Now that I find myself more often in the gentle company of books and beneath the gracious gaze of Devi Saraswati, I can’t help but remember a lesson from my school days , one that shaped not just my understanding of history, but my relationship with knowledge itself.

It was during a routine history test that our class received a shock we would never forget. Our scores were disastrously low, an insult, we felt, to all our sleepless nights and relentless revisions. Bewildered and indignant, we marched straight to our teacher’s office, united in protest.

“Sir, this is beyond understanding!” we exclaimed. “We studied day and night, wrote exactly what you taught us about Nalanda, and yet… these marks?”

Our teacher listened patiently, a quiet smile on his face, and then said something that changed us forever:

“Because you wrote exactly what I told you, your marks are low. You conformed — and conformity kills curiosity. Had you cross-checked facts from your textbooks, questioned what I said, and analysed it with your own mind, your answers would have reflected true understanding.”

We stood speechless.

“Was it all deliberate, Sir?” one of us asked hesitantly.

He nodded gently. “Yes. I deliberately shared incorrect dates and facts , not to mislead you, but to test you. Nalanda was not built on memorization. It thrived on inquiry, debate, and verification. Yet none of you questioned me. You accepted every word as truth and that is where learning stopped.”

Shame replaced our surprise. We realized that in chasing grades, we had betrayed the very spirit of Nalanda , the spirit of open inquiry and fearless questioning.

Sensing our remorse, Sir’s tone softened.

“Don’t drown in guilt,” he said. “Rise from it. True education begins when curiosity replaces conformity. Nalanda’s greatness was never in its walls or libraries, but in its courage to ask and its compassion to understand. Remember,

‘The world belongs to those who can see beyond its appearances.’”

That day, our history teacher gave us something no textbook could , the living essence of Nalanda’s wisdom.

Today, as I prepare to attend the Nalanda Literature Festival (21–25 December 2025), his words echo in my mind with renewed meaning. I go there not merely as a scholar, but as a seeker , one eager to listen, question, and grow.

And to you, my friends, I extend the same invitation my teacher once gave me: Come with questions, not just curiosity. The seats before me are waiting, empty for now, but reserved for all who wish to learn, inquire, and be their own light.