to fight but in the wisdom to prevent avoidable conflict. He was unaware that, refusal to compromise transforms manageable disputes into irreversible confrontations. Recognizing the futility of further persuasion, Krishna declared that war had become increasingly inevitable.

The sincere counsel of Gandhari also failed to soften Duryodhana's position. This illustrates a timeless lesson: arrogance frequently is mistaken as determination for courage, while history repeatedly reveals that inflexibility can become the architect of destruction. When an attempt was made to detain Krishna, he responded not with anger but with serene confidence. The celebrated revelation of the ‘Cosmic Vishwaroopa (Magnificent Universal Form),’ symbolized the immeasurable power of truth and moral authority. The incident conveyed a profound message that wisdom, justice, and higher principles cannot be confined by force.

Before departing, Krishna made one final effort to prevent war by meeting Karna the ‘Comrade in Arms of Duryodhana’ privately. Revealing the circumstances of Karna's birth, he invited him to join the Pandavas and assume his rightful position. It was a remarkable diplomatic initiative aimed at exploring every remaining avenue for peace.

Even when prospects appear remote, responsible diplomacy seeks solutions until all possibilities have been exhausted. Karna's response was equally remarkable. Though deeply moved by Krishna's revelation, he chose loyalty to those who had nurtured and supported him throughout his life.

Karna’s decision reflected gratitude, personal honour, and commitment to longstanding relationships. The exchange between Krishna and Karna remains one of the most moving illustrations of the complex interplay between duty, loyalty, identity, and moral choice. Returning from Hastinapura, Krishna informed Pandavas that every proposal for peace was rejected. With reconciliation no longer possible, preparations for war commenced on both sides.

Leaders and commanders were appointed, strategies formulated, and alliances consolidated. Yet even amid military preparations, the significance of Krishna's mission remained undiminished.

The attempt to prevent war became morally as important as the conduct of war itself. The events preceding Kurukshetra War demonstrate that responsible leadership demands exhaustive efforts toward peaceful settlement before resorting to confrontation. Diplomacy does not guarantee success, but its failure after sincere endeavour provides moral legitimacy to subsequent action. Krishna's mission therefore stands both as a historical episode and as a timeless benchmark of ethical statecraft.

In the contemporary world, humanity continues to confront tensions arising from competing interests, mistrust, and the pursuit of power. International institutions, regional forums, and national governments repeatedly encounter challenges that require wisdom rather than confrontation. The world therefore needs diplomats who combine intellectual depth with moral conviction, individuals capable of building bridges where divisions appear insurmountable. The enduring relevance of Krishna's mission lies in its demonstration that diplomacy is not a peripheral activity but civilization's first line of defence against catastrophe.

Before armies march, dialogue must speak. Before conflicts escalate, reconciliation must be attempted. Before humanity accepts destruction as inevitable, voices of wisdom must be heard. In the twenty-first century, humanity possesses unprecedented scientific advancement, yet remains vulnerable to conflicts born of mistrust, competing interests, and failures of communication. The world therefore requires diplomats who embody the qualities demonstrated by Sri Krishna during his peace mission: integrity, neutrality, wisdom, courage, patience, and unwavering commitment to reconciliation.

International institutions, particularly the United Nations, would greatly benefit from cultivating and deploying teams of highly professional diplomats whose allegiance transcends narrow considerations and remains firmly anchored in the larger welfare of humanity. For such individuals, the world itself becomes their sphere of responsibility and peace their highest mission. Their success must be measured not merely by treaties negotiated, but by conflicts prevented and human suffering averted.

Another remarkable lesson emerging from the Mahabharata is the importance of truthful war reporting. Sage Vedavyasa entrusted Sanjaya with the responsibility of narrating the events of Kurukshetra faithfully and without distortion to Dhritarashtra. In a conceptual sense, this may be viewed as one of the earliest examples of systematic war reporting in literature. The principle remains profoundly relevant today.

During periods of conflict, accurate, impartial, and responsible reporting becomes essential for preserving truth, informing humanity, and preventing misinformation from deepening divisions.  Just as ethical diplomacy seeks peace before conflict, ethical reporting safeguards truth during conflict, enabling future generations to learn from history rather than repeat its tragedies.

The legacy of Sri Krishna's peace mission ultimately transcends time, geography, and politics. It reminds that the greatness of civilizations is measured not by the wars they wage but by the conflicts they prevent. In an age that urgently seeks peace, the world needs diplomats with the integrity, courage, vision, and humanity exemplified by Krishna, individuals who place the welfare of humanity above pride, power, and prejudice. Such diplomacy remains one of the noblest pathways toward lasting world peace.

>>> The Telugu version of this is published in Prajatantra daily and available in this blog >>>