Wednesday Edition

The mist-laden peaks of the Neelum Valley, situated in the upper reaches of the disputed Kashmir region, guard the crumbling remains of what was once the intellectual heart of the Indian subcontinent. Sharda Peeth, also known as Sharada Peeth, stands as a profound testament to the historical synthesis of spirituality, academic rigour, and architectural brilliance. Located in Pakistan-occupied Kashmir (PoK), approximately 10 kilometres from the Line of Control (LoC), this ancient site was once an institution on par with the legendary universities of Nalanda and Takshila. For the Kashmiri Pandit community, it remains the ultimate symbol of their cultural identity, serving as one of the three holiest pilgrimage sites alongside the Martand Sun Temple and the Amarnath cave.

The intellectual history of lost continents represents a unique intersection of empirical science, mystical speculation, and nationalist historiography. For over a century, the narratives of Lemuria and Kumari Kandam have functioned as potent symbols of ancestral loss and cultural origin, evolving from a nineteenth-century zoological hypothesis into a cornerstone of Tamil ethnic identity. While modern geology, particularly the theory of plate tectonics, has rendered the physical existence of a sunken continent in the Indian Ocean impossible within the timeframe of human civilisation, the persistence of these stories reflects deeper sociological impulses through which societies construct meaning in the face of colonial and cultural marginalisation.

The central plains of Java, Indonesia, serve as a silent witness to one of the most sophisticated spiritual and architectural endeavours of the first millennium. Rising from the volcanic soil of the Prambanan Plain, the 9th-century Hindu temple compound of Prambanan, also known locally as Candi Prambanan or Loro Jonggrang, stands as a monumental testament to the Sanjaya dynasty’s religious devotion and political authority. Dedicated to the Trimurti—the expression of the divine as the Creator (Brahma), the Preserver (Vishnu), and the Destroyer (Shiva)—the complex is not merely a collection of stone structures but a physical manifestation of Hindu cosmology, designed to mirror the sacred Mount Meru, the abode of the gods. As the largest Hindu temple site in Indonesia and the second-largest in Southeast Asia after Angkor Wat, Prambanan represents a pinnacle of classical Javanese art and architecture, reflecting a period where spiritual philosophy and advanced engineering converged to create an enduring legacy of stone.

The spiritual landscape of the Sikh faith is defined by a unique relationship between geography, memory, and the divine. For the global Sikh community, and specifically for those residing in India, few sites hold as much transformative power as Gurdwara Darbar Sahib, Kartarpur. Located on the right bank of the Ravi River in Pakistan’s Narowal district, this sacred site represents the foundational cradle of Sikhism. It is not merely a destination for religious tourism but is widely regarded as the “City of the Creator,” the place where the abstract spiritual insights of Guru Nanak Dev Ji, the first Sikh Guru, were crystallised into a lived social reality. The significance of Kartarpur for Indian Sikhs is multifaceted, encompassing historical reverence, the trauma of the 1947 Partition, the ritual of long-distance devotion, and the complex geopolitical struggle for physical access that culminated in the opening—and subsequent challenges—of the Kartarpur Corridor.

The volcanic history of New Zealand is written in layers of ash, scoria, and deeply held cultural narratives. Among the various peaks that define the Taupō Volcanic Zone, Mount Tarawera stands as a singular monument to the duality of natural beauty and catastrophic power. Known to the Māori as the “Burnt Peak” or “Burnt Spear,” Tarawera’s history is not merely a chronicle of geological events but a complex tapestry of spiritual warnings, ancestral guardianship, and the eventual destruction of one of the world’s greatest natural wonders. The eruption of June 10, 1886, remains the deadliest volcanic event in the post-European history of New Zealand, a disaster that was, according to local legend, heralded by an unmistakable spectral omen: the phantom canoe of Lake Tarawera.

The Hinglaj Mata Temple, nestled in the desolate yet awe-inspiring mountain ranges of the Hingol National Park in Balochistan, represents a singular intersection of profound spirituality, geological marvel, and cross-cultural heritage. Known locally as Nani Mandir or Bibi Nani, the shrine is not merely a religious destination for the Hindu minority but is a site of shared reverence that bridges the deep theological divides between the Hindu and Muslim communities of the region. As one of the fifty-one primary Shakti Peethas of the Hindu tradition, the temple holds a paramount status in the Shaktism denomination, believed to be the spot where the Brahmarandhra, or the crown of the head, of the goddess Sati fell after her body was dismembered by the god Vishnu. This article explores the multifaceted identity of Hinglaj Mata, examining its mythological foundations, its historical evolution from the pre-Islamic era to the modern day, the unique geomorphological landscape that defines its setting, and the contemporary socio-political initiatives that have seen it elevated to a global tourism site in 2025.