Thus wrote the great Sanskrit poet Kalidasa at the beginning of his epic poem Raghuvamsha, a detailed narration of the Raghu kings who belonged to the Sun Dynasty. These were exactly my sentiments when I began writing a book on the glorious Arunachala. In describing himself as a dim-witted person, the greatest of Sanskrit poets might have been simply decorous but my apprehensions and feelings of inadequacy were genuine.
The book is in your hands now not so much due to my efforts as it is due to the kindness of many noble personages and help from family. This book is nothing but a concrete expression of their love and grace. For this, I am forever grateful to them.
Maturday afternoon, January 1994. My daughter's lacrosse Saturday game had been cancelled. I secretly rejoiced. Though I enjoyed watching my daughter play, cancellation of the game meant an extra three hours of free time. Three free hours is a bounty for a time-poor corporate wheel-turner in America. My daughter, a high school student who was just as harried for time as I was, went to her room to chat on the phone. I gravitated to the pile of unread books I had brought from my recent trip to India.
Vedas (1296)
Upanishads (482)
Puranas (613)
Ramayana (839)
Mahabharata (328)
Dharmasastras (162)
Goddess (473)
Bhakti (242)
Saints (1316)
Gods (1268)
Shiva (344)
Journal (144)
Fiction (52)
Vedanta (337)
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