Dwaraka – A case study

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My hidden historian has triggered me to write something related to Indian history. So , as you can see in the above picture , this is THE CITY OF KRISHNA , DWARAKA. This is an another submerged city , for crying out loud. Submerged or lost or destroyed ancient cities interest me very much ( which is what led me to write my first article on wordpress , ATLANTIS : THE LOST WORLD ) . Myths and legends say that The lord Krishna ( romantic hero in hinduism) had built this city to house his clans , the Yadavas . Dwaraka has an another (nick)name called Dwaravati meaning ” the city of many gates” in sanskrit.   Dwaraka was first mentioned in Mahabharata one of THE most important epics.( seriously , I read through this epic many times but didn’t understand even the word of it. Ramayana (another epic) is much easier ) . It is , sorry was , located in the district of Jamnagar in the Indian state , Gujarat. If you’re planning on travelling ( to ancient places) this is the best place .” What is special about this city ? ” you might ask. Well , it simply lies in the fact that Dwaraka , built by our Krishna , was built on a submerged island. It is a city which even modern technology cannot build because it’s houses were as tall as skyscrapers and was discribed in the Harivamsa Purana as ” high buildings made in gold which almost touched the sky ” . It is the one of the richest cities in the world , and probably the only city where its houses were studded with gems ImageImage

( believe me , India IS very rich ). Harivamsa Purana goes on stating that ” it was the former sporting ground of king Ravitaka ” and that” Dwaraka was shaped like a chess board” . Dwaraka was submerged and never got up again . Many underwater explorations and artifacts reveal that Dwaraka was indeed a magnificient  city which existed when the Mahabharata war took place and was later submerged. Some believe that Dwaraka still exists , ruled by lord krishna somewhere unknown to us.

Nightfall

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great post

Epiphany in the Cacophony

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He would start work at 7pm sharp. Not a minute early, not a minute late. He did his job with pride, standing tall as the little town went about its life. He would watch the little boys racing down the lane, middle aged women on their way to the grocery store, the old men who’d walk down the lane for their daily dose of Indian politics and healthcare prices. The town hadn’t changed in years.
His eyes drifted to the group of young wives who sat by the park opposite him. Huddled together, painted nails, eyes drawn, their hands marked with the pale orange of fading henna. They seemed to converse in giggles. He sighed. He had seen young girls turn to beautiful brides and beautiful brides turn to scornful mothers-in-law. Only a matter of time, he thought, before their youth gave way to rough hands, pale sarees and sweat…

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