On the eve of Christmas in 1892, a young monk from Kolkata jumped into the shark-infested waters of the Indian Ocean off the shores of Kanyakumari in Tamil Nadu at the southernmost tip of the Indian peninsula. He swam across to a rock perched in the middle of the rough waters, but what did he want to gain?
The twenty-nine-year-old yogi reached the monolith wading through the tempest unscathed. There, like through some sheer divine inspiration, he sat to meditate for the next three nights and days, under the starlit sky, with lashing sea mist on his face, only to rise once he found the purpose of his existence.
A century later from the very same spot on the same shores, jumped into the water, another young man with intentions perhaps very same. The night was very similar to the one a hundred years ago. He struggled to swim. There…
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