| Anubis: the God of funerary rites and guide to the underworld |
Amit Katha
Infinite Stories Inspiring Young Minds
Thursday, February 12, 2026
Do you know
Wednesday, February 11, 2026
Nature’s Curious Mystery
Tuesday, February 10, 2026
Smallest inhabited island in the world
JUST ROOM ENOUGH ISLAND
Just Room Enough Island is the smallest inhabited island in the world. With an area of only 3,300 sqft, it has just about enough room for a house, shrubs, a tree, and a small beach!
Just Room Enough Island is also called Hub Island. It is located in the St Lawrence River, near Alexandria Bay, close to the US-Canada border. It was purchased in the 1950s by the Sizeland family, who continue to live there to date. Though the family bought the island to build a quiet home, little did they realise that the island would enter the Guinness Book of World Records and become a tourist attraction.
However, the world’s smallest inhabited island till 1982 was Bishop Rock in the Atlantic Ocean, near the Isles of Scilly. But once the lighthouse on this island became automated, there was no need for any human to reside on it anymore. That is when the Just Room Enough Island took its place.
The Just Room Enough Island is hard to miss with its little red cottage. It symbolises micro living, where every little area or space is utilised well. Also, the residents on the island have been able to survive and live happily, despite challenges, such as snowstorms, high tides, and summer storms. In other words, they have managed to adapt and live in harmony with their natural surroundings.
The Just Room Enough Island is one of the 1864 islands that make up the Thousand Islands Chain. It is situated between the Heart Island and Imperial Isle, and is also near one of the most popular attractions of the region, the Boldt Castle.
Wouldn’t you want to visit this island soon? But remember, ‘One misstep and you’re swimming’.
Monday, February 9, 2026
Do You Know
Sunday, February 8, 2026
Do you know
Saturday, February 7, 2026
Wisdom grows in silence
THE TALKING BANYAN
In the quiet village of Vaikunthapur, nestled between whispering paddy fields and a slow, silver river, stood an ancient banyan tree beside a half-forgotten shrine. The tree’s roots curled like old sages in meditation, its aerial strands hung like threads of time, and its wide arms offered shade not just to bodies, but to wandering thoughts.
No one knew who had planted it. The village elders, grey and bent like the tree’s branches, said it had been there even before the temple walls were raised. The villagers called it Vani Vriksha — the Talking Tree. No one had ever truly heard it speak, but somehow, they felt spoken to.
Children said the tree whispered when they napped under its limbs. Farmers said it took away their tiredness when they sat quietly after a long day. A wandering monk once claimed that as he meditated beneath its shade, he heard it murmur: ‘Change passes. The changeless stays.’
Most villagers dismissed this as poetic imagination. But one boy, Arjun, believed. He wasn’t like the other children, who preferred to chase dragonflies or play by the river. Every morning before school and every evening before sunset, Arjun would come to the banyan, sit beneath its vast canopy, and listen. Not with his ears, but with his stillness.
‘Why don’t you play with your friends?’ they asked.
Arjun would smile and reply, ‘I am. The tree is my friend. And it’s the wisest of all.’
One day, Arjun’s teacher at school gave an assignment. ‘Bring a piece of wisdom,’ he said. ‘From someone wise in the village—an elder, a priest, a craftsman. Share what you learn.’
Children ran to their grandparents, the temple priest, the healer, the potter, and so on. Arjun returned to the banyan. He sat there for hours. The breeze played with his hair. A leaf danced its way to the ground. A squirrel chattered and paused. The world moved, but Arjun was still.
‘Please,’ he whispered, ‘tell me something I can share.’
The banyan, of course, said nothing. But something shifted inside him—like an answer rising from silence, not from words.
The next morning in school, Arjun stood before the class and said, ‘I bring a lesson from the banyan tree.’
Some children laughed. The teacher raised an eyebrow.
Arjun continued, unfazed. ‘It didn’t speak to me in words. But it taught me something important — that when we sit quietly with no questions, answers appear. When we stop chasing noise, we hear what is eternal.’
The room fell silent.
Then the teacher, a scholar who had seen many young minds, nodded slowly.
‘There is wisdom in stillness,’ he said. ‘And often, trees are older than any book. Thank you, Arjun.’
After that day, others began visiting the banyan. At first, out of curiosity. Then, slowly, to sit in silence, with their thoughts, or with none.
The tree never said anything. But somehow, everyone who sat beneath it left feeling lighter, steadier, quieter.
The temple priest began meditating beneath its limbs before his morning prayers. The village healer sat there when burdened by people’s pain. Even the potter once said he found the shape of a perfect pot in the curve of the banyan’s root.
One evening, Arjun asked the monk—the same one who had once heard the tree’s murmur—why it never truly spoke.
The monk smiled and ran a hand over the bark.
‘Because real truths,’ he said, ‘are not spoken. They are felt. Just like this breeze. Just like peace.’
The banyan said nothing as always. But in its silence, something stirred—something that touched all who sat beneath it.
Years later, when Arjun had grown and the world had changed, the banyan still stood. And under its shade, another little child sat cross-legged, eyes closed, waiting to hear the silence speak.
Moral of the story: True wisdom often comes not from speaking or hearing, but from learning how to listen - to nature, to silence, and to the still voice within.
Friday, February 6, 2026
The Pride and Mystery of Pune
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