It's like two universes collapsed into one, a striking confluence of the yore and the morrow; of philosophy and science of two kinds; of hoary methods of tutorship and education through infotech; of antique skills of self-defence with advice to combat stress as corporate androids.
The mise-en-scene too is extraordinary - two gurgling rivers merge into a stream that bisects a long stretch of hills. Elephants, panthers, jackals and venomous snakes roam this pristine terrain. A satellite phone links this unique school with the outside world. The mantra being passed on to dozen-and-half children who've chosen this course is how to retain one's moorings in a world of virtual malls and transactions without human interface.
These children - 18 boys and four girls - lead a different life at this gurukul, Om Shantidhama, 92 km from Bangalore. They are taught in the guru-shishya tradition alright, but it's not an old-style Vedic school. Here, they are taught astronomy, chemistry and even computers. Its focus is character-building, mental and physical alertness and development of a scientific temperament. These children are being taught computer science and other CBSE subjects following a mid-course correction by the trustees who set up this gurukul two years ago to preserve and propagate Vedic knowledge. These children are tutored to take the class X exams of the National Open School, New Delhi, when they are 15.
The students, who come from across the country, are enrolled when they are around 10 years old. The gurukul takes care of their boarding, lodging and other basic necessities. And it has an austere lifestyle all its own. The food is simple - no spices and very little salt - and served the Indian way, on the floor. Their hostels, simple mud cottages with tiled roofs, have a rustic charm but offer minimum comforts. Each cottage has two rooms, each room has three stone slabs for beds. The children stay at the gurukul from the age of 10 till they are 18. The parents can visit them once in three months and the children are allowed to go home for a month every summer. While at the gurukul, they have acres of space to stroll about. The entire premises is spread over 35 acres - with the trustees saving another 65 acres for a deemed university of Vedic studies and a home for the aged. Both are supposed to be complete in another five years.
Anil Kumar Kulkarni, the principal coordinator at the gurukul, says, "When the children leave their homes to come here, they leave behind everything associated with that style of life. The gurukul provides them with everything they need." But no televisions or music systems, not even a radio, to tune into music that kids of their age are addicted to. This is to ensure that the children are not distracted by modern urban amenities. Besides, there's a strict dress code here: all the boys have to wear dhotis and shalyas and girls, salwar-kameez.
The admission is not easy, with the aspirants having to go through two rounds of selection. At these entrance examinations, they are tested for pronunciation and memory to see whether they have it in them to learn the Vedas and 4,000 nuances of Vedic grammar that they have to memorise. In addition, they have to manage with the regular syllabus everyday.
The day at the gurukul begins at the crack of dawn with a stint of yoga. After a cold-water bath, the children wash their own clothes. Breakfast over, the students disperse for regular classes or informal one-to-one sessions to clear their doubts.
The gurukul retains the pristine nature of Vedic education. Vedic texts are recited by acharyas in the manner and style laid down by pundits. The meaning and rhythm are essential. Students learn the Vedas, Vedangas, Upavedas and Upanishads.
Life is tough for the students here because they learn both Vedic and regular lessons. But the blending of the modern and the traditional seems to be working fine for them. The library too is an eclectic sort of place - here, Vedic texts share the shelves with comics, and boys like Puneeth utilise the break between classes to flip through comic strips and imitate Archie and his girlfriends Betty and Veronica.
There's also time for Kiran, Jayateertha and the rest to flex their arms a bit and imitate their idols, Sachin Tendulkar and Anil Kumble, in the evening. But when the pitch is soggy, there's always the choice of a game of kabaddi. So, what could be better for these free spirits than to learn and play in the wide open spaces of this sylvan school.
It's a life that children seem to enjoy. But each of them is here with different goals. Slightly-built Sushrutha is from Hyderabad. His father, Raghupathy Goud, an ayurvedic doctor, wants the boy to graduate as a doctor well-versed in the Vedas. He's taunted by the other boys because he became home-sick at the beginning of the course. "I don't miss them (parents) now. I have many friends here and lots to learn. When I go back, I want to help the sick," he says as he walks back after a dip in the Cauvery.
For Aditi, an eighth standard student, it's a different mission. She wants to pursue a post-graduate degree in Vedic studies after she returns home to Ramakrishnapuram in Adilabad, Andhra Pradesh. Boys like Dileep are bitten by the IT bug. He wants to take up a career as an engineer back in Bangalore. Exclaims he: "It's amazing how much can be done on a computer. We are now using cd-roms to look at the night-sky in countries like New Zealand. Of course, every day there's a new game that we have access to on the computer." Sarvesh, a chemical engineer who quit his job to teach at the gurukul, smiles at the impish enthusiasm of Dileep. He is in a dilemma on whether or not to get an Internet connection here. Apart from the constraints of funds, of course, it's the prospect of misuse by the children that has delayed this facility.
HE parents seem to have elaborate plans for their wards. Take the instance of Kiran, who's preparing for his first board exam. His father, Venkataramanappa, works for the planning department of the Karnataka government and is keen that his son becomes an ayurvedic doctor. So, he has already bought a plot for a clinic that Kiran would run, say five years from now. And the boy is already making inquiries: "How do I get a degree in Indian medicine? Oh, there's a college in Bangalore. That's fine," he said.
Sometimes, the children leave their Vedic island and come to cities like Bangalore or New Delhi to participate in elocution or Vedic recitation contests. These trips are used by the trustees to take them around to show the working of banks, the courts, and the police department. Soon, they will be visiting some software companies in Bangalore.
They are also taken to rural outreaches to get to know all about farming and sericulture. Often, children from a village nearby come to the gurukul to attend a special school for tribals. After these classes, they play games together and this helps foster a bond of camaraderie between them and the regular students. This special school for tribal children as well as a mobile clinic are part of the trustees' plans for development of villages in the neighbourhood through education, medical support and employment.
However, this school stands for much more. It may strike you at first glance as idyllic, ambitious and a trifle dramatic too. But it's for real at the same time: you get past and future all at one go. The new century could witness the revival of classical Indian mathematics or the application of ancient treatises to understand the human mind and solve modern riddles. That could provoke schools to shift the focus of curriculae so that they do not merely churn out mugpots.
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